Chapter Four
1428 Words
Melanie
“This is Coach Michie,” Mr. Bennett said. “You’ll answer to him more than me once filming starts.”
Coach Michie shook my hand like he was testing my grip strength as part of the interview.
“Bennett tells me you’re my captain’s shadow this season.”
“That’s the assignment.”
“Good.” He handed me a stack of forms thick enough to double as a paperweight. “Permission slips. Practice schedule. Game schedule. Read every page.”
“I will.”
“One rule matters more than the rest.” He said it like he’d delivered the same speech a dozen times before. “Your job is to observe, not get involved. The moment you become part of the story, you’ve stopped documenting it.”
“Understood.”
“I mean it, Miss Carter. They’re not your friends. They’re not your responsibility. Keep the camera between you and them.”
“Easy enough,” I said.
He gave me a look that suggested he’d heard that confidence before and it hadn’t aged well for the last person who’d said it.
Then he nodded toward the rink.
“Practice starts in ten.”
I set up near the boards where Coach Michie pointed, my camera steady on my shoulder, trying to look like furniture instead of an intruder.
Practice started loud—skates cutting across the ice, sticks cracking against pucks, Coach’s whistle slicing through every drill. I filmed wide shots first, letting myself settle into the rhythm. It took maybe fifteen minutes before I stopped following the puck and started following him instead.
“Tighten that gap, Diaz! You’re leaving the left side wide open!”
Diaz adjusted without argument, like the correction had come from someone worth listening to the first time.
That surprised me.
I’d already filed Sawyer under golden boy, trophy case, easy grin, and none of that had prepared me for how patient he actually was. He didn’t bark orders. He explained what needed fixing, then trusted people to figure out the rest.
When one of the younger players fumbled a pass twice in a row, I braced for the frustration I’d assumed came with being captain.
Instead, Sawyer skated over, said something too low for my camera to catch, clapped the kid on the shoulder, and skated away.
The next pass landed clean.
I kept filming.
I told myself it was for the documentary.
I was packing my tripod when Sammy found me by the boards.
“Didn’t think I’d find you at a hockey rink.”
“I’m not here for hockey.” I kept folding the tripod. “I’m here because of an assignment.”
“It’s the same thing.” Sammy leaned against the railing, his hair still damp from conditioning, backpack hanging off one shoulder like he didn’t have anywhere else to be. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I haven’t exactly made it difficult to figure out why.”
He smiled anyway, completely unbothered.
“You still walk away before I finish a sentence.”
“Funny,” I said, finally looking at him, “I remember it being the other way around.”
For the first time since he’d shown up, something flickered across his face.
It was gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
“Fair,” he said, quieter this time.
Neither of us said anything for a second.
Sawyer skated past behind him on his way toward the bench, his helmet tucked under one arm. His eyes drifted over us for a moment before he kept walking without slowing down.
Just noticing two people talking before getting on with his day.
I watched him disappear toward the locker room before looking back at Sammy.
Unfortunately, he was still standing there.
Sammy peeled off toward the locker room a minute later, and a girl wearing a Wolves scarf, with an expression that suggested she’d been watching the whole exchange from a safe distance, walked over before I’d finished packing my bag.
“You know Sammy?”
“Unfortunately.”
She laughed, quick and easy.
“That’s the most honest answer I’ve heard all week.” She held out a hand. “I’m Rylee.”
“Melanie.”
“I know. Everyone does.” She nodded toward my camera bag. “New girl with a camera, following the team around like the CIA.”
There wasn’t any judgment in her voice. If anything, she sounded amused.
“So what’s the deal with you two? Sammy, I mean.”
“We have history.”
“That explains everything and nothing.”
“That’s usually the point.”
Rylee smiled like she respected the dodge instead of trying to push past it.
“Fair enough.”
She fell into step beside me as we headed toward the exit.
“I hope you like hockey.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“You will.”
“You sound very confident.”
“I am.” She grinned. “It grows on people.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“You should.” She nudged my shoulder with hers. “Besides, you’re stuck with me now.”
“Is that a promise or a threat?”
She laughed.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
Maybe this school wouldn’t be completely impossible.
**********
“So,” Rylee said once we were clear of the rink and walking toward the main building, “you don’t have to tell me anything. But you’ve been holding your camera bag like it owes you money ever since he walked away.”
“We dated. At my last school.”
“And?”
“And it ended badly. Publicly.” I kept my eyes forward. “He said some things in front of people who made sure everyone heard them.”
“Ouch.”
“That’s a generous word for it.”
“What’s the accurate one?”
“I’m still working on that.”
Rylee didn’t push, which I appreciated more than she probably realized.
“Well, for what it’s worth,” she said, “he seems like the type who thinks an apology tour counts as growth.”
“That tracks.”
“I’m a pretty good judge of character. Ask anyone.”
She bumped my shoulder with hers, light and easy, the gesture so familiar you’d think we’d known each other longer than twenty minutes.
“You’re stuck with me now, by the way. Fair warning.”
“I’ll survive.”
“Everybody says that at first.”
Rylee peeled off toward her locker, and I was alone by mine when Sammy reappeared, hair dry now, backpack slung over one shoulder like he had nowhere better to be.
“So,” he said. “I was thinking. We should actually catch up. For real this time, not hallway small talk.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Come on, Mel. It’s been months. You can’t still be mad.”
“I’m not mad.” I zipped my bag shut a little harder than necessary. “I just don’t want to.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
He watched me for a long moment, like he was waiting for the version of me that used to give in just to end the conversation.
“So what, you’re seeing somebody now? Is that what this is?”
“No.”
The word came out flat. Honest, and completely useless.
Sammy smiled.
“Good.”
My stomach tightened.
“Maybe this is our chance to start over.”
Something in me snapped.
I looked past him.
Sawyer was walking down the hall toward the exit, his gym bag slung over one shoulder, one headphone in, completely unaware he’d wandered into the middle of something.
Of everyone in this school, he was probably the last person Sammy would question.
The idea hit before I could talk myself out of it.
“Actually…”
Sammy frowned.
“Actually what?”
“Yeah,” I said, louder this time, loud enough to carry. “Actually, I am.”
Sawyer stopped walking.
He pulled out one earbud and looked at me.
Then at Sammy.
Then back at me.
His expression was pure confusion, like he’d just walked into the wrong conversation and somehow become part of it anyway.
I didn’t give either of them a chance to speak.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked straight toward him.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD