The Boy Who Knew Me First

Season 1

Episode 1

by Joxy

The Boy Who Knew Me First - Season 1, Episode 1: Returning To Center Ice

Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Then

Age 9 - Millbrook Community Rink - March

The ice was perfect that morning.

Sophia Chen knew ice the way other kids knew their favorite books—by feel, by sound. This ice was smooth and hard, recently zambonied, with just enough texture that her blades could grip without fighting. She pushed off from the boards and glided across center, arms out for balance, feeling the cold air stream past her face.

"You're leaning left again!" Ethan's voice carried across the empty rink.

She stuck her tongue out at him but corrected her posture. Forces in equilibrium. Net force equals zero. That's what her dad always said about skating—you had to balance all the forces acting on your body or you'd fall.

Ethan laughed and skated toward her in that effortless way he had, like he'd been born with blades attached to his feet. Probably had been, knowing his parents. His hockey stick dragged behind him, leaving a thin line in the fresh ice.

"Better," he said when he reached her. "Now try the crossover again."

Sophia was nine years old and she hated crossovers. They made her feel clumsy and wrong, like her feet didn't know which way they were supposed to go. But Ethan was patient in a way that adults never were. He didn't sigh or check his watch or say things like "just try harder." He just skated beside her, matching her pace, breaking the movement down into smaller and smaller pieces until suddenly her body understood.

"Front foot pushes under," he said, demonstrating. "Back foot comes around and over. Think of it like... like a spiral. Or one of those DNA things Mrs. Patterson showed us."

"A double helix?"

"Yeah, that." He grinned at her. "Your feet are doing a double helix."

It was ridiculous.

Perfect.

Sophia tried again, thinking about DNA spiraling, and this time her feet cooperated. She made it halfway around the rink before she had to stop, breathing hard, her cheeks burning from cold and effort.

"You did it!" Ethan crashed into the boards beside her, sending up a spray of ice shavings. His helmet was crooked and his cheeks were red and he was smiling so wide she could see the gap where he'd lost a tooth last month. "That was perfect, Soph!"

Soph. Nobody else called her that. Her parents called her Sophia, always the full name, heavy with expectation. Her teacher called her Miss Chen. The other kids mostly didn't call her anything at all—she was too quiet, too focused on her schoolwork, too serious about the Learn-to-Skate program at the community center.

But Ethan called her Soph, like they were the kind of friends who had nicknames. Like they were the kind of friends who spent every Saturday morning at the rink, even though she was only in Learn-to-Skate and he was already in Novice hockey. Like they were the kind of friends who understood things about each other that other people didn't see.

"Race you to the blue line," she said.

"You're on."

They pushed off together, and Sophia knew she wouldn't win—Ethan was faster, stronger, had been skating since he was three—but it didn't matter. What mattered was the cold air in her lungs, the scrape of blades on ice, the way the morning sun came through the windows and made everything glow. What mattered was that for these few hours every week, she wasn't Sophia Chen, daughter of two PhD parents who expected perfection. She was just Soph, racing her best friend across fresh ice.

Ethan won, obviously. He always won. But he circled back for her, skating backward to match her pace, and said, "Getting faster."

"Still not fast enough."

"Fast enough for what?"

She didn't have an answer for that. Fast enough to keep up with you, maybe. Fast enough to be worth training with. Fast enough that when you make it to the NHL someday—because everyone said Ethan Price would make it to the NHL, even at nine years old everyone could see it—you'll remember the girl who used to race you at Millbrook rink.

But she couldn't say any of that out loud. So instead she said, "Fast enough to beat you someday."

"Maybe." He turned forward again, skating beside her now. "But I'm getting faster too."

They made slow laps around the rink, not racing now, just gliding. This was Sophia's favorite part—after the drills and the speed, when they just skated and talked and the whole rink belonged to them.

"Did you finish the math packet?" Ethan asked.

"Yesterday. Did you?"

"Last night. Number seventeen was weird."

"The one about the trains?" Sophia wrinkled her nose. "I think there's a mistake in it. The numbers don't make sense."

"That's what I thought!" Ethan's face lit up. "The second train would have to be going, like, two hundred miles an hour to make the answer work."

This was the other thing they shared, besides ice: numbers. Sophia loved math the way she loved physics, the way everything had rules and reasons and made sense if you just thought about it hard enough. Most of the other kids in their fourth-grade class groaned when Mrs. Patterson handed out the advanced math packets, but Sophia and Ethan leaned forward in their seats.

Last month, they'd both qualified for the regional Elementary Math Competition. They were the only two from Millbrook Elementary. Ethan's parents had taken them both to the competition in the city—an hour's drive, the farthest Sophia had ever been from home. They'd sat together in the back seat of the Prices' minivan, quizzing each other on multiplication tables and prime numbers, and Sophia had felt like she was part of something bigger than their small town.

She'd come in third. Ethan had come in first.

"We should tell Mrs. Patterson about the train problem," Sophia said now.

"Yeah. Maybe we can make up a better one."

They skated in silence for a while. The rink was starting to wake up—a few parents arriving early, dropping off kids for the 10 AM session. Soon the ice would be crowded with wobbly beginners and serious Novice players, and the magic of the empty rink would be gone.

"Hey Soph?"

"Yeah?"

Ethan slowed to a stop near the penalty box. His expression had changed—less happy, more serious. The look he got when he was trying to figure out a hard math problem or when his coach was yelling at him for missing a play.

"My dad wants to talk to your parents."

Sophia stopped too, confused. "Why?"

"He wants to ask them something. About me." Ethan fidgeted with his hockey stick, not meeting her eyes. "About hockey stuff."

"What kind of hockey stuff?"

"Just... stuff. Never mind." He pushed off again, faster now. "Come on, let's practice your backward skating."

But the moment felt wrong, like a wobble in her balance that she couldn't correct. Sophia followed him across the ice, but the perfect morning had shifted somehow, and she couldn't figure out why.

The conversation happened that afternoon.

Sophia wasn't supposed to hear it. She was supposed to be in her room, working on her book report about Sarah, Plain and Tall. But the Prices were sitting in their living room—a room they almost never used, with the nice furniture that nobody was allowed to sit on—and sound carried through the old heating vents.

She pressed her ear to the floor register and listened.

"—an incredible opportunity," Mr. Price was saying. His voice was deep and earnest, the same voice he used when he talked about Ethan's future at parent-teacher conferences. "The Winnipeg AAA program is one of the best in the country. They've produced three NHL players in the last five years."

"Ethan is very talented." That was her mother, in her careful professional voice. Dr. Lisa Chen, associate professor of chemistry, who chose every word like she was writing a research paper. "But he's only nine. Isn't that quite young to be thinking about professional athletics?"

"The window is small." That was Mrs. Price now, higher-pitched, urgent. "If we want Ethan to have a real shot, we need to get him into elite training now. The scouts start watching at twelve, thirteen. We can't wait."

"I understand." Her father this time, Dr. James Chen, physicist and the parent most likely to understand obsessive focus. "But why are you telling us this?"

A pause. Then Mr. Price said, "Because we want you to know that it's not about Ethan not wanting to spend time with Sophia. They're good friends. Good for each other, honestly. Both so bright."

Sophia's throat closed up.

"We're moving to Winnipeg," Mrs. Price said. "In two weeks. Paul's been transferred—it's a promotion, a good one—and the hockey program there is exactly what Ethan needs. But we wanted you to hear it from us first, not from the kids."

The silence that followed was terrible.

"Well." Her mother's voice was very controlled. "Thank you for telling us. Sophia will be... she'll miss him."

"They can stay in touch," Mr. Price said quickly. "Phone calls, maybe visits."

But Sophia knew how these things worked. She was nine, not stupid. Ethan would go to Winnipeg and join an AAA team and get busy with practices and games and tournaments. He'd make new friends, better skaters, kids whose parents understood hockey in a way her parents never would. He'd forget about the girl from Millbrook who could barely do crossovers and liked math competitions more than actual competitions.

She'd lose her best friend.

Sophia pulled away from the vent and lay flat on her bedroom floor, staring at the ceiling.

The grief came slowly. Not all at once like in movies, but in waves over the next few days. She'd be fine, and then she'd remember Ethan wouldn't be at school tomorrow, and her hands would go numb.

At school, she kept expecting to see him. In the cafeteria, at morning assembly, on the playground where they sometimes did math problems in the dirt with sticks. But he wasn't there. His desk in Mrs. Patterson's class sat empty, and nobody else even seemed to notice.

Sophia ate lunch alone. She walked home alone. She did her math homework alone, and every problem felt hollow because there was no one to compare answers with, no one to get excited about elegant solutions.

Her mother tried talking to her. "I know you're sad about Ethan leaving. It's okay to be upset."

But Sophia wasn't upset. Upset was too small a word.

Demolished.

Like something essential had been ripped out of her and she didn't know how to function around the hole it left.

She was nine years old, and her heart was breaking, and nobody understood that this wasn't just losing a friend. This was losing the only person who'd ever really seen her.

The last day came too fast.

It was a Tuesday, which meant no early morning ice time, but Ethan had begged his parents to let them go anyway. His mother drove them to the rink in silence, and Sophia sat in the back seat wondering if this was what heartbreak felt like. If nine-year-olds could have heartbreak. If you could miss someone who was sitting right next to you because you knew that in two days, they'd be four hundred miles away.

The rink was almost empty—just them and a figure skater practicing jumps in the far corner. Their blades echoed in the cold space.

"Want to race?" Ethan asked.

"Not today."

They skated slow laps instead, neither of them saying much. What was there to say? I'll miss you felt too small. Don't forget me felt too desperate. Everything Sophia thought of sounded wrong in her head.

"My new coach is supposed to be really good," Ethan said after a while. "His name is Coach Boychuk. He coached a guy who plays for the Jets now."

"That's cool."

"Yeah."

More silence. Another lap.

"You should keep skating," Ethan said suddenly. "You're getting really good. By the time you're in high school, you could probably play on a team or something."

Sophia didn't tell him that she was already thinking about quitting. That skating without him would feel like eating lunch alone in the cafeteria—technically possible but completely miserable.

"Maybe," she said.

"And you're definitely going to win at math competition next year. You only lost to me by, like, three points."

"Four points."

"Okay, four points. That's basically nothing." He turned to skate backward in front of her, that show-off move he'd mastered last month. "Promise me you'll keep doing it. The math stuff. Even if everyone thinks it's weird."

"Everyone already thinks it's weird."

"Everyone's stupid, then." He said it so matter-of-factly that Sophia almost smiled. "We're going to be scientists or engineers or something. We're going to do important stuff. Who cares what everyone else thinks?"

The figure skater landed a jump with a sharp crack of blades, and Sophia's vision tunneled.

"I don't want you to go," she said.

Ethan stopped skating. Just stopped, right there in the middle of the ice, and looked at her with an expression she'd never seen before. Sad and frustrated and something else she didn't have words for yet.

"I don't want to go either," he said quietly.

"Then don't."

"It's not—" He shook his head. "My parents already bought the house. My dad's starting his new job Monday. I already registered for the new school."

"So?"

"So I'm nine, Soph. I don't get to decide."

That was the worst part, Sophia thought. Being old enough to understand what you were losing but not old enough to do anything about it.

They skated until Mrs. Price called from the lobby that it was time to go. They took off their skates in silence. Ethan's equipment bag was already packed—he'd be leaving straight from here, heading home to finish packing the moving truck.

In the parking lot, standing by the minivan in the weak March sunshine, they faced each other awkwardly.

"I'll call you," Ethan said. "As soon as we get there and my dad sets up the phone."

"Okay."

"And maybe you could visit sometime. Winnipeg's not that far."

It was four hundred miles. It might as well have been the moon.

"Yeah," Sophia said. "Maybe."

Mrs. Price called for Ethan again. He picked up his equipment bag, hesitated, then dropped it and hugged Sophia quickly. It was clumsy and brief and smelled like hockey equipment and boy-sweat, and she wanted to hold on forever.

"See you around, Soph," he said.

Then he was in the van, and the van was pulling away, and Sophia stood in the parking lot of Millbrook Community Rink watching her best friend disappear down Oak Street.

She didn't cry. Not yet. She was too numb for crying.

The tears came later, that night, when she was alone in her bed and the reality settled in like ice forming over water. Ethan was gone. Really gone. And she'd never see him again, not really, because phone calls weren't the same and promises to visit always faded and people moved on.

She cried into her pillow so her parents wouldn't hear, great gulping sobs that shook her whole body. She cried for the Saturday mornings that wouldn't happen anymore, for the math competitions they'd never share, for all the conversations about nothing and everything that had made her feel less alone.

She cried until she was empty, and then she lay in the dark feeling hollow.

That night, her father knocked on her door late. He must have heard her after all.

"Hey, kiddo. Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

He sat on the edge of her bed anyway. Dr. James Chen, professor of physics, brilliant researcher, completely hopeless at emotional conversations.

"Ethan will do well in Winnipeg," he said finally. "He's a talented kid. Dedicated."

"I know."

"You're talented too, you know. That math competition score was exceptional."

Sophia turned to look at him, eyes still swollen from crying. "Did you know I only beat him by four points?"

"Three points, actually. I saw the full results."

"He said four."

Her father smiled slightly. "He probably wanted you to feel better."

"That's stupid. The score is the score."

"Maybe. Or maybe he cared more about your friendship than about winning." He patted her shoulder awkwardly. "That's the kind of friend worth keeping, Sophia. Even at a distance."

After he left, Sophia pulled out her notebook—the one where she worked on extra math problems when she was bored or anxious—and tried to focus. But the numbers kept blurring.

She wondered what Ethan was doing right now. Packing boxes, probably. Or thinking about AAA hockey and Coach Boychuk and his big future. She wondered if he was thinking about her at all.

Nothing felt balanced anymore.

Eight Years Later

Age 17 - Present Day - Early September

The moving truck pulled into Winnipeg on a Saturday morning, and Sophia Chen felt like she was driving straight into the past.

"This is it!" Her mother's voice was aggressively cheerful from the front seat. "Our new adventure!"

Sophia stared out the window at the unfamiliar streets, her phone in her lap showing Ethan's Instagram profile.

She'd found it last night. @ethanprice23. Public account, because of course it was—hockey players needed visibility. The most recent photo was from two days ago: him in full gear, stick raised, celebrating what must have been a playoff goal. Caption: "Summer training starts Monday. Ready to work."

847 likes. 63 comments.

Before that: graduation photo with his arm around a girl. Beautiful, dark hair, perfect smile. Caption: "Couldn't have made it through without this one. Love you @beccamartinez."

Sophia had clicked through to Becca's profile. Student council president. Debate team captain. Every photo perfectly curated, showing a life of effortless achievement and social success.

Then she'd gone back to Ethan's page and scrolled further. Team photos. Workout videos. Pictures with friends at parties, someone's backyard pool.

He looked happy. Confident. Like someone who'd figured out exactly who he was supposed to be.

She'd almost sent a message: "Hey, moving to Winnipeg next week. Weird coincidence, right?"

But what if he didn't remember her? What if he did remember but didn't care? What if eight years was too long and they'd become completely different people?

So she'd closed Instagram and tried to convince herself it didn't matter.

"Winnipeg is bigger than I expected," her father said now, checking his phone's GPS. "Not city-huge like Toronto, but substantial."

Sophia locked her phone screen, Ethan's face disappearing. "Yeah."

"The house is just a few blocks from St. Paul's," her mother added. "You'll be able to walk to school."

St. Paul's High School. The same school Ethan attended. She'd checked the hockey team roster on their website: Ethan Price, Center, #23, Captain.

Of course he was captain.

"Junior year in a new city is going to be an adjustment," her father was saying. "But it's also an opportunity for a fresh start. You can be anyone you want to be."

Sophia didn't want to be anyone. She wanted to be invisible. She wanted to slip through the next two years unnoticed and get to college where maybe, finally, things would make sense.

But even as she thought it, she knew she was lying to herself. Because Ethan Price was here, at her new school, and there was no way she was going to be able to avoid him.

The question was whether she wanted to.

The truck turned onto their new street—tree-lined, quiet, the kind of neighborhood where people actually knew their neighbors. Their house was a two-story brick colonial, nice but not fancy, with a small front yard and a garage that her father was already eyeing for his woodworking projects.

"Home sweet home," her mother announced, pulling into the driveway.

Sophia climbed out and looked around. This was it. This was where she'd spend the next two years of her life. In the city where Ethan Price had become a hockey star with a perfect girlfriend and a predetermined future.

She pulled out her phone again, thumb hovering over Instagram. She could message him. Tell him she was here.

But fear stopped her.

Fear that he wouldn't respond. Fear that he would respond with polite disinterest. Fear that eight years had erased whatever they'd had.

"Sophia!" Her mother called from the front door. "Come see your room!"

She pocketed her phone and followed her parents inside, trying to ignore the way her heart was racing.

Everything was already in motion.

And she had no idea where it would take her.

That night, unpacking boxes in her new bedroom, Sophia's phone buzzed.

Text from Maya, her best friend from Brampton: How's Winnipeg? Made any friends yet?

Sophia: Got here this morning. Mostly unpacked. No friends.

Maya: You'll find your people. Just takes time.

Sophia: Yeah.

Maya: You okay? You sound weird.

Sophia sat on her bed, surrounded by half-empty boxes, and considered telling Maya the truth. That her childhood best friend was here. That she'd spent the last two days stalking his Instagram like a creep. That she was terrified of what Monday would bring.

Instead she typed: Just tired. Long drive.

Maya: Get some sleep. Love you.

Sophia: Love you too.

She put her phone down and stared at the ceiling of her unfamiliar room. Through the window, she could hear the distant sound of traffic, the rustle of leaves, the general hum of a city settling into Saturday night.

Somewhere out there, Ethan Price was doing whatever Ethan Price did on Saturday nights. Hanging out with his girlfriend, probably. Or his hockey teammates. Living the life he'd built here, completely unaware that the girl he used to teach crossovers to was now living four miles away.

Sophia closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but all she could see was nine-year-old Ethan saying "see you around, Soph" before driving away forever.

Except it hadn't been forever.

In two days, she'd walk into St. Paul's High School.

In two days, she might see him again.

And then she'd find out if those Saturday mornings at the rink had meant anything at all, or if they'd just been two lonely kids who'd found each other for a little while before real life pulled them apart.

Everything was tilting.

And Sophia Chen had no idea how to stop it.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Now

Sunday, September 4th - Day Before School

Sophia spent Sunday trying on different versions of herself.

Navy henley and jeans.

Black t-shirt and jeans.

Green sweater.

Gray hoodie.

She settled on the navy henley, then immediately questioned the decision. Because what did it matter what she wore? Ethan might not even remember her. Or worse, he might remember her and not care.

Her phone buzzed. Maya: First day outfit check? Send pics!

Sophia took a selfie in the mirror, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Maya: You look cute! Very "smart but approachable." The henley is perfect.

Sophia: Thanks. Nervous.

Maya: You'll be fine. Just be yourself.

But Sophia had no idea who herself was anymore. The girl who'd left Brampton three days ago? The nine-year-old who used to race Ethan across fresh ice? Someone completely new?

She opened Instagram again, thumb hovering over Ethan's profile. She'd looked at it probably fifty times since yesterday. @ethanprice23. His most recent story was from this morning: a video of him doing pull-ups in what looked like a home gym. Caption: "Season starts tomorrow. Ready."

732 views already.

Before she could overthink it, she typed a message: Hey. Weird question, but do you remember me? Sophia Chen from Millbrook. I'm starting at St. Paul's tomorrow.

Her finger hovered over send for thirty seconds.

Then she deleted it.

Too desperate. Too needy. Too much like she'd spent eight years thinking about him when he'd probably forgotten her entirely.

She put her phone face-down and tried to sleep, but all she could see was the staircase at St. Paul's, the one from the virtual tour on the school's website. That's where people gathered between classes. That's where she'd probably see him.

If she saw him at all.

Monday, September 5th - First Day, Junior Year

Sophia woke up at 5:47 AM after barely sleeping.

She showered, dressed in the outfit she'd picked out, and spent twenty minutes on her hair before giving up and pulling it into a ponytail. Natural. Effortless. Like she wasn't going to a school where her former best friend was now a hockey star with a perfect life.

Downstairs, her father was already deep in his laptop, reviewing lecture notes. Her mother had left earlier for a faculty meeting.

"Ready?" he asked without looking up.

"Definitely not."

"You'll be fine. You're brilliant."

"That's not how high school works, Dad."

He finally glanced at her. "How does high school work?"

Sophia poured herself coffee—too much creamer, not enough actual caffeine. "It's a complex social ecosystem with hierarchies based on arbitrary factors like athletic ability, physical attractiveness, and whether you know the right people. Academic achievement is actually a negative indicator of social success."

"That sounds like something you read on the internet."

"It's something I observed for two years at Brampton. Why would Winnipeg be different?"

Her father closed his laptop. "Sophia. I know this is hard. I know you didn't want to move. But this is an incredible opportunity for your mother and me professionally, and we really think—"

"It's fine." She cut him off because she couldn't have this conversation again. They'd had it a dozen times since announcing the move in June. "I'm fine. Everything's fine."

He studied her with that physicist look, like she was a problem he was trying to solve. Then he sighed.

"You know, when I was sixteen, my family moved from Shanghai to Toronto. I didn't speak English very well yet. I thought I'd never make friends."

"Did you?"

"Eventually. It took time."

"How much time?"

"About a year."

A year. Sophia had two years of high school left. That meant she'd be friendless until senior year. And by then everyone would already have their college plans, their established groups.

Perfect.

Just perfect.

"I have to go," she said, dumping the rest of her coffee in the sink. "Don't want to be late."

St. Paul's High School was a twelve-minute walk from their new house. Sophia knew because she'd timed it yesterday, scouting the route like she was planning a military operation. Twelve minutes of neutral territory before entering hostile social landscape.

The building was newer than Brampton High—all glass and modern architecture, probably renovated in the last decade. The parking lot was full of nice cars. Not rich-rich, but comfortable-rich. Hockey money, probably. Everyone knew Winnipeg was a hockey city.

Sophia joined the stream of students flowing through the main entrance, trying to look like she belonged. The hallways were crowded and loud, full of people hugging and laughing and picking up conversations from wherever they'd left them in June.

She navigated through them with her head down, avoiding eye contact, trying to be invisible.

The main office was easy to find. The secretary—Mrs. Kowalski, according to her nameplate—was efficient and kind, the type of adult who actually remembered what it felt like to be sixteen and terrified.

"Chen, Sophia," she said, pulling up the file. "Transfer from Brampton, Ontario. Welcome to St. Paul's!"

"Thanks."

"You're in the academic stream, I see. Taking physics, calculus, English, history, chemistry, and..." She scrolled. "Badminton for your athletics credit. That's wonderful! We have an excellent badminton program here. Maya Foster is the team captain—she's a sweetheart."

Sophia nodded, accepting her schedule and locker assignment. Locker 247, second floor, west wing. She committed it to memory and escaped before Mrs. Kowalski could suggest she join any clubs or try out for student council or do any of the things that required talking to people.

The hallway was even more crowded now. Sophia checked her phone: 8:23. Classes started at 8:45. She had time to find her locker, drop off her jacket, maybe hide in the bathroom until first period.

The staircase to the second floor was wide and central, with students gathering on every step. This was the heart of the school, she realized. The place where social hierarchies played out in real time.

She was halfway up when she saw him.

Seventh step up when she saw him.

Her brain just—stopped.

Sophia's foot was on the seventh step when her eyes found him at the top landing, and everything else disappeared.

Ethan Price.

She recognized him instantly, which was insane because it had been eight years and people changed dramatically between nine and seventeen. But something about the way he moved—confident, easy, like he knew exactly where he belonged—was exactly the same.

He was taller. Obviously. His hair was darker than she remembered, pushed back carelessly from his face. His shoulders were broader, his jaw more defined. He was wearing a St. Paul's hockey jacket—navy and gold—and he was surrounded by at least six people, all talking at once, all vying for his attention.

He looked good. Really good. Not in an objective observation way but in a way that made her mouth go dry.

She should keep walking. Should get to her locker, start her day, pretend she'd never seen him. What were the odds he'd remember her anyway? They'd been kids. He'd had eight years to become someone completely different, make important friends, build a life that had nothing to do with Saturday mornings at a community rink.

But then—impossibly—he looked up.

Their eyes met across the crowded staircase.

Sophia watched recognition dawn on his face. Saw his expression shift from casual laughter to surprise to something she couldn't read. Saw him excuse himself from his group and start moving toward the stairs.

Toward her.

No no no no no.

She was frozen on step seven, students streaming past her, bumping her shoulder, muttering "excuse me." Her ears rang.

Ethan reached her, and the world came crashing back—sound, the smell of bodies and cafeteria food. But all Sophia could see was him standing two steps above her, looking at her like she was a math problem that didn't make sense.

"Sophia?" He said her full name, not Soph, and something about that felt wrong. "Sophia Chen?"

Her voice came out smaller than she wanted. "Hi."

"Holy shit." He ran a hand through his hair, still staring. "What are you— When did you— You're here?"

"Apparently."

"I mean—" He laughed, but it sounded nervous. "Sorry. I just— It's been a while."

"Eight years."

"Yeah. Eight years." He was staring at her like she was a ghost. "You look— You look different. Obviously. We were nine."

"You look different too."

This was excruciating. This was worse than being friendless. This was seeing someone who used to know you and realizing they didn't anymore, not really, and having to navigate that gap in a crowded high school staircase while people stared.

"Are you transferring here?" Ethan asked. "To St. Paul's?"

"Yeah. My parents got jobs at U of M. We moved last weekend."

"That's—wow. That's crazy." He seemed genuinely shocked, which meant he hadn't been stalking her Instagram. Which meant he probably hadn't thought about her at all in eight years. "I can't believe you're here."

A girl's voice cut through the moment: "Ethan! There you are!"

Sophia's stomach sank as Becca Martinez appeared—tall, beautiful, perfect dark hair and perfect makeup and a perfect smile aimed directly at Ethan. This had to be Becca. The girlfriend from Instagram.

"Hey Becs." Ethan straightened up slightly, his body language shifting. "What's up?"

"Student council meeting in five minutes. You promised you'd be there for the fall events discussion, remember?" Becca turned to Sophia, and her smile didn't waver but it changed somehow. Became more polite, less warm. "Hi! I'm Becca Martinez. You're new, right?"

"Sophia Chen. I just transferred."

"Welcome to St. Paul's! Are you settling in okay?"

It was a perfectly nice question from a perfectly nice person, and Sophia hated every second of it.

"Fine, thanks."

"Sophia and I actually know each other," Ethan said. "From when we were kids. In Millbrook."

Becca's eyebrows rose slightly. "Oh? That's such a coincidence!"

"Yeah." Ethan checked his phone. "Listen, I should get to that meeting, but Sophia, we should—do you want to maybe grab lunch later? Catch up properly?"

Sophia's brain supplied several responses: - No thanks, I can see you're busy - I don't want to intrude on your perfect life - Please don't pity-friend me

What she actually said was: "Sure."

"Cool. Meet at the cafeteria? First lunch is 11:30."

"Okay."

Becca linked her arm through Ethan's—a casual gesture that screamed mine—and smiled at Sophia. "Nice meeting you, Sophia!"

Then they were gone, disappearing into the crowd, and Sophia was alone on the staircase wondering what the hell just happened.

She closed her eyes.

Seeing Ethan again—that was a force she hadn't planned for. And she had no idea how to balance it.

Ethan's POV - The Same Moment

Ethan Price was telling Tyler about the new defensive strategy Coach wanted to implement when he saw her.

At first, his brain didn't process it. Just registered girl on staircase and moved on. But something made him look again, and then—

Holy shit.

Sophia Chen.

He hadn't thought about Sophia Chen in years. Well, that wasn't true. He thought about her sometimes, in that vague way you think about childhood friends who'd disappeared from your life. Wondered where she was, what she was doing, if she still remembered those Saturday mornings at the rink.

But he hadn't expected her to materialize on the staircase at St. Paul's, looking completely different and exactly the same.

"—are you even listening?" Tyler was saying.

"Sorry, I—" Ethan watched her climb the stairs, uncertain and guarded. "I'll be right back."

He excused himself from the group and headed for the stairs, his mind racing. Sophia Chen. Here. At his school. What were the odds?

She'd changed. Of course she'd changed—eight years, childhood to almost-adult. But something in the way she moved was familiar. That careful precision, like she was calculating every step.

He stopped two steps above her, and when she looked up at him, he felt something shift in his chest. Her eyes were the same. Dark, intelligent, seeing more than people expected.

"Sophia?" He used her full name because Soph felt too familiar after eight years. "Sophia Chen?"

She looked terrified. "Hi."

And just like that, Ethan was nine years old again, teaching crossovers to a quiet girl who understood things no one else did. The only person in Millbrook who'd cared about math competitions as much as hockey.

"Holy shit. What are you— When did you— You're here?"

"Apparently."

He laughed, trying to process this. "Sorry. I just— It's been a while."

"Eight years."

Eight years. He'd gone from nine-year-old Novice player to junior year captain. He'd lost his gap tooth, grown a foot, gotten serious about hockey. He'd made friends, gotten a girlfriend, built an entire life.

And Sophia Chen had been... where? What had she been doing for eight years?

"You look different," he said, because it was true and also completely inadequate. "Obviously. We were nine."

"You look different too."

Ethan wanted to ask her a thousand questions. Why was she here? How long had she been in Winnipeg? Did she still do math? Did she remember their last day at the rink? Did she ever think about him?

But they were blocking the stairs, and people were staring, and Becca was going to find him any second and—

"Are you transferring here? To St. Paul's?"

"Yeah. My parents got jobs at U of M. We moved last weekend."

Last weekend. Which meant she'd been here for days and hadn't told him. Which meant—what? That she hadn't wanted to? That she thought he wouldn't care?

"That's crazy," he said, and it was. "I can't believe you're here."

Then Becca appeared, and Ethan felt himself shift into performance mode automatically. Student council president's boyfriend. Team captain. The version of himself everyone expected.

He introduced them, watched Sophia shrink under Becca's friendly interrogation, and felt weirdly protective. This was his friend from before. Before AAA hockey and scouts and the weight of everyone's expectations. She knew him when he was just Ethan, not "Ethan Price, future NHL player."

"We should grab lunch," he heard himself say. "Catch up properly."

Sophia agreed, and Becca pulled him away to the meeting, and Ethan spent the entire forty-five minutes thinking about a girl he used to teach crossovers to instead of fall event budgets.

Sophia - Calculus, First Period

First period: Calculus with Mr. Reynolds.

Sophia slid into an empty seat near the back and immediately pulled out her notebook. If she looked busy, maybe no one would try to talk to her.

The classroom filled up quickly. Everyone seemed to know each other, trading summer stories and complaining about workload. Sophia kept her head down and tried to blend into the furniture.

"Okay, settle down!" Mr. Reynolds was young for a teacher, maybe early thirties, with the kind of energy that suggested he actually liked teenagers. "Welcome to Calculus, where we'll be exploring the beautiful world of limits, derivatives, and integrals. Who's excited?"

Silence.

"Tough crowd." He grinned. "Right, let's start with a diagnostic to see where everyone's at. Don't panic—this isn't graded. I just want to know what you remember from pre-calc."

He passed out a worksheet, and Sophia relaxed slightly. Math she could do. Math made sense.

She worked through the problems methodically: limits, basic derivatives, related rates. They were review from last year, stuff she'd found easy at Brampton. She finished in twelve minutes and checked her work twice while everyone else was still on problem four.

When Mr. Reynolds collected the worksheets, he glanced at hers and did a double-take.

"Sophia, right? The new transfer?"

"Yes."

"This is perfect. All of it." He sounded impressed. "Were you in an accelerated program at your old school?"

"Just regular academic stream."

"Well, you're going to do great here. Might even give Ethan a run for his money—he's usually my top student."

Sophia's stomach dropped. "Ethan's in this class?"

"Should be. Although he's not—oh, there he is."

The door opened and Ethan slipped in, slightly out of breath. "Sorry, student council ran late."

"No problem. Grab a diagnostic sheet and have a seat."

Ethan's eyes found Sophia in the back, and he smiled—quick, genuine—before taking a seat three rows ahead. Close enough that she could see the back of his neck, the way his hair curled slightly at the edge. Far enough that she couldn't accidentally make eye contact.

Perfect. This was perfect. She'd be spending an hour a day watching the back of Ethan Price's head while trying not to think about how he used to be her best friend and now he was a stranger with a girlfriend and a life that didn't include her.

Mr. Reynolds launched into a lecture about the course outline, and Sophia took notes mechanically. Normally she loved calculus—the precision of it, the way everything built on everything else. But today she couldn't focus. She kept getting distracted by the way Ethan leaned back in his chair, completely relaxed, like he belonged everywhere he went.

When the bell rang, he turned around.

"Hey. You're coming to lunch, right?"

"I said I would."

"Cool. I'll meet you at the caf." He hesitated. "It's good to have you here, Soph. I mean it."

Soph. He'd called her Soph, finally, and it felt like something unlocking.

"Thanks," she managed.

Then he was gone, swept up by friends who all seemed to need him urgently, and Sophia was left wondering if lunch was going to be the best or worst decision she'd made all day.

Ethan's POV - Between Classes

Ethan couldn't stop thinking about her.

Which was stupid. He had a chemistry quiz to study for and practice at 3:30 and Becca wanted to talk about homecoming plans. He didn't have time to be distracted by a girl from his past who'd randomly shown up.

But he kept seeing her face when she'd said "eight years." Like she'd been counting. Like those Saturday mornings had mattered to her too.

Tyler caught up to him outside the chemistry lab. "Dude, what was that?"

"What was what?"

"The staircase thing. Who's the girl?"

"Old friend from Millbrook. Sophia Chen. We used to skate together."

Tyler's eyebrows rose. "Old friend, huh?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Nothing. Just, you looked pretty intense talking to her."

"Did I?" Ethan hadn't realized. He'd just been... surprised. Thrown off balance by a variable he hadn't anticipated.

"Becca noticed too."

Of course she did. Becca noticed everything.

"It's not a big deal," Ethan said. "Just weird seeing someone from that long ago."

But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. Because standing on that staircase talking to Sophia, he'd felt something he hadn't felt in years: recognized. Like she could see past the performance to whoever he actually was underneath.

And he had no idea what to do with that.

Lunch - The Cafeteria

By the time third period ended (Physics with Dr. Okafor, who seemed legitimately excited about mechanics), Sophia had worked herself into a state of low-level panic.

She could just skip lunch. Say she felt sick. Go hide in the library.

But that would make her a coward. And besides, she was hungry.

The cafeteria was overwhelming—huge, loud, full of established social groups staking out their territories. Sophia stood in the doorway scanning for Ethan and feeling increasingly like this was a mistake.

"Sophia!" He was waving from a table near the windows. "Over here!"

She navigated through the crowd, clutching her lunch bag. Ethan was sitting with three other people: Becca, a guy with sandy hair and a hockey jacket, and another girl who was scrolling through her phone.

"Hey!" Ethan gestured to the empty seat next to him. "Everyone, this is Sophia. We were friends when we were kids. Sophia, this is Becca—you met her earlier—Tyler, and Jess."

"Hey." Tyler nodded at her. "You're the transfer from Ontario, right?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. You play any sports?"

"Badminton."

"Nice!" Jess looked up from her phone. "Maya's great. You'll love the team."

Becca smiled. "So tell us about Millbrook. Is it as small as Ethan says?"

"Smaller, probably."

"We had one grocery store," Ethan said. "One. And the pizza place closed at eight."

"That sounds kind of nice, actually," Jess said. "Winnipeg can be overwhelming sometimes."

Tyler snorted. "You think Winnipeg is overwhelming? Try moving here from Ontario."

"Toronto's different though," Becca said. "That's actually a big city."

They launched into a debate about city sizes, and Sophia sat quietly, eating her sandwich and trying to figure out the social dynamics. Tyler and Ethan were clearly close—probably teammates. Jess seemed quieter, more observant. And Becca was... Becca was the kind of person who made everything look easy. She laughed at the right moments, asked follow-up questions, kept the conversation flowing.

She was also sitting very close to Ethan. Not touching, exactly, but in that way that suggested they were together. Comfortable. Established.

"So Sophia," Becca said, turning her attention away from the group. "What made your family move to Winnipeg?"

"My parents got research positions at U of M. My mom's in chemistry, my dad's in physics."

"Professor parents!" Tyler grinned. "That explains why you and Price are both nerds."

"Says the guy taking AP Bio," Ethan shot back.

"That's for medical school applications. Different kind of nerd."

"Still a nerd."

Watching them banter felt like watching a play she hadn't rehearsed for. They had rhythms, shared history. Sophia was the outsider trying to catch up, and it was exhausting.

"Do you know what you want to study?" Becca asked. "In college?"

"Engineering, maybe. Or physics."

"Like father, like daughter," Ethan said. "You always were going to end up in STEM."

"What about you?" The question came out before Sophia could stop it. "Are you still thinking NHL?"

The table went quiet for just a second. Tyler and Jess exchanged a glance.

"That's the plan," Ethan said carefully. "If it works out."

"It'll work out," Tyler said firmly. "Price is the best player in the province. Scouts are already watching."

"We'll see." Ethan's voice had that careful quality again, the one that meant he was trying to sound confident but wasn't quite there. "Lots can happen in two years."

Becca reached over and squeezed his hand. "You're going to be amazing. Like always."

The gesture was small, casual, but it hit Sophia like a wall. Right. They were together. And she was the girl from his past, barely a memory, sitting here like she had any right to his present.

"I should go," she said abruptly, standing up. "I have to find the library before next period."

"Oh—okay." Ethan looked surprised. "But lunch isn't over for another fifteen minutes."

"I know. I just— I want to make sure I know where everything is."

"I can show you around after school if you want. Give you the full tour."

"That's okay. I'll figure it out." She grabbed her bag. "Thanks for lunch."

She left before anyone could respond, navigating back through the cafeteria. That was stupid. She'd been rude. They were being nice and she'd just run away like a scared kid.

Every force in her life was pointing in directions she didn't understand, and she had no idea how to find her balance anymore.

She found the library and hid in the back corner until fourth period, trying not to think about Ethan's smile or Becca's hand on his or the way it felt to be the outsider looking in on a life that had once been partly hers.

This was going to be harder than she thought.

By the time school ended at 3:15, Sophia was mentally exhausted.

She'd survived History (boring but manageable), Chemistry (actually interesting), and one more period of people looking at her like she was a puzzle they couldn't solve. Now she just wanted to go home, hide in her room, and pretend this day had never happened.

Her phone buzzed as she was walking out.

Ethan: Hey, are you okay? You left lunch kind of suddenly.

Sophia stared at the message. She could ignore it. She could make an excuse. She could tell him the truth: that seeing him with his perfect girlfriend and his perfect friends made her feel like the lonely nine-year-old she'd been when he left.

Instead she typed: Fine. Just overwhelmed. First day stuff.

The response came immediately: Totally get it. Listen, I meant what I said about showing you around. No pressure, but if you want to grab coffee or something this week, let me know. Would be good to actually catch up.

Sophia sat down on a bench outside the main entrance and read the message three times.

He wanted to catch up. He was reaching out. Maybe he did remember their friendship. Maybe it mattered to him too.

Or maybe he just felt obligated because they used to know each other and he was a nice person who helped new students.

She didn't know which was worse.

Sophia: Maybe. I'll let you know.

Ethan: Cool. See you in calc tomorrow.

She put her phone away and started the twelve-minute walk home, trying to organize her thoughts into something coherent.

Facts: 1. Ethan Price remembered her. 2. He seemed genuinely happy to see her. 3. He had a girlfriend. 4. He had a whole life here that didn't include her. 5. She still felt the same flutter when he smiled at her that she'd felt at nine years old.

Conclusion: This situation required careful management. Minimal emotional investment. Protective distance.

She made it home, survived dinner with her parents.

"How was your first day?"

"Fine."

"Did you make any friends?"

"Not really."

"Give it time, honey."

She retreated to her room to do homework she couldn't focus on.

Her phone buzzed again at 9:47.

Ethan: One more thing - there's a hockey game Friday night. Season opener. You should come. If you want. No pressure.

Sophia stared at the message for a full minute.

Going to his hockey game felt like crossing a line. Felt like admitting she wanted to be part of his world. Felt dangerous.

But she was already typing: Maybe. I'll think about it.

Ethan: Cool. It's at Bell MTS Iceplex, 7pm. I can save you a ticket if you decide.

Sophia: We'll see.

Ethan: :) Good night, Soph.

Sophia: Night.

She put her phone face-down on her nightstand and lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling.

Ethan Price had reentered her life, and every calculation she'd ever made about how to survive high school had just become completely useless.

She was going to go to that game. She knew it already, even though she was trying to pretend she didn't.

She was going to watch him play hockey in front of crowds and scouts and a future that was already written. And she was going to have to figure out how to be happy for him while simultaneously protecting her heart from wanting things that weren't hers to want.

The question was whether she was brave enough to try.

Sophia closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but all she could see was nine-year-old Ethan teaching her crossovers, saying think of it like a double helix, making her laugh when she fell.

Eight years ago, she'd lost her best friend.

Now he was back, and she had no idea what that meant.

But she was going to find out.

Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Reconnection

Tuesday, September 6th

Sophia woke up to the smell of congee.

Her mother only made congee on special occasions—first days of school, exam mornings, days when she sensed Sophia needed comfort. The smell of ginger and green onion drifted up from the kitchen, mixing with the September air coming through her window.

For a moment, lying in bed in this unfamiliar room, Sophia could pretend she was back in Brampton. That yesterday hadn't happened. That Ethan Price was still a memory from childhood, not a real person she'd have to see in calculus in forty-five minutes.

Her phone buzzed. Ethan: Morning. See you in calc?

So much for pretending.

Sophia: Yeah. See you.

She got up, showered, and dressed in jeans and a gray sweater. Downstairs, her mother was ladling congee into bowls—rice porridge cooked until it was creamy and soft, topped with shredded chicken, century egg, and cilantro.

"Sit," her mother said. "Eat."

Sophia sat. The congee was perfect—ginger warming her throat, the rice familiar and soothing. Her mother had added extra you tiao, the fried dough sticks that soaked up the porridge.

"How was yesterday?" her mother asked in Mandarin. She always switched to Mandarin at home.

"Fine," Sophia answered in English.

Her mother frowned but didn't push. "Your father said you seemed... anxious."

"First days are always anxious."

"Did you see Ethan?"

Of course her mother remembered Ethan. Dr. Lisa Chen forgot nothing, especially not the boy who'd made her daughter cry for weeks when he moved away.

"Yeah. We have calculus together."

"And?"

"And nothing. It's been eight years. We're different people now."

Her mother studied her over the rim of her tea cup—jasmine, always jasmine in the mornings. "Maybe. Or maybe you're the same people with more years between you."

Sophia didn't want to think about that. She finished her congee, grabbed her bag, and escaped before her mother could ask more questions.

The walk to school felt different today. Yesterday it had been neutral territory. Today it was the place where Ethan Price existed, and she'd have to figure out how to navigate that.

Calculus was first period. Sophia slid into the same seat as yesterday—back row, good view of the board, easy escape route to the door. The classroom filled up, and then Ethan appeared, on time today, heading straight for his seat three rows ahead.

But he paused at her desk. "Hey."

"Hey."

"So I was thinking," he said, lowering his voice so the students around them couldn't hear. "That coffee thing I mentioned. You free after school tomorrow? Wednesday?"

Sophia's brain immediately supplied reasons to say no. But her mouth said: "Yeah. I'm free."

"Cool. I can pick you up out front. Show you around the city, get coffee, whatever."

"Okay."

He smiled—that unguarded smile from childhood—and headed to his seat. Sophia spent the entire period trying to focus on derivatives while her mind kept wandering to tomorrow. Coffee with Ethan. Alone. Without Becca or Tyler or anyone else.

Just the two of them.

This was either the best or worst idea ever.

Wednesday, September 7th - After School

Sophia was at her locker after the last bell, debating whether to text Ethan and cancel, when he appeared.

"Ready?"

Her heart jumped. "Yeah. I guess."

"You guess?"

"I'm ready. Definitely ready."

He grinned. "Come on."

His truck was in the student parking lot—the same beat-up silver pickup from Monday. Sophia climbed in, and the smell hit her immediately: laundry detergent, something vaguely minty (gum? deodorant?), and underneath it all, that specific Ethan-smell she remembered from childhood.

The cab was cluttered but organized. Water bottles in the cup holders, a physics textbook wedged under her seat, a hoodie balled up in the back. Evidence of a life being lived.

"Sorry about the mess," Ethan said, starting the engine. "Between hockey and school, I basically live in this truck."

"It's fine."

He pulled out of the parking lot, one hand on the wheel, completely relaxed. "So I was thinking we'd go to The Forks. It's kind of the heart of the city. Good place to start."

"What's The Forks?"

"You'll see."

As they drove, Ethan pointed out landmarks. "That's the Canadian Tire Centre—where I used to play before varsity. Tyler's house is over there—his family basically adopted me when I moved here."

Sophia watched the city scroll past. Winnipeg in early September was beautiful—trees still green but with hints of gold, the air carrying that first edge of autumn. The light had a quality she wasn't used to from Brampton, somehow bigger and more open.

"Was it hard?" she asked suddenly. "Moving here?"

Ethan glanced at her. "Yeah. Really hard, actually."

"But you had hockey."

"I had hockey." He said it like that explained everything and nothing. "My parents had this whole vision, you know? AAA team, elite coaching, pathway to NHL. And I wanted that too, I guess. But I was nine. Mostly I just missed Millbrook. Missed... everything."

The pause before "everything" felt deliberate, like he'd been about to say something more specific but changed his mind.

"Did you make friends?" Sophia asked.

"Eventually. Tyler's family kind of adopted me that first year. His mom, Mrs. Hayes—she noticed I was eating lunch alone at the rink after practice. Just sitting there doing homework in the stands because my parents were both working and couldn't pick me up until six. So she started inviting me for dinner."

"That's nice of her."

"She saved me, honestly. Taught me that Winnipeg could be home if I let it." He turned onto Waterfront Drive. "She makes this amazing borscht. Life-changing borscht. I know that sounds stupid, but—"

"It doesn't sound stupid."

"I'd never had borscht before. Never had Ukrainian food. Never had someone outside my family just... decide I mattered." He shook his head. "Sorry. That got heavy."

"It's okay." Sophia studied his profile—the line of his jaw, the way his hands rested easy on the wheel. "What about you?" he asked. "After I left?"

Sophia looked out the window. "I quit skating."

"I know. You said. But why really?"

"It wasn't the same."

The admission hung between them. Ethan was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was softer. "I'm sorry. That I left, that it messed things up for you. I didn't think—I mean, I knew I'd miss you, but I was nine. I didn't really understand that you'd miss me too."

"We were nine. Nobody thinks about other people's feelings at nine."

"You did. You always did." He pulled into a parking lot overlooking a wide expanse of green space and water. "Okay, we're here."

The Forks was beautiful. Historic buildings converted to markets, pathways winding along the riverbank, the smell of grass and water. It was busy but not crowded—people walking dogs, riding bikes, just existing in the September sunshine.

"Come on." Ethan led her down a path toward the river. "There's this spot I want to show you."

They walked in comfortable silence. Sophia noticed everything: the crunch of gravel under their feet, the sound of the river moving. A dog barked in the distance. Someone was playing guitar near one of the buildings, the music carrying on the wind.

"Here." Ethan stopped at a bench overlooking the confluence of the Red and Assiniboine rivers. "This is where I come when I need to think."

They sat. The bench was sun-warm, the metal slightly rough under Sophia's hands. The rivers met in a swirl of current, two different colors mixing but maintaining their distinct characters for a long stretch before finally blending.

"About hockey?" Sophia asked.

"About everything." Ethan leaned back, arms spread along the top of the bench. "Hockey. School. What happens after graduation. Whether I'm actually good enough or if everyone's just being nice."

Sophia turned to look at him. "You're definitely good enough. Tyler said scouts are already watching."

"Tyler exaggerates."

"Does he?"

Ethan shrugged, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. "There's good, and then there's NHL-good. The gap is bigger than people think."

"But you're working toward it."

"Every day. Summer training, season training, off-ice conditioning, film study. My entire life is basically designed around hockey." He said it matter-of-factly, not complaining, just stating reality. "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to just... not."

"Not what?"

"Not have everything be about hockey all the time." He stopped, frustrated. "Like, my parents moved here for this. They work extra shifts so I can have the best training. If I screw this up..."

He didn't finish. This wasn't the confident guy from the hallways. This was someone tired of performing.

"What would you do?" Sophia asked. "If you could be anyone?"

Ethan laughed softly. "Honestly? I'd probably study engineering. Go to MIT or Caltech, do research, solve problems that matter. Design bridges or sustainable energy systems or something that actually helps people." He paused. "But that's not the plan."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm good at hockey. Really good. And walking away from that would be stupid when so many people would kill for this chance."

"But if it's not what you want—"

"It's not that simple." He turned to face her, and she saw how tired he looked. Not physically—he was obviously in peak condition—but something else. "My parents. They moved here. They work extra. My dad turned down promotions. Everything's been about getting me here."

"For your dream or theirs?"

The question came out sharper than she intended, but Ethan didn't look offended. Just tired.

"I don't know anymore," he admitted. "Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe they're the same thing now."

A duck paddled past in the river below, completely unconcerned with teenage existential crises. Sophia watched it for a moment, thinking.

"You know what I remember most about when we were kids?" she said finally.

"What?"

"How you'd explain things. Like crossovers—you made me think about DNA. Or math problems—you'd turn them into stories about trains and trajectories. You weren't just teaching me to skate or to solve equations. You were teaching me to see patterns, to make connections."

"You're saying I should be a teacher?"

"I'm saying you've always been someone who sees patterns and connections. That's not just hockey. That's how your brain works. Engineering is about seeing patterns and connections. So is physics. So is basically any field that involves problem-solving."

Ethan was quiet, processing. "You're still doing that too."

"Doing what?"

"Seeing people clearly. Understanding things about them they haven't said out loud." He smiled at her, and it was completely unguarded. "I forgot how much I missed talking to you."

Sophia's heart did something complicated in her chest. "We've only talked for three days."

"Still. It's different with you. Like I can just... be. Without performing."

The moment stretched between them, comfortable but charged with something Sophia didn't want to name. Then Ethan's phone buzzed, and he checked it with a slight grimace.

"Becca. Asking where I am."

Right. Becca. The girlfriend. The person who actually belonged in his present.

"You should probably tell her," Sophia said, standing up.

"I did. Earlier." But he typed out a response anyway. "Sorry. She gets anxious when I'm not where she expects me to be."

"That's..." Sophia didn't know what to say. "That she cares."

"Yeah." Ethan pocketed his phone. "She's great. Really great. We've been together since sophomore year. Everyone says we're relationship goals."

He said it like he was trying to convince himself.

"Come on," he added. "Let me show you the market before we head back."

They spent the next hour wandering through The Forks Market—a maze of local vendors selling everything from handmade jewelry to fresh produce to Indigenous art. The air inside smelled like coffee and fresh bread. Voices echoed off the high ceilings, mixing with laughter and the hiss of espresso machines.

Ethan bought them both coffee from a tiny stand run by a woman who clearly knew him.

"Ethan Price!" she exclaimed. "Where have you been all summer?"

"Training camp, Mrs. Reyes. You know how it is."

"Working too hard, as always." She turned to Sophia with warm eyes. "Is this your girlfriend? About time you brought someone nice around!"

"This is Sophia," Ethan said quickly, his face slightly flushed. "Old friend from Millbrook. Just moved here."

"Well, welcome to Winnipeg, Sophia! Any friend of Ethan's gets the good coffee." She poured them two cups from a special carafe behind the counter. "On the house."

Outside, walking through the market with their coffees, Sophia raised an eyebrow. "The good coffee?"

"She's convinced the regular stuff isn't strong enough for athletes. This is her special blend." He took a sip. "Honestly? I can't tell the difference. But it makes her happy, so..."

They found a bench overlooking the river and sat, drinking the allegedly superior coffee. The afternoon sun was warm on Sophia's face, the coffee bitter and perfect, and for the first time since moving to Winnipeg, she felt almost relaxed.

"So," Ethan said. "Tell me about badminton."

"What about it?"

"Why badminton? You could have stuck with hockey. Or done nothing."

Sophia considered the question. "My mom suggested it after I quit skating. Said I needed something athletic. I went to one practice and..." She shrugged. "I liked it. The speed, the strategy. It's like chess but with your whole body. And unlike hockey, I could do it without thinking about..."

She trailed off, but Ethan finished the thought. "Without thinking about me."

"Yeah."

"Are you good?"

"I'm competitive provincially. Made semifinals last year in Ontario. Not nationals-level, but solid."

"Sophia Chen: too modest, as always." Ethan grinned. "I bet you're amazing."

"I bet you're biased."

"Maybe. But I remember you—once you decided to learn something, you didn't stop until you mastered it. That was true for math, for skating, for everything."

"That was competitions."

"That was your whole approach to life. You had this intensity. Still do, probably."

Sophia felt her face heat. "I'm just... persistent."

"It's more than that. You're brilliant. Always were." He said it so casually, like it was obvious fact. "You're definitely going to do something important. Engineering, physics, whatever. You'll probably win a Nobel Prize."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it? You came in third at regionals in fourth grade. Against fifth and sixth graders." He bumped her shoulder with his. "I came in first, but only because you made me work for it."

"You remember that?"

"Of course I remember. We studied together for two weeks straight. You made flashcards."

"You made up songs about prime numbers."

"They worked!"

They were both laughing now, and it felt like being nine again, like the eight years had compressed into nothing and they were just Soph and Ethan, best friends who understood each other without trying.

Sophia's phone buzzed. Text from her mom: Home for dinner? Making dumplings.

She checked the time—5:47. They'd been here for over two hours.

"I should go," she said reluctantly. "My mom's making dumplings. It's like... a thing. When she makes dumplings, you show up."

"Understood. My mom's the same with pierogies." Ethan stood and stretched. "But this was good. Really good."

"It was."

They walked back to the truck, and Sophia tried to memorize the feeling of this afternoon—the ease of it, the way conversation flowed, the sense that maybe she wasn't completely alone here after all.

Ethan drove her home, the truck cab warm with late-afternoon sun, neither of them needing to fill the silence. He pulled up in front of her house exactly at 6:00.

"So," he said. "Friday. Hockey game. You coming?"

Sophia had been avoiding thinking about this decision, but sitting here in the truck with him, the answer felt obvious.

"Yeah. I'll come."

His whole face lit up. "Seriously?"

"If you're offering a ticket."

"I'm offering a ticket. I'll text you details." He hesitated, then: "Thanks for today, Soph. For listening and not thinking I'm crazy for having doubts about stuff."

"You're not crazy. You're just thinking about your life."

"Becca doesn't really get it. She thinks I'm lucky, having such a clear path. Like, why would I question something so many people want?"

Sophia didn't know what to say to that. The mention of Becca created a small barrier between them, a reminder that this afternoon existed in a bubble separate from his real life.

"I should go," she said. "See you tomorrow in calc?"

"See you tomorrow."

She climbed out of the truck and watched him drive away, then stood in her driveway for a moment, thinking.

This was dangerous. Getting close to Ethan again, spending time with him, learning about his doubts and dreams—it was dangerous because she could feel herself starting to care. Not just about their old friendship, but about him now. The person he'd become.

And he had a girlfriend. A serious girlfriend. A perfect girlfriend who probably never made him question his choices because she fit seamlessly into his world.

Sophia went inside. The smell of dumplings hit her immediately—pork and chive, her favorite. Her mother was in the kitchen, rolling out dough while her father chopped vegetables.

"You're home," her mother said in Mandarin. "Good. Come help."

Sophia washed her hands and joined her mother at the counter, falling into the familiar rhythm of dumpling-making. Flour on her hands, the dough soft and elastic, the precise fold required to seal the filling inside.

"How was your afternoon?" her mother asked.

"Good. Ethan showed me around the city."

"Ethan." Her mother's hands never stopped moving, folding dumplings with practiced efficiency. "The boy who left."

"He didn't leave. His family moved."

"And now you're friends again."

"I guess."

Her mother gave her a look—the one that meant she saw more than Sophia wanted her to see. But all she said was: "Be careful, Sophia. Sometimes the past is the past for a reason."

They finished the dumplings in silence, boiled them, and ate them with black vinegar and soy sauce. Normal. Familiar. Grounding.

But even as Sophia went through the motions—dinner, homework, getting ready for bed—all she could think about was Friday. Watching Ethan play. Being part of his world, even just for one night.

This was either going to be wonderful or it was going to hurt.

Probably both.

Thursday, September 8th - Badminton Practice

Sophia almost skipped badminton practice.

She'd gotten the email from Coach Peterson about first practice being Thursday at 3:30, and she'd spent all day talking herself out of it. She was already behind—everyone else would know each other, know the drills, be comfortable. She'd be the outsider again.

But at 3:25, she found herself standing outside the gym with her racket bag, trying to decide between facing new people or hiding in her room.

"You must be Sophia!"

A girl appeared—tall, athletic, with box braids pulled back in a high ponytail and an expression of genuine welcome. She stuck out her hand.

"Maya Foster. Team captain. Coach told me we had a new player from Ontario."

"Yeah. Hi." Sophia shook her hand. Maya's grip was firm, confident.

"Come on, I'll introduce you to everyone. Fair warning—we're intense but friendly. And we're always looking for strong players." Maya held the gym door open. "What level were you playing at in Ontario?"

"Competitive provincial. Made semifinals last year."

"Nice! We compete provincially too, and we're hoping to make nationals this year. Singles or doubles?"

"Singles mostly, but I can do doubles."

"Perfect. We need depth in both."

The gym was set up with four badminton courts, nets already in place. About fifteen girls were warming up, hitting birdies back and forth, stretching. The sound was familiar—the thwack of racket on birdie, squeaking shoes, the rhythmic back-and-forth of rallies.

"Okay everyone!" Maya clapped her hands. "Quick intro—this is Sophia Chen, transfer from Ontario. She's competitive provincial level, so she knows her stuff. Make her feel welcome."

There was a chorus of "hi" and "welcome" and then everyone went back to warming up, and somehow that was perfect. No pressure, no performance, just acceptance.

"You can join Sarah and Claire for warm-ups," Maya said, pointing to two girls hitting on the far court. "Then we'll do some drills and maybe run a round-robin if we have time."

Sophia dropped her bag and grabbed her racket. The grip felt good in her hand—familiar, comfortable. This she knew how to do.

Sarah and Claire turned out to be a doubles team—seniors who'd been playing together since freshman year. They were good, sending the birdie back and forth in a rhythm that spoke to years of partnership.

"Want to join?" Sarah called.

Sophia stepped onto the court and hit her first shot—a clean overhead clear that sailed to the back line. Something settled in her chest. This was familiar. This was hers.

They warmed up for twenty minutes, then Coach Peterson—a compact woman in her forties with sharp eyes and a sharper voice—called them together.

"All right, ladies. Welcome back, welcome to our new players. This year we're aiming high—nationals, if we work for it. That means commitment, discipline, and pushing each other to improve."

She ran through the season schedule, tournament dates, practice expectations. Then: "Let's see what we're working with. Round-robin singles, first to eleven points. Maya, you're up first with Sophia."

Sophia felt everyone's eyes on her. The new girl, being tested immediately.

Maya grinned. "Don't hold back. I won't."

They took positions on opposite sides of the court. Sophia served—a high, arcing serve that Maya returned with power. The rally that followed was fast and brutal. Maya was good—really good—with powerful smashes and quick reflexes.

But Sophia had spent two years training against some of the best players in Ontario. She knew how to read opponents, how to anticipate patterns.

Maya's smash was predictable—always crosscourt when she was in the right corner. Sophia started anticipating, returning with drops that forced Maya to the net. The rallies got longer.

At 10-9, Sophia's favor, Maya sent up a high clear. Sophia jumped, twisted, and smashed. The birdie hit just inside the line.

"Point. Game to Sophia, 11-9."

They met at the net, both breathing hard.

"Okay, you're actually really good," Maya said, grinning. "Coach wasn't kidding."

"You too. That backhand was terrifying."

"Wait until you see my serve." Maya glanced at Coach Peterson, who was taking notes. "I think you just made varsity."

The rest of practice flew by. Sophia played three more matches—won two, lost one—and by the end she was exhausted and energized. This was what she'd needed. A space that was just hers, where she was valued for her skill, not for who she used to know.

In the locker room afterward, Maya appeared next to her.

"Hey, some of us are going for smoothies at Tall Grass Prairie. Want to come?"

Sophia's instinct was to say no. To protect herself from potential rejection or awkwardness. But Maya was looking at her with genuine friendliness, and saying no felt like closing a door she might need.

"Sure. Yeah, okay."

Twenty minutes later, she was squished into a booth at a trendy juice place with Maya, Sarah, and Claire, drinking something purple and probably extremely healthy.

"So," Claire said. "What brought you to Winnipeg?"

Sophia gave the abbreviated version—parents' jobs, last-minute move, starting junior year at new school.

"That's rough," Sarah said sympathetically. "Junior year too. Everyone's so established already."

"Yeah, I've noticed."

"How are you finding St. Paul's?" Maya asked.

"It's... big. Overwhelming."

"Do you know anyone?"

Sophia hesitated. "Actually, yeah. Ethan Price—we were friends when we were kids, before he moved here."

All three girls exchanged glances.

"Ethan Price," Claire said slowly. "The hockey captain."

"Yeah."

"You're friends with Ethan Price."

"We were friends. When we were nine. I don't know what we are now."

Maya leaned forward, interested. "But you've talked to him since you moved?"

"A few times. He's been... nice. Showing me around."

"That's good," Sarah said, but she sounded cautious. "Ethan's a good guy. Really popular, obviously. But genuine, you know? Not an asshole like some of the hockey players."

"He's also very taken," Claire added. "He and Becca Martinez have been together forever. Like, relationship goals forever."

"I know. I've met her."

"Right, of course." Maya took a long drink of her smoothie. "Sorry, we're not trying to be weird. It's just—the hockey players kind of exist in their own universe at St. Paul's. Separate ecosystem."

Sophia absorbed this information. "So me being friends with Ethan is weird?"

"Not weird," Sarah said carefully. "Just... unexpected. Hockey and everyone else don't really mix."

"But you're on the badminton team," Claire added quickly. "So you're automatically one of us. And we're way cooler than hockey."

"Objectively cooler," Maya agreed. "Better endurance, faster reflexes, and we don't smell like equipment bags."

They all laughed, and Sophia felt some of her anxiety ease. These were good people. Potential real friends.

"First tournament is in three weeks—Grand Forks," Maya said. "You should come. We make a weekend of it."

"I'll think about it."

"Think hard. We need you." Maya grinned. "Plus it's good to have friends outside the school bubble, you know? People who know you for you."

Sophia understood what she was really saying: You can have your hockey-player friend, but you should have other friends too. Friends in your own world.

"Thanks," she said. "For being welcoming. I was nervous about today."

"Please. You destroyed me in that match. You have nothing to be nervous about."

They stayed for another hour, talking about badminton and teachers and the weird dynamics of St. Paul's social hierarchy. By the time Sophia got home at 6:45, she felt lighter than she had since the move.

Her phone buzzed while she was doing homework.

Ethan: How was badminton?

Sophia: Good. Made varsity, probably.

Ethan: Of course you did. Told you you were amazing.

Sophia: How was practice?

Ethan: Brutal. Coach is in playoff mode already. But good. Excited for tomorrow.

Sophia: Nervous?

Ethan: Always. But that's part of it. Can you come early? 6:30? Want you to meet the team properly.

That was probably a bad idea. That was definitely crossing some kind of line from "old friends reconnecting" into "actively part of his life."

Sophia: Okay. I'll be there.

Ethan: Perfect. See you then, Soph.

She put her phone down and tried to focus on physics homework, but all she could think about was tomorrow. Watching Ethan play. Being in his world.

Maya's words echoed: People who know you for you.

Sophia had spent four days trying to figure out who she was in this new place. But sitting here alone in her room, she realized the truth: she didn't know yet. She was still becoming.

And maybe that was okay.

Tomorrow she'd watch Ethan play hockey. She'd see him in his element, doing the thing that defined his entire existence.

And maybe then she'd understand what it meant that he'd come back into her life.

Or maybe she'd just get her heart broken again.

Either way, she was going to find out.

Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Game Night

Friday, September 9th - Bell MTS Iceplex

Sophia stood in her bedroom at 5:47 PM, staring at her closet.

She'd already changed three times. Nothing felt right. Because this wasn't just going to a hockey game. This was going to Ethan's hockey game. Where his girlfriend would be. Where his whole life would be on display.

Navy henley. Safe. Familiar.

She grabbed it before she could overthink it more.

Her phone buzzed. Ethan: You still coming? No pressure if you changed your mind.

She could back out. Say she felt sick. That her parents needed her home. That she'd forgotten about prior commitments.

Instead she typed: On my way. Be there by 6:30.

Ethan: Awesome. Meet me at the main entrance—I'll leave a pass for you.

She headed downstairs before she could change her mind again.

Her father was in the living room, grading papers. "Going somewhere?"

"Hockey game. Ethan invited me."

He looked up, and something shifted in his expression. Recognition, maybe. Or concern. "Ethan Price. From Millbrook."

"Yeah."

"The one who moved here for hockey."

"Dad."

"I'm just observing." He closed his laptop. "Do you need a ride?"

"I can walk. It's only twenty minutes."

"Text me when the game ends. I'll come get you."

"Okay."

He studied her for a moment longer, and Sophia braced herself for the lecture about being careful or not getting too attached or maintaining focus on academics. But instead he just said, "Have fun, kiddo."

The walk to Bell MTS Iceplex gave Sophia too much time to overthink.

The arena was massive—a serious facility that hosted WHL games and professional training camps. This wasn't Millbrook Community Rink with its ancient Zamboni and hand-painted boards. This was where real hockey happened.

The parking lot was already filling up when she arrived at 6:28. Cars disgorging families and teenagers and serious-looking adults with clipboards. Scouts, maybe. People who mattered.

Sophia felt underdressed and out of place.

The main entrance was crowded, but she spotted Ethan immediately. He was in full gear except for his helmet, talking to an older couple, and when he saw her, his whole face changed.

"Soph!" He excused himself and jogged over, skates making that distinctive sound on the rubber matting. "You made it!"

"I said I would."

"I know, but—" He seemed genuinely relieved. "I'm glad. Come on, I have your pass."

He led her to the will-call window and picked up a ticket plus a laminated pass on a lanyard. "This is a player guest pass. Gets you into pre-game warm-ups if you want, and down to the locker room area after. If you want," he added quickly. "No pressure."

Sophia took the pass, feeling its weight against her chest. "Pre-game?"

"Yeah, we warm up from 6:35 to 6:50. Some people like watching. But you can also just go find your seat—section 104, behind our bench. Good view."

"I'll watch warm-ups."

Another smile, bright and genuine. "Cool. Follow me."

He led her through a side entrance, down a hallway that smelled like ice and rubber and decades of sweat. They passed other players heading to the locker room, coaches reviewing plays on tablets, a woman making notes on her phone who might have been a scout.

"This is intense," Sophia said.

"Season opener. Everyone's watching." Ethan's voice had shifted to something more focused, sharper. "Scouts, parents, coaches from other teams. First chance to see how the season shapes up."

"Are you nervous?"

"Terrified." He said it lightly, but she could see the tension in his jaw, his shoulders. "But Coach says nerves are good. Means you care."

They emerged into the arena itself, and Sophia stopped.

The ice was perfect—glossy and smooth under brilliant lights that made it glow. The boards were professional-grade, the penalty boxes pristine, the scoreboard massive and digital. The cold hit her face, familiar and sharp, carrying that specific smell of ice that she hadn't realized she'd missed.

"Pretty nice, right?" Ethan was watching her reaction. "This is where the Jets do some training camps. We're lucky to play here."

"It's beautiful."

"Yeah." He pulled on his helmet. "Okay, I need to get out there. You can watch from near the glass—it'll be cold, so..." He trailed off, looking like he wanted to say something else, then shook his head. "Thanks for coming. Really."

Then he was gone, skating out onto the ice with his team, and Sophia was left standing there trying to process what just happened.

She found a spot near the glass to watch warm-ups. The team ran through drills—skating patterns, passing sequences, shots on goal. They moved with precision that came from thousands of hours of practice.

And then there was Ethan.

He was different on the ice. Faster, more fluid, completely in control. When he had the puck, everyone else adjusted to him. When he passed, the puck went exactly where it needed to go. When he shot, even in warm-ups, the sound of it hitting the boards echoed through the arena.

"You must be Sophia."

A woman had appeared beside her—mid-forties, kind face, wearing a St. Paul's Hockey jacket. "I'm Mrs. Hayes, Tyler's mom. Ethan said to look out for you."

"Hi. Yeah, I'm Sophia."

"First time watching St. Paul's play?"

"First time watching any hockey in years, actually."

Mrs. Hayes smiled. "Well, you picked a good game. Season opener against Fort Richmond—they're our biggest rivals. Should be exciting." She gestured to the ice where Ethan was demonstrating something to a younger player. "Ethan's been talking about you all week. Says you two were friends back in Millbrook."

"When we were kids, yeah."

"He was so happy when he found out you'd moved here. Kept telling Tyler about how you used to skate together, how you were the smartest kid in school." Mrs. Hayes checked her watch. "I should get to my seat—I'm helping with the booster club table tonight. But come find me after if you need anything, okay? Anyone who's important to Ethan is important to us."

She left, and Sophia stood there processing. He'd been talking about her. He'd been happy she'd moved here.

The warm-ups ended, and the teams retreated to their locker rooms. Sophia made her way to section 104, finding her seat—fourth row, dead center, perfect view of the bench and ice. The arena was filling up fast, hundreds of people settling in with popcorn and programs and team scarves.

She pulled out her phone to text her dad that she'd arrived safely, and noticed Maya had texted.

Maya: How's the hockey game?

Sophia: Hasn't started yet. Nervous.

Maya: For him or for you?

Sophia: Both?

Maya: Just remember—badminton is still cooler than hockey. ;)

Sophia: Obviously.

The lights dimmed. Music started playing. The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Bell MTS Iceplex for tonight's season opener! Please welcome your St. Paul's Crusaders!"

The team skated out in a line, and the crowd went wild. Sophia watched Ethan emerge with his teammates, watched him take his position for the national anthem, and felt something shift in her chest.

This was his world. What he'd been training for since he was nine years old. The dream his parents had sacrificed for, the future everyone expected from him.

And he'd invited her to witness it.

The puck dropped at 7:04 PM.

Sophia had watched hockey on TV a handful of times, knew the basic rules. But watching live was completely different.

The speed. The sound of bodies hitting boards. The puck disappearing and reappearing. The crowd noise washing over everything in waves.

And Ethan was everywhere.

He played center, which meant he was in the middle of everything. Taking face-offs, controlling play, creating opportunities. Within the first five minutes, he'd set up two scoring chances and stolen the puck from Fort Richmond's best player twice.

"He's having a good night," the man next to her commented to his companion. "Price is always good, but tonight he's on."

By the end of the first period, St. Paul's was up 2-0. The first goal came off Ethan's assist—a perfect pass across the slot that Tyler buried top shelf. The second he scored himself, a wrist shot that went bar-down so fast the goalie never moved.

The crowd was on their feet. Sophia found herself standing too, heart pounding, watching Ethan celebrate with his team.

During the intermission, her phone buzzed.

Ethan: How bored are you?

Sophia: Not bored. You're really good.

Ethan: We're winning, that helps. Still nervous though. Three scouts here.

Sophia: So show them why they should care.

Ethan: Yes ma'am. :)

The second period was harder. Fort Richmond came out aggressive, scoring two quick goals to tie it up. The game got physical—lots of hits, a few penalties, escalating tension. Sophia found herself on her feet without meaning to, watching every play with her hands clenched.

Ethan got checked hard into the boards midway through the period and went down.

Time seemed to slow—the sound of the hit echoing, Ethan sprawled on the ice, everyone in the arena holding their breath.

But he was up seconds later, skating back to the bench, waving off the trainer. When he returned for his next shift, he played harder, faster, like the hit had energized him.

With three minutes left in the period, St. Paul's scored on a power play. Then again thirty seconds later. By the time the buzzer sounded, they were up 4-2, and the momentum had completely shifted.

The third period was electric. Fort Richmond pulled their goalie with two minutes left, desperate to tie. The crowd was on their feet, screaming. Sophia's hands were clenched into fists.

Ethan won a face-off in his own zone, passed to Tyler, who sent it up to their right wing, who shot it the length of the ice into the empty net.

5-2. Game over.

The final buzzer sounded, and the team poured off the bench to celebrate. Sophia watched Ethan hug his teammates, watched the pure joy on his face, and felt something warm and complicated spread through her chest.

This was happiness. Not for herself, but for him. Pride mixed with something sharper, more dangerous. He'd worked his entire life for moments like this, and watching him celebrate felt like being part of something bigger than both of them.

The arena slowly emptied. Sophia stayed in her seat, not quite ready to leave. Her phone buzzed.

Ethan: Meet me at main entrance in 20? Want to introduce you to some people.

Sophia: Okay.

She made her way down, navigating through the thinning crowd. The main entrance was still busy with parents and players and people congratulating the team. She stood off to the side, trying not to be in the way.

"Sophia!" Mrs. Hayes appeared. "What did you think?"

"It was incredible. Ethan was amazing."

"He really was. Best I've seen him play in months." She lowered her voice. "Between you and me, I think having you here helped. He's been so stressed about scouts and expectations lately. Maybe having a friend here who remembers him from before all this—maybe that helped him just play."

Before Sophia could respond, the locker room doors opened and players started emerging in street clothes, hair wet from showers, equipment bags over shoulders. Parents and friends swarmed them with congratulations.

Ethan appeared, laughing at something Tyler was saying. He'd changed into jeans and a hoodie, his hair messy from being towel-dried, and Sophia thought distantly that this wasn't fair. He wasn't supposed to look like that. Wasn't supposed to make her heart stutter.

Then he saw her and his expression changed—softened into something that was just for her.

"Hey." He made his way through the crowd. "You stayed."

"You asked me to."

"Yeah, but I thought you might bail. It's late and you don't know anyone and—" He shook his head. "Never mind. Come here, I want you to meet people."

He led her over to a group of his teammates. "Guys, this is Sophia. Friend from Millbrook. Sophia, this is the team—you know Tyler, that's Marcus, Jamie, Connor, and Alex."

They all greeted her with varying degrees of interest and friendliness. Tyler was the most welcoming.

"So you're the famous Sophia," he said, grinning. "Price hasn't shut up about you all week."

Ethan elbowed him. "Shut up."

"I'm just saying! 'Sophia this, Sophia that, did you know Sophia came in third at math competition in fourth grade—'"

"I'm going to murder you."

The team laughed, and Sophia felt her face heat. But it wasn't uncomfortable, exactly. Just overwhelming.

"You played a great game," she said to Ethan, partly to change the subject.

"Thanks. It felt good." He glanced at his teammates. "Give us a minute?"

They drifted away, and suddenly it was just the two of them in a corner of the lobby, the crowd flowing around them like water around stones.

"So," Ethan said. "Honest opinion. Was it completely boring?"

"Are you kidding? It was incredible. You were incredible."

"I had a good night."

"You had a great night. That goal in the first period—I don't even know how you saw that angle."

"Just read where the goalie's weight was. He was leaning glove-side, so I went blocker." He said it like it was obvious, like reading a goalie at full speed was something anyone could do. "Did you really have fun? You're not just saying that?"

"I really had fun. It was..." Sophia searched for the right words. "It was like watching you speak a different language. One you're completely fluent in."

Ethan smiled. "That's exactly what it feels like sometimes. Like everything makes sense on the ice in a way it doesn't anywhere else."

They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, and Sophia felt the air between them change. Become charged with something she couldn't name but could definitely feel.

"Ethan!" Becca appeared, breaking the moment. She threw her arms around him, and he hugged her back automatically. "You were amazing! That second goal was perfect!"

"Thanks, Becs."

"Hi Sophia." Becca's smile was friendly but distant. The smile of someone being polite to her boyfriend's acquaintance. "Did you enjoy the game?"

"Yeah. It was great."

"Isn't he incredible?" Becca was still holding onto Ethan's arm, a casual gesture that screamed ownership. "I keep telling him he's going to be in the NHL before he knows it."

"Yeah," Sophia said quietly. "He's pretty incredible."

"We're all going to Mickey's for pizza," Becca continued. "Celebration dinner. You should come!"

But the invitation felt obligatory, and Sophia could read the subtext: This is his girlfriend. This is his life. You're just visiting.

"I should get home," Sophia said. "It's late. My dad's expecting me."

"Are you sure?" Ethan looked disappointed. "It's just pizza."

"I'm sure. But congratulations on the win. Really. You were..." She trailed off, not trusting herself to finish the sentence without revealing too much.

"Let me at least walk you out."

"I'm fine—"

"Soph. It's dark and you're waiting for your dad. I'm walking you out."

Becca's expression flickered with something—annoyance? confusion?—but she smiled. "I'll save you a seat, babe."

Ethan nodded, and they headed for the exit.

Outside, the September night was cool and crisp, carrying that first real bite of autumn. The parking lot was half-empty now, cars pulling out in streams of headlights and brake lights.

"You really don't have to wait with me," Sophia said. "I already texted my dad. He'll be here in like five minutes."

"I want to." Ethan shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket. "That was intense in there. The team, Becca, everyone wanting something. I needed a minute."

"To breathe?"

"Yeah."

They walked slowly toward the edge of the parking lot where the designated pickup area was. The sounds of the arena—voices, car engines, celebration—faded slightly.

"Can I ask you something?" Sophia said finally.

"Always."

"Do you actually want to go to that pizza place? Or are you doing it because everyone expects you to?"

Ethan stopped walking. Looked at her. "You see right through me, don't you?"

"I remember you. The real you, under all the performance."

"Sophia Chen, human lie detector." But he said it fondly. "Honestly? I'm exhausted. I want to go home, eat something quiet, maybe watch a movie. But that's not what the captain of the hockey team does after a season-opener win."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm supposed to be the leader. The guy everyone rallies around. If I skip the celebration, it looks like I don't care about the team."

"But you scored one goal and assisted on three others. I think they know you care."

He laughed softly. "Maybe. But it's complicated. Everything's always complicated."

"Most things are."

They'd reached the pickup area. A few other people were waiting, checking phones, scanning for headlights. Sophia pulled out her phone to check if her dad had texted an ETA, but Ethan stopped her.

"Wait. One more thing."

"What?"

"I just—I wanted to say thank you. For coming tonight. For being here."

"You already said thank you. Like three times."

"I know. But I mean it differently now." He ran a hand through his still-damp hair. "Having you in the stands... it felt different. Like I was playing for someone who knew me before all this. Someone who knew me when I was just... me."

Sophia's heart was doing complicated things again. "You're still you."

"Am I?" He looked at her intently, and in the parking lot lights his eyes were darker, more serious. "Sometimes I'm not sure. I've spent so many years being what everyone needs. The star player, the good son, the boyfriend, the captain. I don't know if there's any 'just me' left."

"There is." She said it with certainty. "I saw him at The Forks, talking about engineering. And just now, saying you'd rather watch a movie than go to a loud pizza place. He's still there."

"You've been here less than a week and you already see things no one else does."

"Maybe everyone else isn't looking."

The moment stretched between them, heavy with things neither of them could say. Then Ethan's phone buzzed—probably Becca wondering where he was—and the spell broke.

"I should let you go," Sophia said. "Your team's waiting."

"Yeah. Yeah, they are." But he didn't move. "Soph?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you're here. In Winnipeg, I mean. At St. Paul's. In my life again." He said it quietly, intensely, like it was the most important thing in the world. "I didn't realize how much I missed having someone who actually knows me until you showed up."

Sophia didn't trust her voice, so she just nodded.

"I'll see you Monday?" he continued. "In calc?"

"Monday. In calc."

Headlights swept across the parking lot—her father's car. Perfect timing before she could do something stupid like tell him how she felt.

"Good night, Soph."

"Good night."

She watched him walk back toward the arena, back toward his team and his girlfriend and his carefully constructed life. Then she climbed into her father's car.

"Good game?" he asked.

"Yeah. Really good."

"And Ethan? How is he?"

Sophia looked out the window at the city lights streaming past. "He's... he's exactly who I remembered. And completely different. And I think I'm in trouble."

Her father glanced at her but had the wisdom not to ask follow-up questions.

At home, Sophia went straight to her room, dropped her bag, and lay on her bed staring at the ceiling.

Her phone buzzed.

Ethan: Made it to pizza place. Loud and terrible, you made the right call.

Sophia: Told you.

Ethan: You did. You're smart like that.

A pause. Then:

Ethan: Hey, I meant what I said earlier. About being glad you're here. I know we were just kids before, and eight years is a long time, but... I don't know. Feels like no time passed at all.

Sophia: Except now we're solving derivatives instead of multiplication.

Ethan: Exactly. Same but different. Better, maybe.

Better. He thought having her here was better.

Sophia: Get some sleep. You played hard tonight.

Ethan: Yes ma'am. Good night, Soph.

Sophia: Night.

She put her phone on her nightstand and closed her eyes, but sleep was impossible.

She'd moved to Winnipeg expecting to be lonely. Expected to spend two years as an outsider, counting down until college.

But then Ethan Price had walked back into her life, and suddenly everything was complicated and confusing and terrifying and wonderful all at once.

He had a girlfriend. He had a future mapped out. He had a life that didn't have space for someone like her—someone who would question his choices and see through his performance and remind him of who he used to be.

But he'd invited her to his game. He'd walked her to the parking lot. He'd told her she mattered.

And now Sophia had to figure out what to do with that information.

She thought about nine-year-old Ethan teaching her crossovers, making her laugh, understanding her in ways no one else did. She thought about seventeen-year-old Ethan on the ice tonight, completely in his element.

She thought about the moment in the parking lot when he'd looked at her and said I don't know if there's any 'just me' left and she'd seen straight through to the boy she remembered.

Nothing about this was balanced. Everything was tilting, accelerating, heading toward something she couldn't predict but could feel approaching.

Sophia pulled her blanket tighter and admitted the truth to herself, there in the dark where no one could hear:

She was falling for Ethan Price.

Maybe she'd never stopped.

And he was with someone else, and this was going to hurt.

Saturday, September 10th - 11:47 AM

Sophia woke late on Saturday, disoriented and still tired. She'd stayed up too late replaying every moment of the game, every word in the parking lot.

Her phone showed three texts.

Ethan (10:23 AM): Good morning! Still sleeping off the game probably.

Ethan (10:45 AM): Random question - you free tomorrow? Want to take you skating. Like old times.

Ethan (11:15 AM): Okay definitely still asleep. Text me when you're alive.

Sophia stared at the messages, heart racing. He wanted to take her skating. Tomorrow. Just the two of them.

This was dangerous territory. But she was already typing.

Sophia: Sorry, just woke up. Skating sounds good. What time?

The response came immediately.

Ethan: 11 AM? I know this outdoor rink near Assiniboine Park. Where I used to go before everything got serious.

Sophia: Okay. Should I meet you there?

Ethan: I'll pick you up. 10:45. Dress warm.

Sophia: See you then.

She put her phone down and tried not to think about what this meant. Tried not to think about the fact that he was choosing to spend his Sunday with her instead of with Becca or his team or doing whatever hockey captains did on weekends.

Her phone buzzed again. Maya this time.

Maya: Badminton girls are going to a movie tonight. Want to come? 7pm showing.

A month ago, Sophia would have said yes immediately. Would have been grateful for the invitation, for potential friends, for something to do that didn't involve sitting alone in her room.

But now all she could think about was tomorrow. Skating with Ethan.

Sophia: Can't tonight. Family stuff. But thanks for the invite!

Maya: No worries. Next time!

Sophia felt a twinge of guilt. She was lying to Maya. She was prioritizing a boy over potential friends. She was making all the classic mistakes.

But she couldn't bring herself to care.

Tomorrow she'd skate with Ethan. She'd recapture something from childhood, just for a few hours.

And maybe that would be enough.

Sunday, September 11th - Morning

Ethan's truck pulled up at 10:45 exactly.

Sophia climbed in, and he grinned at her. "Ready?"

"I'm going to fall constantly and embarrass myself."

"Probably. But that's half the fun."

He drove them to a small outdoor rink near Assiniboine Park—nothing fancy, just a community rink with wooden boards and a warming house. It was almost empty, just a few families with young kids wobbling around.

"This is where I used to come when I first moved here," Ethan said, pulling skates out of his truck. "Before AAA and elite training and all that. When it was still just... fun."

"Why'd you stop?"

"Got too serious too fast, I guess." He handed her a pair of women's skates. "These were my mom's. Should fit."

Sophia laced up the skates, and muscle memory kicked in. Her body remembered this—the slight forward lean, the way her weight distributed, the anticipation of ice.

They stepped onto the rink, and Sophia immediately wobbled.

Ethan caught her elbow, laughing. "Easy. Give it a second."

"I told you I'd be terrible."

"You're not terrible. You're just out of practice."

He skated backward in front of her, holding both her hands, pulling her slowly across the ice. Just like he'd done when they were nine.

"There you go," he said. "Feel it coming back?"

"Maybe."

They made slow circuits around the rink. Sophia fell twice—once on her own, once because a toddler cut in front of her—and both times Ethan helped her up, patient and encouraging.

After about twenty minutes, her body really did remember. Her ankles remembered how to hold steady. Her legs remembered how to push and glide.

"Okay," Ethan said. "Now try a crossover."

"Absolutely not."

"Come on. For old times' sake."

"I'll die."

"You won't die. Front foot pushes under, back foot comes around and over. Remember? Double helix."

Sophia took a breath and tried. She made it three steps before losing the pattern.

"Better!" Ethan circled around her. "Again."

She tried again. And again. And on the fourth try, she made it halfway around the rink.

"YES!" Ethan was grinning like she'd just won Olympic gold. "You did it!"

"I did it," she echoed, surprised and delighted.

"Now race me."

"I'll lose."

"Obviously. But race me anyway."

They raced to the blue line, and Sophia did lose, but it didn't matter. What mattered was the cold air and the scrape of blades and the sound of Ethan's laugh when she tried to trip him at the finish line.

What mattered was that for this one morning, they were nine years old again, and nothing was complicated yet.

They skated until Sophia's legs ached and her face hurt from smiling. In the warming house afterward, drinking hot chocolate from a vending machine, she felt more herself than she had since the move.

"Thank you," she said. "For this."

"Thank you for coming." Ethan wrapped his hands around his cup. "I needed this. Just... being normal for a minute."

"This is normal for you?"

"This is who I wish I could be more often. Just some guy skating on a Sunday morning. Not the star player, not the NHL prospect. Just... Ethan."

"I like just Ethan."

He looked at her, and something passed between them. Something warm and dangerous and inevitable.

"I should probably get you home," he said finally, but he didn't move.

"Yeah. Probably."

They sat there for another few minutes, neither of them ready to leave this bubble where they could just be themselves.

Finally, reluctantly, they gathered their things and headed to the truck. The drive back was quiet, comfortable, neither of them needing to fill the silence.

Ethan pulled up in front of her house at 1:15.

"So," he said. "Same time next week?"

Sophia's heart jumped. "Next week?"

"If you want. I mean, this was fun. We could make it a thing. Sunday skating."

"What about Becca?"

The question came out before she could stop it, and Ethan's expression shifted. Became more guarded.

"Becca's... she's not really into skating. And she has debate prep on Sunday mornings." He looked at Sophia. "Is that weird? Us hanging out without her?"

Yes. It was weird. It was crossing lines. It was setting up a pattern that couldn't end well.

"No," Sophia heard herself say. "It's not weird. We're friends."

"Yeah. Friends." But the way he said it felt loaded with meaning.

"I should go," Sophia said, reaching for the door handle.

"Soph?"

"Yeah?"

"This was the best morning I've had in a really long time."

She didn't know what to say to that, so she just smiled and climbed out of the truck.

Inside, she went straight to her room, closed the door, and let herself feel everything she'd been holding back all morning.

She was in love with Ethan Price.

Not the crush she'd had at nine. Real, complicated, devastating love.

And he had a girlfriend.

In a few hours, he'd go back to his regular life, and Sophia would just be the girl he used to know.

Her phone buzzed.

Ethan: Made it home. Already miss the ice.

Sophia: Same.

Ethan: See you tomorrow in calc?

Sophia: See you tomorrow.

She put her phone down and stared at the ceiling, trying to organize her thoughts.

For now, she had this: Ethan Price skating beside her, calling her Soph, reminding her what it felt like to be known.

And she was going to hold onto that for as long as she possibly could.

Even if it hurt later.

Even if this all fell apart.

For now, it was enough.

Sunday Evening - 9:47 PM

Sophia was doing physics homework, trying not to think about tomorrow's calculus class, when her phone lit up with a notification.

Instagram. Maya had tagged her in a story.

Curious, she opened it.

It was a photo from the movie last night—Maya, Sarah, Claire, and a few other badminton girls crowded into a booth at the theater, smiling. Caption: "Missing @sophiachen but she'll be there next time!"

Sophia smiled and was about to close the app when she noticed she had a DM request.

From @beccamartinez.

Her stomach dropped.

She opened it.

Becca: Hey! Hope it's ok I'm reaching out. Just wanted to say it's really cool that you and Ethan reconnected. He's been so much happier this week. Anyway, we're having a study group Tuesday after school for calc - you should come! Would be good to get to know you better. :)

Sophia stared at the message for a long moment.

It was nice. Friendly. Exactly what the perfect girlfriend would send.

But underneath it, Sophia could read the subtext: I know something's happening. I'm watching.

She was typing a response when another notification popped up.

Instagram story from @ethanprice23.

Against her better judgment, she clicked it.

It was a photo from this morning. The outdoor rink. Sophia in the foreground, slightly blurry, mid-laugh, hands out for balance. Caption: "Teaching old tricks to old friends. Best Sunday."

He'd posted a photo of them. Of her. On his public Instagram with 2,000 followers.

She clicked through to see who'd viewed it.

847 views already.

And then she saw the comments.

@tyler_hayes23: Who's the mystery girl Price?

@beccamartinez: So this is where you were this morning! Looks fun :)

@marcus_hockey: wait who is that

@jess_thompson: omg is that the new girl from ontario???

@random_username: price has a gf tho???

This was bad.

Her phone buzzed. Text from Maya.

Maya: Ummmm so you were with Ethan Price today?? Instagram is TALKING. You ok?

Then another buzz. Different number. Unknown.

Unknown: This is Claire (from badminton). Just saw the Instagram. Want you to know whatever's happening, we've got your back. But also maybe be careful? People are already talking.

Sophia's phone kept buzzing. More Instagram notifications. More views. More comments.

And then the one that made her blood run cold.

Comment from @beccamartinez, posted three minutes ago:

@beccamartinez: @ethanprice23 We need to talk.

Sophia's phone rang.

Ethan.

She answered.

"Soph, I'm so sorry. I didn't think— I just posted a photo and now Becca's upset and people are commenting and I—"

In the background, she could hear raised voices. His parents, maybe. Or Becca. Or both.

"I have to go," Ethan said quickly. "But we'll figure this out, okay? I'll fix this."

"Ethan—"

"I have to go. I'm sorry."

He hung up.

Sophia sat on her bed watching the Instagram comments pile up.

Her phone buzzed again. Screenshot from an unknown number.

It was a group chat she wasn't in. St. Paul's students.

Hockey gossip?? Price posting mystery girl while Becca's at debate prep?

That's the new transfer. Sophia something.

Wait doesn't Becca have debate WITH HER on Tuesday? Awkward...

plot twist: old friend or new drama???

beccas gonna lose it

price is an idiot lmao

She opened Instagram again. Ethan's story was still up. Still getting views. Still getting comments.

She should text him. Tell him to take it down. Tell him they needed to stop this before it got worse.

But even as she thought it, she knew it was too late.

The damage was done.

Tomorrow she'd walk into St. Paul's, and everyone would be talking about her. About them. About the photo.

Tomorrow Becca would look at her differently.

Tomorrow everything would change.

She looked at her phone one more time. The photo was still there. Sophia mid-laugh, Ethan's caption: "Best Sunday."

For a few hours this morning, she'd forgotten about complications.

But now reality was crashing back.

Her phone buzzed one more time.

Text from Ethan.

Ethan: Took down the story. But I think a lot of people already saw it. I'm sorry. This is my fault. See you tomorrow?

Tomorrow. Calculus. Sitting three rows behind him, knowing everyone in that classroom had seen the photo. Knowing Becca had seen it.

Knowing that whatever this thing between them was, it couldn't stay hidden anymore.

She typed back: See you tomorrow.

Then she turned off her phone, lay in the dark, and tried not to think about what came next.

Just acceleration toward something she couldn't control.

She'd known this would hurt.

She just hadn't expected it to happen so soon.

End of Episode 1

Preview: Episode 2 - "Face-Off"

When an Instagram photo goes viral, Sophia and Ethan must face the consequences of their reconnection. Becca invites Sophia to a very public study session. Ethan's parents demand answers. And everyone at St. Paul's has an opinion.

But the real crisis comes when Sophia has to compete at her first badminton tournament while her personal life is falling apart. Because when you're trying to prove yourself, distractions can cost you everything.

And Sophia Chen is definitely a distraction.