The Boy Who Knew Me First

Season 1

Episode 2

by Joxy

The Boy Who Knew Me First - Season 1, Episode 2: New Lines

Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Integration

Previously On...

Two weeks ago, Sophia Chen returned to Winnipeg after six years away, reconnecting with her childhood friend Ethan Price—now the star center of St. Paul's High School's hockey team and dating the most popular girl in school. Their Sunday morning skating session at Bell MTS Iceplex reminded them both of who they used to be, before life got tangled. Before his parents' ambitions. Before her family moved away. Before Becca Martinez.

"See you Monday, Soph," he'd said, using the nickname only he remembered.

She'd driven home knowing everything had changed, and nothing had.

The problem with hot chocolate at The Forks on a late September afternoon is that it makes you believe in things that don't exist.

Sophia wrapped both hands around the paper cup, watching steam curl into air that smelled of cinnamon and burnt sugar from the nearby BeaverTails stand. She'd checked her phone twice in the last ten minutes—no new Instagram notifications, thank god—and was trying to focus on Maya Foster's story about Coach Patterson's latest motivational speech. Something involving a badminton birdie and the nature of resilience. But Sophia's attention kept drifting to the picnic table fifteen feet away.

Ethan Price sat with his back to the Red River, golden hour light making his dark hair look almost bronze. His arm rested along the back of the bench behind Becca Martinez, who was laughing at something Jordan Nakamura had just said. The whole scene looked like it belonged on St. Paul's High School's Instagram feed: beautiful people being effortlessly beautiful in a beautiful place.

"—and then she made us all hold the birdie above our heads for like five minutes," Maya was saying. "My arms are still sore. Are you even listening?"

"Yes. Birdie. Resilience. Sore arms." Sophia took a sip of hot chocolate and immediately burned her tongue. Perfect. That's what she got for not paying attention.

Maya followed her gaze, then sighed. "You know, for someone who claims to be 'just friends' with Ethan Price, you spend a lot of time watching him."

"I'm not watching him. I'm observing group dynamics. It's sociological research."

"Right. And I'm not eating this cookie, I'm conducting a taste experiment." Maya bit into her double chocolate cookie with pointed emphasis. "How's that working out for your heart?"

Before Sophia could formulate a response that sounded anything other than pathetic, Ethan turned around. His eyes found hers across the crowded market space like he'd known exactly where she was the whole time. He smiled—not the magazine-cover smile he gave everyone else, but something smaller, more real—and gestured for them to come over.

"Sociological research," Maya muttered. "Sure."

The walk across fifteen feet of weathered dock felt like crossing a border checkpoint. Sophia was hyper-aware of her jeans (old), her St. Paul's Badminton hoodie (new but not stylish), and the way her hair was probably doing that thing where it tried to escape her ponytail in five different directions. At least no one had their phones out. The last thing she needed was more social media drama.

"Sophia! Maya!" Becca Martinez shifted to make room, patting the bench beside her like they were all best friends. Which made everything so much worse. It would be easier if Becca was terrible. She wasn't. She was kind and genuine and apparently incapable of noticing that her boyfriend had entire conversations with his childhood friend using only eye contact.

"We were just talking about homecoming," Becca said as they sat down. "Are you guys going?"

"Probably," Maya said easily. She'd been in Winnipeg her whole life, transferred to St. Paul's from St. Mary's Academy freshman year, and had the kind of social confidence Sophia envied. "Sophie and I might go together. Girl squad."

Sophie. She'd been in Winnipeg three weeks and already had a second nickname. Back in Millbrook, she'd just been Sophia. Occasionally Chen. Here she was Soph (Ethan only) and Sophie (everyone else) and sometimes that girl who's really good at badminton (overheard in hallways).

"You should definitely come," Becca said warmly. "The fall dance is pretty great. They do it outside if the weather holds—lanterns and everything."

Sophia nodded, trying not to look at Ethan. She could feel him watching her the way you feel sunlight on your skin.

"Speaking of outside," Jordan said, "we were thinking of heading to the skateboard park after this. You guys in?"

"Can't," Maya said. "My mom's picking me up in twenty minutes. Family dinner thing."

"Sophie?" Jordan asked, and there was something measuring in his look, like he was testing a hypothesis.

"I don't skateboard," Sophia said quickly. "I'd just watch."

"Perfect," Ethan said, his first words since they'd joined the group. "I don't skateboard either. We can judge everyone else's form together."

Becca laughed. "Ethan Price, afraid of a skateboard but throws himself in front of hundred-mile-an-hour slap shots."

"It's about control," Ethan said, but he was still looking at Sophia. "Hockey, I know. Skateboarding?" He shrugged. "Too many variables."

Too many variables. That was exactly how Sophia felt about being here, sitting in his orbit while his girlfriend braided her perfect blonde hair and Jordan studied them both like they were characters in a play he was directing.

"Well, I'm in," Becca said, finishing her braid with a practiced twist. "Someone needs to document Jordan's inevitable fall."

"I landed that kickflip last week—"

"You landed on your ass," cut in Tyler Chen (no relation, different spelling), who played right wing on the hockey team. "There's video evidence."

The group devolved into good-natured arguing about who had the worst skateboarding track record. Sophia found herself relaxing into the conversation, offering occasional comments, mostly listening. This was nice, she realized. Normal. She could do this—be part of Ethan's world without wanting to live in it.

Then Ethan shifted, reaching for his coffee, and his knee bumped against hers under the table. He didn't move it away. Neither did she.

Maya's warning echoed in her head: How's that working out for your heart?

Not great, honestly. Not great at all.

The thing about The Forks in late September is that summer's holding on by its fingernails but autumn's already moved into its bones. The market still bustled with tourists and locals, but vendors were selling pumpkin spice everything instead of lemonade, and the trees along the riverbank were starting their slow burn from green to gold.

Sophia watched a family with three kids chase pigeons near the Children's Museum while the group finished their drinks. The smallest kid—maybe five years old—kept trying to hug the birds, arms spread wide, completely convinced this time would be different. This time they wouldn't fly away.

She understood the feeling.

"Okay," Maya said, checking her phone. "My mom's five minutes out. Sophie, you sure you don't need a ride?"

Sophia glanced at Ethan, who was watching her with an expression she couldn't read. "I'm good. Thanks though."

Maya leaned in close enough that only Sophia could hear. "Sociological research, right?"

"Shut up," Sophia muttered, but she was smiling.

After Maya left, the group migrated toward the skateboard park near the Canadian Museum for Human Rights. The building loomed in the background, all glass and limestone angles, catching the lowering sun and throwing it back in shattered pieces.

Sophia fell into step beside Ethan, half a pace behind the others. This was dangerous—being alone-but-not-alone with him. It's how they'd ended up at the iceplex on Sunday morning. It's how she kept ending up in situations where her heart had opinions her brain definitely didn't approve.

"So," Ethan said casually, "how's badminton?"

"Good. Made varsity, so that's cool. First tournament's in two weeks."

"I know. You told me. Twice." He was grinning now. "In the group chat and then again in AP Calc."

Had she? Sophia replayed the last two weeks of conversations and winced. She'd definitely mentioned it twice. Maybe three times. "I'm excited."

"You should be. Coach Patterson doesn't put juniors on varsity unless they're seriously good." He bumped her shoulder with his. "My dad knows her from the athletic director meetings. He said she called you 'championship material.'"

That falling-elevator feeling hit. "Your dad talks about me?"

"Mentioned you once. In passing." Something shifted in Ethan's expression, a cloud crossing the sun. "He and my mom want to meet you, actually. They remember you from when we were kids."

"Oh." She tried to imagine sitting across from Robert and Caroline Price, the power couple who'd moved their nine-year-old son to Winnipeg for better hockey opportunities, who had his next eight years planned down to which NCAA Division I program would give him the best shot at the NHL. "That sounds... formal."

"It is formal. That's the problem." Ethan's jaw tightened in a way that reminded her of Sunday morning, when he'd talked about MIT and engineering and all the things he wanted that weren't hockey. "They've invited you to dinner next Friday. My mom called it 'reconnecting with Ethan's childhood friend.' I call it 'vetting someone who might distract him from his hockey future.'"

The bitterness in his voice surprised her. Ethan was usually so controlled, so careful about what he showed the world. But here, with her, walking half a step behind their friends, he let it show.

"I don't have to come," Sophia said quietly.

"I want you to come." He said it fast, like he'd been holding it in. "I just wanted to warn you. They're going to ask about your academic plans, your goals, whether you're planning to stay in Winnipeg for college. They're going to measure whether you're a positive influence or a distraction."

"Which am I?"

Ethan looked at her, and for a second the world condensed to just the two of them standing on a path by the river, September light going golden, friends calling from up ahead. "Both," he said finally. "Definitely both."

Before she could ask what that meant, Becca turned back and waved. "Come on, slowpokes! Jordan's about to attempt the impossible!"

They jogged to catch up, and Sophia told herself that whatever had just happened—that moment of honesty—was just Ethan being Ethan. Open. Real. The way he was with everyone.

Except he wasn't. She'd watched him at school these past weeks. He had different versions of himself: Hockey Ethan (focused, intense), Boyfriend Ethan (attentive, charming), Student Ethan (smart but carefully not too smart), and Friend Ethan (easy, funny, well-liked).

But with her, especially when they were sort-of alone, he was just Ethan. The kid who used to quiz her on multiplication tables while they skated circles around the outdoor rink in Millbrook. The kid who cried when his family told him they were moving but pretended he was excited. The kid who wrote her letters for six months before they both got busy with new lives.

That Ethan was dangerous. That Ethan could break her heart.

Jordan's "impossible" attempt turned out to be a kickflip off a low rail, which he landed with surprising grace while Tyler filmed and provided running commentary like a sports announcer.

"And Jordan Nakamura sticks the landing! The crowd goes wild!"

"There is no crowd," Becca pointed out, but she was laughing.

"Sophia and Sophie are the crowd. Crowd of two. Still counts."

Sophia found herself laughing too, pulled into the easy rhythm of their friendship. This was what she'd been missing in Millbrook—not romance, just this. People. Connection. The casual intimacy of inside jokes and shared history she wasn't part of yet but could be, if she stayed long enough.

Ethan leaned against the fence beside her, not skating, just watching. Their shoulders touched. She didn't move away.

"Your turn," Tyler called, pointing his phone at them. "Let's see what childhood friends can do."

"Hard pass," Ethan said. "I value my face. NHL scouts don't love facial scarring."

"What about you, Sophie?" Jordan asked. "Secret skateboarding skills we should know about?"

Sophia shook her head. "I tried once. In Millbrook. I have video evidence of exactly how badly it went."

"Now I need to see this video," Becca said, coming to stand on Ethan's other side. She linked her arm through his with easy possession, and Sophia felt something twist in her chest. Not jealousy exactly. More like grief for a thing that never existed.

"It's lost to time," Sophia lied. It wasn't lost. It was on her old phone in a drawer somewhere, her thirteen-year-old self eating concrete while her Millbrook friends laughed. "Probably for the best."

"Come on," Ethan said suddenly, pushing off the fence. "If we're not skating, let's at least walk. There's somewhere I want to show Sophia."

Becca frowned slightly. "What about—"

"We'll be right back. Ten minutes." He was already walking, and Sophia found herself following like they were tethered, like she'd always follow him wherever he led.

Behind them, she heard Tyler say something she couldn't quite catch, then Jordan's response: "Dude, they've known each other since they were kids. It's not like that."

But Jordan's voice had a question in it. And Sophia realized suddenly that she wasn't the only one analyzing variables and trying to solve for X.

The "somewhere" Ethan wanted to show her turned out to be a bench overlooking the Red River, tucked behind a stand of trees that blocked the view from the skateboard park. The city stretched out across the water—St. Boniface's cathedral spire catching the last light, downtown towers beginning to glow with evening windows.

"I come here sometimes," Ethan said, sitting down. "When practice gets intense or my parents are being... a lot. It's quiet."

Sophia sat beside him, leaving careful space between them. "It's nice."

"Yeah." He was quiet for a moment, watching the river. "I meant what I said. About you being both a positive influence and a distraction."

"Ethan—"

"Let me— just, let me finish." He turned to face her, and his expression was so earnest it hurt to look at. "Having you back, it's like— I don't know how to explain this." He ran his hand through his hair again. "I remember who I was? Before everything got so... planned out. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, I—"

"And like, you make me want— the engineering thing. MIT. I actually think about it now instead of just... not thinking about it. Because that's easier, you know? Not thinking. Just following the path they—" He stopped. "That's the positive part. You make me think again."

"And the distraction part?"

He smiled, but there was something tangled in it. Took a breath. "You make me think about stuff I can't— things I can't have right now. Like MIT. Engineering. A life that's actually mine instead of—" He gestured vaguely. "And you make me remember that I used to be, like, happier? Is that weird to say? That's distracting when you're trying to stay focused on the thing everyone expects you to do."

Her heartbeat was in her ears, loud and uneven. This felt like a confession, but she couldn't tell what exactly he was confessing to. Friendship? Regret? Something more that neither of them could name?

"I don't want to mess things up for you," she said carefully.

"You won't. You couldn't." He said it with such certainty that she almost believed him. "I just needed you to know that having you here is good. Even when it's... a lot."

"A lot because of Becca?"

The question slipped out before she could stop it, and immediately she wanted to take it back. But Ethan didn't look away.

"A lot because of everything," he said quietly. "But yeah. Becca's— she's great. She's been great all summer. It's just..." He trailed off, staring at the river.

"Not what you expected?"

"Not what I—" He laughed, frustrated. "I don't feel what I'm supposed to feel. You know?" He stood up abruptly, running a hand through his hair. "We should get back. They'll— they'll think we got lost or whatever."

Sophia stood too, her mind racing. Not what I feel. What did that mean? What was he feeling? And why was he with Becca if—

"Hey." Ethan's voice pulled her back. He was holding something out to her—a fresh cup of hot chocolate from the market cart they'd passed. "Almost forgot. Extra marshmallows, right?"

She stared at the cup, then at him. "You remembered."

"Of course I remembered. You put like fifteen in your hot chocolate when we were kids. Your mom said you'd get cavities."

"She wasn't wrong." Sophia took the cup, their fingers brushing. The hot chocolate was still warm, and the marshmallows floated on top exactly the way she liked—a thick layer, already melting into sweet foam.

He'd gotten this before they even started walking. He'd planned this moment, this small gesture of remembered history.

"Thank you," she said, and meant it for more than just the drink.

"Come on." Ethan started walking back toward the skateboard park. "Jordan's probably attempted three more impossible tricks by now."

They walked in comfortable silence, drinking their hot chocolate, the sun painting everything amber and gold. Sophia thought about complicated things and feelings that didn't match and the way Ethan Price remembered her favorite ratio of marshmallows to cocoa.

Maya's voice echoed again: How's that working out for your heart?

Not great, honestly. But maybe—in this golden moment, walking beside him with marshmallows melting on her tongue and his smile still warm in her memory—maybe not great was good enough.

By the time they got back, full darkness was creeping in and the group was packing up. Jordan had indeed attempted three more tricks, eating concrete on two of them, and Tyler had enough video footage for what he kept calling his "documentary on athletic hubris."

"There you are!" Becca jogged over, looking relieved. "I was about to send a search party."

"Sorry," Ethan said easily, slipping back into Boyfriend Ethan like changing clothes. "Wanted to show Sophie the river view."

"It's pretty at sunset," Becca agreed, then noticed Sophia's hot chocolate. "Ooh, where'd you get that?"

"Ethan got it for me." Sophia held up the cup, suddenly self-conscious. Was it weird? Did girlfriends notice when boyfriends bought hot chocolate for childhood friends?

But Becca just smiled. "That's sweet. He's always doing stuff like that. Last week he brought me coffee in the middle of practice because I'd texted that I was tired." She linked her arm through Ethan's again, natural and easy. "He's a good one."

"Yeah," Sophia said, breathing getting complicated. "He is."

They all walked back through The Forks together, the market closing down for the evening, vendors pulling shutters and counting registers. Sophia found herself in the middle of the group, half-listening to Tyler and Jordan argue about the physics of skateboarding while Ethan and Becca walked slightly ahead, her head on his shoulder.

It was fine. This was fine. She could be friends with Ethan, part of his life, without wanting more. She could watch him with Becca and be happy for them. She could drink hot chocolate he'd bought her with extra marshmallows and not read anything into it beyond friendship.

She could do all of that.

She was definitely lying to herself, but sometimes lying felt safer than the truth.

By the time Sophia got home, her parents were setting the table for dinner and her little brother David was sprawled on the couch doing homework with the kind of focus that meant he was actually playing games on his phone.

"How was The Forks?" her mom asked, carrying out a steaming pot of dumplings.

"Good. Met some of Ethan's friends."

Her mom's eyebrows rose with interest. "Ethan Price? From Millbrook? I didn't know you two reconnected."

"Yeah. He goes to St. Paul's." Sophia helped set out plates, avoiding her mother's gaze. Lisa Chen had a particular talent for reading subtext, and Sophia wasn't ready to discuss the subtext of her afternoon.

"That's nice, sweetie. It's good you have a friend here."

A friend. Right. That's exactly what they were.

David looked up from his "homework." "Is he the hockey guy you used to skate with? The one whose parents were super intense?"

"That's him."

"Is he still good?"

"At hockey? Yeah. Really good. Like, probably-going-to-the-NHL good."

David made an impressed noise and went back to his phone-homework. Sophia's dad emerged from his home office, looking tired but pleased. Mark Russell was an aerospace engineer at StandardAero, one of the reasons they'd moved to Winnipeg. Better job, more opportunities, closer to family. All good reasons that didn't make Sophia miss Millbrook any less.

Except lately, she'd been missing Millbrook a little less. Lately, she'd been settling into Winnipeg like maybe it could be home.

"So," her dad said, sitting down at the head of the table. "How's school? Badminton? Social life?"

This was his weekly check-in, the engineer's approach to parenting: gather data, analyze trends, adjust variables as needed. Normally Sophia found it endearing. Tonight it felt exhausting.

"School's good. Made varsity badminton. Social life is... developing."

"That's wonderful, Sophie." Her dad beamed. "See? Moving here was the right choice."

Was it? Sophia wasn't sure. Three weeks ago she would have said no absolutely not, I want to go home. But now, after afternoons at The Forks and hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and the way Ethan's smile reached different corners when he looked at her...

"Yeah," she said finally. "Maybe it was."

After dinner, Sophia retreated to her room—still half-unpacked, still not quite hers—and pulled out her physics homework. But she couldn't focus. Her mind kept drifting back to the bench by the river, to Ethan's confession: You make me think about things I can't have right now.

She pulled out her phone, opened their text thread. No new messages since this morning when he'd sent a meme about AP Calculus that had made her snort-laugh in chemistry.

Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard. What do you say to someone who's both your oldest friend and a complete mystery? Someone who has a girlfriend but buys you hot chocolate the way you liked it when you were nine?

Finally, she typed: thanks for the hot chocolate. and for showing me your spot

Three dots appeared immediately, like he'd been waiting for her to text. Then: anytime soph

Another bubble: see you monday

Just friends, she told herself firmly. They were just friends.

But she fell asleep thinking about his hand almost-touching hers across the picnic table, and the way he'd said "both"—positive influence and distraction, all tangled up—and she wondered if maybe friendship was more complicated than she'd thought.

Or maybe she was just really bad at it.

Monday morning arrived with rain—cold, insistent, autumn rain that made Winnipeg feel smaller and grayer. Sophia parked her mom's Honda in the St. Paul's lot and sprinted for the main entrance, dodging puddles and already-soaked students.

Inside, the hallways smelled like wet clothes and teenage desperation. First day back after a weekend always had this particular energy, everyone slightly feral, readjusting to structure.

She found Maya at their usual spot by the science wing lockers, surrounded by a small crowd of badminton teammates. Priya Shah and Emma Davidson were both juniors like Sophia and Maya, both good enough to make varsity but not quite as good as Sophia, which had created a interesting dynamic. Not hostile, exactly. Just... measured.

"Sophie!" Maya waved her over. "We were just talking about Saturday's practice. Coach wants to run extra drills for your tournament."

"Can't wait," Sophia said, meaning it. Badminton made sense. Clear rules, definable outcomes, skill she could control. Unlike literally everything else in her life right now.

"Speaking of tournaments," Priya said, her dark eyes sharp with interest, "I heard you were at The Forks with Ethan Price and his crew on Saturday."

News traveled fast at St. Paul's. Sophia had been here three weeks and was still adjusting to how quickly information moved through social networks she wasn't quite part of.

"Yeah. Just hanging out."

"Just hanging out," Emma repeated, loading the words with meaning. "With Ethan Price. Who has a girlfriend."

"Becca was there too," Sophia said quickly. "The whole group was there."

"Mm-hmm." Priya exchanged a look with Emma that Sophia couldn't decode. "And then you two disappeared for like twenty minutes."

Oh god. They'd been noticed. Of course they'd been noticed. Privacy didn't exist in high school, and apparent privacy definitely didn't exist when one of you was Ethan Price.

Maya jumped in, bless her. "It's not like that. Sophie and Ethan are old friends. From before. They're just reconnecting."

"Sure," Emma said, but she was smiling. "Friends."

The bell rang, saving Sophia from having to explain something she didn't understand herself. The crowd dispersed toward first period, and Maya fell into step beside her.

"Sorry," Maya said quietly. "People are curious. Ethan doesn't usually... he's pretty exclusive with his time. Him bringing someone new into the group gets noticed."

"I'm not new. We've known each other since we were kids."

"You're new here. That's what matters." Maya hesitated, then added, "Just be careful, okay? Emma's cousin is friends with Becca. Word gets around."

Nausea hit. "There's nothing to get around. We're friends."

"I know that. You know that. Does Ethan know that?"

The question followed Sophia through the morning like a shadow. AP Calculus, European History, Chemistry—she moved through classes on autopilot, her mind chewing on Maya's words.

Did Ethan know they were just friends? Did she?

Because sitting in that hidden spot by the river, drinking hot chocolate he'd bought with her childhood preferences memorized, listening to him talk about MIT and dreams he'd shelved—that hadn't felt like just friendship.

But it had to be. He was with Becca. He'd been with Becca all summer. And even if he wasn't—even if by some miracle he felt what she felt—his parents would never approve. She was the distraction, the girl who made him remember engineering when he was supposed to be focused on hockey.

She was the variable that didn't fit the equation.

Lunch brought unexpected chaos.

Sophia had gotten used to eating with Maya and some of the badminton team at their usual table near the windows. Safe, predictable, drama-free. But today, halfway through her sandwich, Jordan Nakamura materialized beside their table with his lunch tray and his easy smile.

"Mind if I sit?" He didn't wait for an answer, just slid into the seat across from Sophia. "Tyler's got some meeting and Ethan's eating with Becca, so I'm temporarily teamless."

Maya's eyebrows climbed toward her hairline, but she moved her backpack to make room. Priya and Emma exchanged another one of those loaded looks.

"How's the documentary coming?" Sophia asked, grateful for neutral territory.

"Excellent. I've titled it Hubris on Wheels: A Cautionary Tale. Thinking of submitting it to film festivals." Jordan took a bite of his sandwich, chewed thoughtfully, then said with careful casualness, "So you and Ethan seem tight."

There it was. Apparently everyone wanted to discuss her relationship with Ethan Price today.

"We're friends," Sophia said for the third time that day. "From when we were kids."

"Right. Friends." Jordan said it the same way Emma had, with too much emphasis. "It's cool. Ethan needs more friends who knew him before he was Ethan Price, star center, future NHL draft pick. He gets weird about it sometimes."

Sophia studied Jordan, trying to figure out what game he was playing. But his expression was open, genuine. Not testing—observing.

"What do you mean, weird?" she asked.

Jordan shrugged. "Like he forgets who he actually is. Gets caught up in who everyone expects him to be." He paused. "But with you, he seems more... relaxed. Real."

Maya was watching this conversation like it was a tennis match, head swiveling between them. Priya and Emma had given up any pretense of their own discussion and were just openly listening now.

"He's always been real," Sophia said quietly. "Even when we were nine."

"Yeah." Jordan smiled, and it was warm, without agenda. "That's what he says about you too."

Before Sophia could figure out how to respond to that, the cafeteria doors opened and Ethan walked in with Becca and Tyler. They were laughing about something, Becca's hand in Ethan's, picture-perfect as always.

Ethan's eyes scanned the cafeteria, found Sophia, and something in his expression shifted. Not unhappy exactly. Just... harder to read.

He said something to Becca, who nodded, then he was walking toward their table. Jordan grinned like this was exactly what he'd expected.

"Hey," Ethan said, stopping beside Jordan. "Stealing my friends, Nakamura?"

"Someone has to keep Sophie entertained while you're otherwise occupied." Jordan's tone was light, but Sophia caught the edge underneath. A question hiding in statement form.

Ethan's jaw tightened fractionally. "Yeah, well, I'm back now."

"Good." Jordan stood, grabbing his tray. "Because I've got questions about the AP Calc homework and Sophie's better at explaining derivatives than you are."

"Rude," Ethan said, but he was smiling. "Also accurate."

Jordan left, and Ethan slid into his vacated seat like it had been waiting for him. Across the cafeteria, Sophia saw Becca watching, her expression uncertain.

"Should you—" Sophia started.

"It's fine. She's catching up with the student council people." Ethan pulled out his calc homework, covered in his careful handwriting. "So. Derivatives. Jordan wasn't lying—I have questions."

For the next twenty minutes, they worked through problems while Maya and Priya and Emma gradually drifted into their own conversations. It felt like Sunday morning at the iceplex, or those afternoons at The Forks—just the two of them, falling into old patterns, the world shrinking down to whiteboard markers and equations.

"No, look," Sophia said, leaning over to point at his work. "You're taking the derivative correctly, but you're forgetting to apply the chain rule here—"

"Oh." Ethan's hand moved to correct it, and his shoulder pressed against hers. Neither of them moved away. "That's why it wasn't working."

"The chain rule is sneaky like that."

He turned to look at her, and they were suddenly very close—closer than necessary for homework discussion. She could see the exact color of his eyes, brown with tiny flecks of gold, and the small scar through his left eyebrow from a hockey accident in eighth grade.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "For this. For making it make sense."

"That's what friends do, right?" The word felt like swallowing glass, but she said it anyway. Friends. That's what they were.

"Right." Something flickered across his face—disappointment? relief?—gone too fast to analyze. "Friends."

The bell rang, shattering the moment. Students surged toward the doors, and Ethan gathered his homework with quick efficiency.

"See you in AP Calc," he said, already backing away. "And Sophie? Thanks. Really."

Then he was gone, swallowed by the crowded hallway, and Sophia was left sitting at the table with Maya, who was looking at her with something between sympathy and exasperation.

"Just friends," Maya said flatly. "Sure, Sophie. Keep telling yourself that."

Sophia didn't answer. She couldn't. Because Maya was right, and admitting it felt like jumping off a cliff without knowing if there was water below.

So instead she gathered her stuff and headed to fifth period, her shoulder still warm where Ethan's had pressed against it, and tried very hard not to think about the way he'd looked at her when he said "friends."

Like maybe he was lying to himself too.

End of Chapter 1

Word Count: ~5,400 words

Notes for Chapter 2:

Library study session deepens their academic connection

Becca's arrival creates three-person awkwardness

Sophia walks home analyzing every interaction

Building toward tournament and his second game

His parents' dinner invitation looming

Phone conversations and text threads developing

Her badminton success paralleling his hockey season

Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Study Partners

The Millennium Library downtown was Sophia's new favorite place in Winnipeg.

Not the school library—that was too small, too full of people who knew her or wanted to know her or were analyzing her friendship with Ethan Price like it was a social experiment. No, the downtown library was perfect: huge and anonymous, with study rooms and quiet corners and the kind of focused silence that made thinking possible.

Plus, it was neutral territory. Not Ethan's world or hers, just a shared space where they could be two students working on calculus without everyone having opinions about it.

She'd been coming here every Tuesday and Thursday after badminton practice for the past week, usually alone. Getting ahead on homework, reviewing for tests, finding the kind of rhythm she'd had in Millbrook before everything got complicated.

But today—Wednesday afternoon, grey and drizzly—her phone buzzed as she was settling into her usual corner desk on the third floor.

ethan: test friday?

sophia: yeah derivatives and chain rule

ethan: im dead

ethan: jordans no help

ethan: he just keeps making jokes about deriving meaning from life

sophia: lmao thats actually pretty good

ethan: dont encourage him

ethan: study session?

ethan: can meet wherever

She should say no. She'd just spent Monday's lunch period tutoring him through the homework, and Maya's voice was still echoing in her head: Just friends. Sure, Sophie.

But her thumbs were already typing: millennium library third floor northeast corner

Another bubble: im here now

ethan: on my way

Sophia stared at her phone, her pulse stuttering in a way that had nothing to do with badminton practice. This was fine. Friends studied together. It didn't mean anything.

She was definitely lying to herself again.

Ethan arrived twenty minutes later, hair damp from the rain, backpack slung over one shoulder. He was wearing his St. Paul's Hockey hoodie and jeans that probably cost more than Sophia's entire outfit, but he moved through the library like he belonged in this space too—easy, confident, drawing eyes without seeming to notice.

"Hey," he said quietly, dropping into the chair across from her. The study desk was small, intimate, their knees almost touching underneath. "Thanks for this. I know you're busy with your tournament coming up."

"Two weeks," Sophia said, pulling out her calc textbook. "And I'm never too busy to mock your mathematical struggles."

"Wow. Brutal." But he was smiling, unpacking his own books. "This is why we're friends, Soph. You keep me humble."

Friends. There was that word again, a safety rail they both kept grabbing onto.

"Okay," Sophia said, focusing on the textbook instead of the way the afternoon light caught in his hair. "Show me where you're stuck."

For the next hour, they worked through problems with the kind of focus Sophia remembered from childhood—both of them competitive, both determined to understand not just the how but the why. Ethan was smart, she'd forgotten how smart. His parents had pushed him so hard into hockey that it was easy to miss the fact that he actually loved learning.

"Wait," he said, halfway through a particularly nasty chain rule problem. "So you're saying the derivative of the outside function, times the derivative of the inside function, times—no, that's not right."

"You're close." Sophia pulled the textbook toward her, their hands brushing. She ignored the small electric shock of contact. "Think of it like nested equations. You work from the outside in, taking derivatives at each layer."

"Like peeling an onion."

"Exactly. Except calculus makes you cry less than onions."

"Debatable," Ethan muttered, but he was working through the problem now, his handwriting careful and precise. When he got it right—the answer matching the back of the book—he looked up with such pure triumph that Sophia couldn't help laughing.

"See? You don't need me."

"I definitely need you." He said it without thinking, then seemed to realize what he'd said. "For calc. I definitely need you for calc."

"Right. Obviously." Sophia looked down at her own homework, heat creeping up her neck. "That's what I meant."

The silence that followed was full of things neither of them was saying. Outside the windows, Winnipeg was turning gray and gold in the late afternoon—that particular October light that made everything look like memory.

"So," Ethan said finally, breaking the tension. "My parents' dinner on Friday. You're still coming, right?"

Sophia had been trying not to think about that. Meeting Robert and Caroline Price felt like walking into an evaluation, which is exactly what Ethan said it was.

"If you want me to."

"I do." He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair—a gesture she remembered from childhood, his tell when he was nervous. "Fair warning though: my dad's going to ask about your academic plans. Your GPA. Where you're applying for college. He's going to assess whether you're 'appropriately ambitious.'"

"Appropriately ambitious," Sophia repeated slowly. "What does that even mean?"

"It means ambitious enough that you won't distract me, but not so ambitious that you'll— I don't know, compete with me?" Ethan's expression was tight. "It's how they evaluate everyone in my life. Like, Becca passed because she's business school, completely different track. Jordan passed because he's film. Tyler barely passed because he's hockey too, which my dad sees as— like, competition or whatever."

"That's..." Sophia searched for a word that captured how messed up that was. "Intense."

"That's my life." He said it matter-of-factly, without self-pity, which somehow made it worse. Shrugged. "They mean well. I know they mean well. They just— they have this vision. Very specific. And anything that doesn't fit..." He made a frustrated gesture. "They're terrified I'll get derailed."

"And I don't fit the vision."

"You make me think about it again." Ethan leaned forward, elbows on the desk, close enough that she could see the small scar through his eyebrow again. "You make me want— things I set aside. Years ago. MIT. Engineering. A life that's..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Mine instead of theirs. Does that make sense?"

This was dangerous territory, the same conversation they'd had at The Forks but more pointed, more raw. Sophia's whole chest went tight—hope or panic, she couldn't tell which.

"What do you want?" she asked quietly. "Really?"

Ethan looked at her for a long moment, and she watched him weigh honesty against safety. Finally, he said, "I want to— I want to play hockey because I love it. Not because it's the plan, you know? And I want to study engineering because it makes my brain—" He gestured at his head. "Like it did when we were kids. Math competitions. Remember? It felt like—" He ran his hand through his hair, jaw tight. "And I want—"

He looked away. Whatever he'd been about to say, he swallowed it.

"What?" Sophia pressed. "You want what?"

"To not disappoint anyone." He said it quickly, but she could tell that wasn't what he'd been about to say. "My parents. Coaches. The scouts who are already— they're watching. I just want to be who everyone needs me to be."

"That's not the same as being who you are."

"Maybe who I am isn't good enough."

The words landed like stones in still water. Sophia stared at him—Ethan Price, star center, straight-A student, objectively perfect in every measurable way—and saw the nine-year-old kid who'd cried because his parents were making him move away from everything he knew.

"You're wrong," she said fiercely. "Who you are is—you're not giving yourself enough credit."

"Says the girl who's known me the longest." He smiled, but it was sad. "You're biased, Soph."

"I'm right." She reached across the table without thinking, covering his hand with hers. "I've always been right about you."

They both froze, staring at her hand on his. This was too much, too intimate, too honest. Friends didn't hold hands across study tables while having conversations about identity and disappointed expectations.

Sophia started to pull away, but Ethan turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through hers. His palm was warm and calloused from hockey sticks and weight training.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "For seeing me. Not just the performance."

"Always," Sophia said, and meant it more than she'd meant anything in her life.

They sat like that for a moment—hands linked, the library quiet around them, something huge and unspoken taking up all the air in the room. Sophia felt it in her teeth, somehow. That electric almost-pain. This was crossing lines. This was definitely crossing lines.

Ethan's phone buzzed, shattering the moment. He pulled his hand away to check it, and Sophia felt the loss like cold air on skin.

"Becca," he said, typing a response. "She wants to know if I'm still coming over after this."

Right. Becca. His girlfriend. Who existed and was lovely and hadn't done anything wrong except date someone who was holding another girl's hand in a library.

"You should go," Sophia said, gathering her books. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper on her bag. "I have badminton practice anyway."

"Sophie—"

"It's fine." She stood up quickly, before she could do something stupid like cry or ask what that hand-holding had meant or beg him to stay. "Thanks for studying with me. You'll ace the test."

"Wait." Ethan stood too, catching her arm gently. "Friday. My parents' dinner. Six PM. I'll text you the address."

"Okay."

"And Sophie?" He was still holding her arm, his grip warm through her sleeve. "Thank you. For this. For understanding."

Understanding what? That he was conflicted? That she was the complication in his neat life plan? That friends sometimes held hands and it didn't mean anything?

"Sure," she said, pulling away. "That's what friends are for."

She left before he could respond, hurrying down the library stairs and out into the grey October afternoon. The rain had stopped but everything was wet—streets, trees, the bench where she sat for a moment trying to get her breathing under control.

Her phone buzzed.

ethan: im sorry

ethan: that was

Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again.

ethan: ill see you friday

Sophia stared at the message, then typed and deleted five different responses before settling on: see you friday

She shoved her phone in her pocket and started walking toward the bus stop. Her car was in the school parking lot, a twenty-minute bus ride away, but she needed the time to think. To process. To stop feeling the ghost of his hand in hers.

The bus was nearly empty—just her, an elderly woman with shopping bags, and a university student with headphones on. Sophia slumped into a window seat near the back, pressed her forehead against the cold glass, and tried to breathe.

She couldn't hold still. Her whole body was wired, restless.

She looked down at them—her left hand, the one he'd held. Turned it over, studying her palm like she could still see the imprint of his fingers. She could feel it still, the warmth of his skin, the way he'd laced their fingers together without hesitation. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like they did this all the time.

Friends didn't hold hands like that.

Sophia checked Instagram out of habit—Maya had posted a Story from badminton practice (a shuttlecock with the caption "pain is temporary, glory is forever"), Priya had tagged her in a team photo. Normal things. No drama from last weekend's skating session, thank god. The group chat had finally quieted down. But now there was this. Whatever this was.

She closed the app and stared out the window. Winnipeg rolled past—familiar now, after three weeks. The route from downtown to St. Paul's was becoming automatic. Landmarks she could name. Streets she knew.

Three weeks. She'd been here three weeks and somehow Ethan Price had become the axis her world turned on.

That was dangerous. That was so dangerous.

Sophia replayed the library scene on loop: his vulnerability about his parents, the way he'd opened up about wanting MIT and engineering and a life that was his. The moment when she'd reached across the table—what had she been thinking? She hadn't been thinking. She'd just needed to touch him, to ground him, to say I see you without words.

And he'd turned his hand over. Laced their fingers together. Held on.

Thanks for seeing me. Not just the performance.

Breathing got hard. She pressed harder against the window, watching her breath fog the glass.

The worst part—the absolutely worst part—was that she understood why he couldn't choose her. His parents had his entire future mapped out. Hockey. Maybe college, but only if it fit the plan. NHL scouts were watching. Coaches were invested. Becca was perfect for that life: supportive, appropriate, content to be the girlfriend who fit the narrative.

Sophia was chaos. Sophia made him question everything. Sophia was the variable that didn't compute.

Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out, heart jumping—but it wasn't Ethan. It was her dad, texting about dinner, asking if she wanted butter chicken or pizza.

She typed back: pizza

Then opened her thread with Ethan, staring at his last message: ill see you friday

She should create distance. Should stop studying with him, stop going to his games, stop putting herself in situations where her heart got ideas her brain couldn't support. That would be the smart thing. The safe thing.

But Sophia looked at her hand again—the one he'd held—and knew she wouldn't do the smart thing. Couldn't do it. Because for twenty minutes in that library, holding his hand across a study table while he talked about dreams he'd buried, she'd felt more herself than she had in months.

He made her feel possible.

That was worth the risk. Even if it killed her. Even if it ended badly. Even if she was just the complication he'd eventually have to manage out of his perfectly planned life.

The bus lurched to a stop at St. Paul's. Sophia gathered her bag, wiped her eyes quickly—when had she started crying?—and headed toward the parking lot.

Her car sat exactly where she'd left it that morning. Same spot. Same world. But everything felt different.

She sat in the driver's seat for a long moment, hands on the wheel, breathing. Then she pulled out her phone and looked at their text thread one more time.

ill see you friday

She typed: cant wait

Deleted it. Too eager.

Typed: sounds good

Deleted it. Too casual.

Finally settled on a heart emoji—simple, could be friendly, could be more—and hit send before she could overthink it.

Then she started the car and drove toward practice, toward normal, toward a world where she could hit shuttlecocks and not think about the way Ethan Price's hand had felt in hers.

Except she couldn't stop thinking about it. All through practice, through dinner, through homework. His hand in hers. The warmth. The rightness of it.

Maya was right. This wasn't just friendship. This was something bigger and messier and more dangerous, and Sophia had no idea what to do about it except lie to herself and pretend her heart wasn't breaking in real-time.

Badminton practice was exactly what she needed—physical, demanding, leaving no room for overthinking.

Coach Patterson had them running suicide drills, then practicing serves for thirty minutes straight. By the time they moved to scrimmages, Sophia's mind was blissfully empty of everything except shuttlecocks and footwork and the satisfying thwack of a perfect smash.

She played against Maya first, winning two games to one, then against Priya, who had a vicious serve but struggled with net play. Sophia won both games, her competitive streak fully engaged.

"You're on fire today," Maya said during water break, watching Sophia with assessing eyes. "What happened?"

"Nothing. Just focused."

"Right. And I'm the Queen of England." Maya took a long drink from her water bottle. "Does this have anything to do with Ethan Price?"

"Why does everything have to be about Ethan?"

"Because you've been checking your phone every five minutes, you have that specific look you get when you're overthinking something, and you're playing angry." Maya paused. "Also because I'm your friend and I'm worried about you."

Sophia's throat tightened. Maya had known her all of three weeks but had somehow become the person she trusted most here. It was alarming how quickly that had happened.

"We studied together," Sophia said finally. "At the library. And it was... messy."

"Messy how?"

"Messy like we held hands and he has a girlfriend messy."

Maya's eyes widened. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." Sophia squeezed her water bottle too hard, nearly spraying herself. "It didn't mean anything. He was upset about his parents and I was trying to be supportive and it just happened."

"Sophie." Maya's voice was gentle. "You know it meant something."

"He has a girlfriend," Sophia repeated, like that was an answer.

"I know. And that sucks. But pretending you don't have feelings for him isn't going to make them go away." Maya hesitated, then added, "And I don't think you're the only one with feelings."

"Don't."

"I'm just saying—"

"Don't," Sophia said more firmly. "He's with Becca. He's happy with Becca. I'm the one who doesn't fit the plan. I'm a distraction. And even if he wasn't with her, his parents would never approve. So it doesn't matter what I feel or what he feels or what any of this means."

"It matters to you," Maya said quietly.

That was the problem, wasn't it? It mattered desperately to Sophia, and it couldn't, because there was no future where this worked out. Best case scenario, she was his friend. Worst case, she was the girl who ruined his relationship and his focus and his carefully planned future.

"Back to drills," Coach Patterson called, saving Sophia from having to respond.

For the next hour, she threw herself into practice with single-minded intensity. Clear-drop-smash sequences. Net shots. Defense drills. Her muscles burned and her lungs ached and it felt good, like punishment and absolution all at once.

By the time practice ended, she was exhausted enough that thinking about Ethan felt less like emotional quicksand and more like a problem she could set aside for later.

"Better?" Maya asked as they headed to the locker room.

"Getting there."

"Good. Because we have a tournament in two weeks and I need you focused." Maya bumped her shoulder affectionately. "But also, for what it's worth? Whatever you're feeling is valid. Even if it's impossible."

Sophia managed a smile. "When did you become so wise?"

"I've always been wise. You're just now noticing."

They changed and headed out to the parking lot together. The evening was cool and clear, stars beginning to emerge over the city. Sophia's phone buzzed as she unlocked her car.

ethan: how was practice?

Her heart did that stupid flutter thing. She typed carefully: good

Another bubble: violent

Another: coach had us doing drills until we couldnt feel our legs

ethan: ha

ethan: i know that feeling

ethan: we had suicide skates today

ethan: pretty sure i left a lung on the ice

sophia: maybe youll find it before your game saturday

ethan: are you coming

ethan: to the game?

She should say no. She should create distance, protect herself, stop walking willingly into situations that would hurt.

But her thumbs typed: planning on it

ethan: good

ethan: i play better when youre watching

Sophia stared at that message for a full minute, trying to decode it. What did that mean? Why did he play better? And why was he telling her that?

Before she could figure out how to respond, another message arrived: becca says hi btw

Another bubble: shes excited youre coming to more games

Oh. Right. Becca. Who was excited that her boyfriend's childhood friend was supporting him. Because she was a good person who had no idea her boyfriend held other girls' hands in libraries.

sophia: tell her hi back

sophia: see you at school tomorrow

She drove home with the radio loud, trying to drown out the noise in her head. But Ethan's words kept echoing: I play better when you're watching.

And the worse truth underneath: she felt more herself when he was around too. Like the Sophia who'd existed in Millbrook—confident, smart, ambitious—could coexist with this new Sophia who didn't quite fit anywhere yet.

He made her feel possible. That was the problem. That was the whole entire problem.

Thursday passed in a blur of classes and homework and carefully avoiding Ethan in the hallways. She saw him at lunch, sitting with Becca and Tyler, but she ate with Maya and the badminton team and pretended she wasn't hyperaware of his location at all times.

In AP Calc, they had the test. Sophia finished early and spent the last ten minutes watching Ethan work three rows over. He was frowning in concentration, occasionally erasing and rewriting, and she could tell the exact moment he hit a chain rule problem. His shoulders tensed, then relaxed when he worked through it.

She'd helped him with that. She'd given him the tools to solve it.

When class ended, he caught up to her in the hallway.

"That was brutal," he said, falling into step beside her. "But I think I got them all. The chain rule ones especially."

"Good."

"Thanks to you." He bumped her shoulder with his, casual and easy. "Best study partner in the province."

"Just the province? I'm insulted."

"Okay, fine. Best study partner in Canada. Better?"

"Getting there."

They walked in comfortable silence toward the cafeteria. This was safe—this easy banter, this friendship. Sophia could do this. She could be his friend and nothing more and eventually her heart would catch up with her brain.

"So tomorrow," Ethan said as they approached the cafeteria doors. "My parents' place. You're still good for six?"

"Still good."

"Great." He hesitated, then added, "And Sophie? Don't worry about impressing them. Just be yourself. That's enough."

But Sophia wasn't sure being herself was enough when herself was the thing that didn't fit his equation.

Friday arrived with cold clarity: first frost of the season, car windows iced over, her breath visible in the morning air.

Sophia spent the day in a state of low-level anxiety about the dinner. What did you wear to be evaluated by your childhood friend's ambitious parents? What did you say when they asked if you were a distraction or an appropriate influence?

By the time school ended, she'd changed outfits three times in the bathroom—settling finally on dark jeans and a nice sweater that said "I'm taking this seriously but not trying too hard"—and practiced small talk in the mirror like a lunatic.

Maya found her doing this and just shook her head. "You're meeting his parents, not interviewing for NASA."

"His parents basically are NASA," Sophia muttered. "They've got his whole life planned. I'm the anomaly in their data set."

"Then be the most impressive anomaly they've ever seen." Maya hugged her. "You're brilliant and driven and nice, which is a rare combination. If they can't see that, it's their loss."

Sophia hugged back, grateful. "When did you become my emotional support person?"

"When you showed up to St. Paul's looking lost and I decided you needed a friend." Maya pulled back, grinning. "Now go. Dazzle them with your brain. Report back tomorrow."

The Price family lived in Tuxedo, one of Winnipeg's wealthy neighborhoods, in a house that was somehow both modern and traditional—lots of windows, clean lines, perfectly landscaped yard even in October. Sophia parked her mom's Honda on the street, feeling suddenly inadequate in every possible way.

Her phone buzzed.

ethan: you here?

sophia: parked outside having a small crisis

ethan: come inside

ethan: im having a bigger crisis and misery loves company

Despite her nerves, Sophia smiled. She grabbed the wine her parents had insisted she bring (even though she tried to explain that showing up with wine when you're sixteen was probably weird), and headed up the walk.

Ethan opened the door before she could knock.

"Hey," he said, and the relief in his voice was palpable. "You came."

"You doubted me?"

"Little bit, yeah." He was wearing slacks and a button-down, looking uncomfortable and formal. "Fair warning: my dad's in full interview mode and my mom's made enough food for twelve people. It's going to be intense."

"Appropriately ambitious," Sophia reminded him. "I've got this."

"Right." Ethan's expression softened. "You do. You've always got this."

He stepped back to let her in, and Sophia entered the Price family home feeling like she was crossing a border into foreign territory. The house was beautiful—hardwood floors, modern furniture, family photos on the walls showing Ethan's progression from gap-toothed kid to hockey star. But it felt more like a showroom than a home, everything a little too perfect.

"Sophia!" Caroline Price emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She was tall and elegant, blonde hair pulled back, wearing casual clothes that somehow looked formal. "It's so wonderful to see you again! You've grown up so much!"

"Thank you for having me, Mrs. Hayes." Sophia held out the wine bottle awkwardly. "My parents sent this."

"How thoughtful! Tell Susan and James hello for us." Caroline took the bottle, examining the label with a practiced eye. Then she surprised Sophia by pulling her into a brief hug. "We're so glad you and Ethan reconnected. He's been talking about you nonstop."

"Mom," Ethan said, pained.

"What? You have." Caroline smiled at them both, and there was something assessing in her gaze. "Come, dinner's almost ready. Robert's in the living room."

Robert Price was exactly what Sophia remembered, just older: tall like Ethan, dark hair going gray at the temples, the kind of handshake that evaluated grip strength. He was wearing slacks and a polo shirt, business casual at home.

"Sophia Chen," he said, his voice warm but measuring. "I remember you from Millbrook. You and Ethan were quite the pair—always competing in those math competitions."

"He usually won," Sophia said, which was mostly true.

"She's being modest," Ethan cut in. "She beat me in the regional competition when we were eight."

"By two points," Sophia added.

"A win's a win." Robert gestured toward the couch. "Please, sit. Tell me about your plans. Ethan says you're interested in engineering?"

And there it was—the evaluation beginning. Sophia sat down, acutely aware of Ethan beside her, his parents across the coffee table, and launched into the speech she'd been mentally preparing all day.

"Yes, sir. Aerospace engineering specifically. My dad works at StandardAero, so I've been exposed to the field my whole life. I'm planning to apply to MIT, Caltech, Stanford—the top programs."

"Impressive." Robert leaned back, studying her. "MIT was Ethan's first choice too, before he committed to the hockey path. Different programs though—you're aerospace, he'd be mechanical."

"Actually," Ethan said quietly, "we'd probably end up in a lot of the same core classes. The engineering curriculum overlaps significantly."

His parents exchanged a look—quick, wordless communication that Sophia couldn't decode. Caroline's smile tightened fractionally.

"Well," she said brightly, "dinner should be ready. Shall we?"

The dining room was as perfect as the rest of the house—table set with cloth napkins, wine glasses (empty for the teenagers), serving dishes arranged precisely. Caroline had made roast chicken with vegetables and potatoes, everything beautifully presented.

As they ate, the conversation flowed through safe topics: badminton, Sophia's tournament, how she was adjusting to St. Paul's. But underneath, Sophia could feel the real evaluation happening. Robert asked careful questions about her academic achievements, her extracurriculars, her time management strategies. Caroline asked about her family, her values, what she wanted from life.

They were mapping her, Sophia realized. Trying to figure out if she fit into their vision for Ethan's future, or if she was the threat he'd warned her about.

"So," Robert said during a lull in conversation, "you and Ethan have been spending quite a bit of time together. Study sessions, correct?"

"Dad," Ethan said, a warning in his voice.

"I'm just asking." Robert's tone was mild. "It's wonderful that you have a friend who shares your academic interests. Becca is lovely, but she's more business-minded. Different strengths."

The implication was clear: Becca wasn't a threat to his academic focus because she operated in a different sphere. But Sophia—smart, ambitious, interested in the same fields—she was competition. Or distraction. Or both.

"Sophia's helping me remember why I liked math and science in the first place," Ethan said, his voice steady but tight. "That's not a bad thing."

"Of course not," Caroline interjected smoothly. "We're thrilled you're maintaining your academic performance. Coach Richards mentioned you've been even more focused lately."

Coach Richards. Right. Because they tracked everything—his grades, his practice attendance, his social connections. The Price family approach to parenting was data-driven and comprehensive.

"I just want to make sure," Robert continued, still looking at Sophia, "that everyone in Ethan's life understands what's at stake. NHL scouts are already watching. The next two years determine his entire future. Any distractions—"

"I'm not a distraction, Mr. Hayes." Sophia set down her fork, meeting his gaze directly. "Ethan and I push each other to be better. We always have. That's what friends do."

The room went quiet. Ethan was staring at her with something like awe. Caroline looked surprised. Robert's expression was unreadable.

Then, slowly, Robert smiled.

"You're right," he said. "That is what friends do." He paused. "Just so we're clear on what we're talking about. Friends."

The emphasis on the last word was pointed. This wasn't just about academics or distraction. This was about Becca, about boundaries, about making sure Sophia knew her place in Ethan's carefully planned life.

"Crystal clear," Sophia said, her voice calm even though her pulse was in her throat.

"Good." Robert returned to his chicken. "Now, tell me about this badminton tournament. Ethan says you're quite talented."

The rest of dinner passed in slightly less tense conversation. They talked about sports, about Winnipeg versus Millbrook, about college application timelines. Caroline served apple pie for dessert—homemade, perfect, of course—and by the time Sophia thanked them and headed for the door, she felt wrung out and exhausted.

Ethan walked her outside, hands shoved in his pockets against the cold.

"I'm sorry," he said as soon as the door closed behind them. "My dad was being—"

"Protective," Sophia finished. "I get it. He wants what's best for you."

"No, he wants what he thinks is best for me. There's a difference." Ethan stopped at her car, looking miserable. "You handled it perfectly though. The whole 'that's what friends do' thing? He respected that."

Friends. That word again, a box they were both trapped in.

"Well," Sophia said, unlocking her car, "that's what we are, right? Friends."

"Right." Ethan's jaw tightened. "Friends."

They stood there in the cold October night, and Sophia thought about all the things she wanted to say: I hate that word. I hate that I can't tell you how I feel. I hate that your parents look at me like I'm a threat when all I want is for you to be happy.

Instead, she said, "See you at the game tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Ethan's expression shifted, something warm breaking through. "Yeah. I'll play better knowing you're there."

There it was again—that echo from his text, loaded with meaning she couldn't quite decipher. Sophia got in her car before she could do something stupid, and drove home gripping the wheel too tight.

Her phone buzzed at a red light.

ethan: thanks for surviving that

ethan: you were amazing

ethan: my parents are already discussing how "appropriate" you are

ethan: i think you passed

sophia: yay me

sophia: do i get a certificate

ethan: better

ethan: you get my eternal gratitude and first pick of study spot next week

sophia: living the dream

ethan: seriously though

ethan: thank you

ethan: for being you

ethan: for not running away

ethan: for still being my friend after experiencing the price family evaluation process

Friend. Sophia stared at that word until the car behind her honked.

sophia: always

She drove the rest of the way home on autopilot, walked through her front door to her parents asking how it went, mumbled something about it being fine, and retreated to her room.

Maya had texted: how was it? did you survive?

sophia: survived

sophia: his dad basically told me to know my place

sophia: his mom served perfect pie

sophia: i smiled through it all like a pageant contestant

maya: ugh

maya: im sorry

maya: want to talk about it?

sophia: not tonight

sophia: tomorrow?

maya: tomorrow

maya: game first emotional processing after

Sophia set her phone aside and lay back on her bed, staring at her ceiling. The dinner had confirmed what she already knew: she was the one who didn't fit. The friend who could be tolerated as long as she stayed in her lane and didn't interfere with the master plan.

And she would. She would be his friend, nothing more, because that's what he needed. Even if it killed her.

Even if every time he smiled at her or touched her hand or said she made him remember who he used to be, she felt like she was choosing to break her own heart.

Her phone buzzed one more time.

ethan: sleep well soph

sophia: you too

But she didn't sleep well. She lay awake replaying every moment of the evening—Robert's pointed questions, Caroline's measuring looks, Ethan's quiet fury on her behalf—and tried to figure out how to be satisfied with friendship when her heart wanted so much more.

Outside her window, Winnipeg glittered in the October dark, and Sophia whispered to the ceiling: "I'm not the variable in his equation. I'm just noise in the data."

If she said it enough times, maybe she'd start to believe it.

End of Chapter 2

Word Count: ~5,500 words

Notes for Chapter 3:

Game day: Sophia attending with Maya

The way Ethan plays differently when she's watching

Post-game group outing to Stella's Diner

Booth seating dynamics, legs touching under table

Homecoming conversation, group dynamics

Jordan observing, Becca noticing small things

Building tension between what they feel and what they admit

Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Game Theory

Saturday morning began with Maya's car horn blaring outside Sophia's house at nine AM, two full hours before Ethan's game.

Sophia stumbled downstairs in pajamas, squinting against October sunlight, to find Maya leaning against her ancient Civic with two coffee cups and a grin.

"Too early," Sophia called through the open door.

"Nonsense. We have important pre-game rituals to establish." Maya held up the coffees. "I brought bribes."

"What rituals? I've been to one game."

"Exactly. Amateur. We need to get you properly initiated into hockey game culture." Maya's grin widened. "Also I need to hear every detail about last night's dinner and you've been avoiding my texts."

Sophia had been avoiding texts, calls, and all forms of human contact since the Hayes family dinner. She'd spent Friday night and Saturday morning doing physics homework and trying to convince herself she was fine with being Just Friends.

"Let me get dressed," she said, surrendering. "Give me ten minutes."

"Eight," Maya called. "We're on a schedule."

Sophia made it downstairs in seven minutes—jeans, St. Paul's hoodie, hair in a messy ponytail—grabbed her coat and the coffee Maya offered, and let herself be dragged to the car.

"So," Maya said once they were driving toward the mall. "Dinner."

"It was fine."

"Liar. You texted me that his dad basically told you to know your place."

"Okay, it was terrible. But politely terrible. Like, smiling-while-explaining-boundaries terrible." Sophia took a long sip of coffee—perfectly made, extra cream—and felt marginally more human. "His parents are intense. They've got his whole life mapped out and I'm the complication that doesn't fit the plan."

"Did Ethan defend you?"

"Tried to. His dad shut it down." Sophia stared out the window at Winnipeg rolling past—strip malls and residential streets, everything starting to look familiar. "The message was clear: I can be his friend as long as I stay in my lane and don't distract him from hockey or Becca."

"That's messed up."

"That's reality." Sophia turned to look at Maya. "Where are we going? The game isn't until eleven."

"First," Maya said, pulling into the Polo Park shopping center parking lot, "we're establishing our pre-game ritual. Coffee—check. Now we need lucky game day snacks, which we will purchase from that very specific candy store that has Swedish Fish and sour keys in bulk."

"Why Swedish Fish?"

"Because they're delicious and you need something to stress-eat during the intense moments." Maya found a parking spot and turned off the engine. "Also because I've decided we're making this a Thing. You and me, game days, snacks and friendship solidarity."

Something warm uncurled in Sophia's chest. "You're making this a Thing for me."

"Obviously. You look like you're about to spontaneously combust from repressed feelings, and I refuse to let you implode before our tournament." Maya's expression softened. "Plus, you're my friend. Friends make Things."

They spent the next hour wandering the mall, purchasing entirely too much candy, trying on sunglasses they had no intention of buying, and generally existing in the kind of easy companionship Sophia had been missing since Millbrook. Maya was good at this—pulling her out of her own head, making her laugh, reminding her that life existed outside the Ethan Price emotional crisis zone.

By the time they headed to Bell MTS Iceplex, Sophia felt almost normal. Ready. She could watch a hockey game, support her friend, and keep her heart from doing stupid things.

That lasted approximately thirty seconds into warm-ups.

The thing about watching Ethan Price play hockey is that it rewires your understanding of grace.

Sophia had seen him skate before—the Sunday morning session, casual and easy—but that was Ethan at fifty percent. This was Ethan at full intensity: explosive speed, impossible precision, the kind of control that made physics look like choreography.

"Okay," Maya said beside her, watching Ethan execute a perfect wrist shot that went top shelf past the backup goalie. "I see why he's got scouts watching. That was... wow."

"Yeah," Sophia managed. Her coffee had gone cold in her hands.

They'd gotten seats three rows up from the glass, right at center ice—Maya's doing, she'd texted someone on the team to find out where the "good seats" were. The arena was maybe half full, early season Saturday game, but the energy was building. Parents, students, serious-looking adults with clipboards who were probably scouts.

"There's Becca," Maya said, nodding toward the section on the other side of the arena. Becca sat with a group of girls—student council types, perfectly coordinated in school colors—all waving enthusiastically at the ice.

Sophia felt a twist of something uncharitable. She squashed it. Becca hadn't done anything wrong. Becca was exactly what Ethan needed: uncomplicated support, clear boundaries, appropriate ambition.

Then Ethan skated past their section during warm-ups, and his head turned. Their eyes met through the glass. He smiled—not the magazine-cover smile, the real one—and deliberately shot the puck toward their section. It hit the glass directly in front of them with a satisfying thunk.

Sophia noticed phones immediately coming out around them—people filming, taking photos of warm-ups. She felt a flutter of anxiety. Last time people had their phones out around her and Ethan, it had caused problems.

Maya burst out laughing. "Oh my god, he's showing off for you."

"He's just—that's just warm-ups. Everyone shoots at the glass."

"Uh-huh. And I'm the Queen of England." Maya pulled out her phone. "I'm documenting this. Jordan needs to see it."

"Don't you dare—"

But Maya was already typing. Thirty seconds later, her phone buzzed.

"Jordan says, and I quote: 'Hayes is such a disaster. This is going to be fun to watch.'" Maya showed Sophia the text, grinning wickedly. "He also says Ethan's been quote 'weird all morning, keeps checking his phone, asked three times if we were sure you were coming.'"

Sophia's heart did something complicated. "He was probably just—"

"Sophie. Babe. Friend of my heart." Maya turned to look at her seriously. "You're allowed to admit this means something. I won't tell anyone. But you're killing yourself pretending it doesn't."

Before Sophia could figure out how to respond to that, the national anthem started. Everyone stood, hands over hearts, and the game began.

The first period was brutal—fast, physical, both teams clearly matched. Ethan played center, taking most of the faceoffs, and Sophia found herself holding her breath every time he touched the puck.

He was incredible. There was no other word for it. The way he read the ice, anticipated plays, moved like he was three steps ahead of everyone else. But there was something extra today—an edge, an intensity that seemed almost reckless.

"He's taking more chances," Maya observed during a TV timeout. "See that? He went for the wraparound instead of passing to the open wing."

She was right. Ethan was playing like he had something to prove, going for the spectacular instead of the safe. And it was working—he'd assisted on Tyler's goal five minutes in, nearly scored twice himself—but Sophia could see Coach Richards yelling from the bench about something.

The second period started with even more intensity. Ethan won the faceoff, passed back to the defense, then immediately drove toward the net. The opposing center tried to check him—hard, into the boards—but Ethan bounced off like he'd barely felt it and was back on the play in seconds.

"He's playing angry," Maya said, leaning forward. "Look at his face."

Sophia looked. Maya was right. Ethan's jaw was set, his movements sharper than usual, almost aggressive. Every shift, he was going hard—backchecking with intensity, finishing every check, playing forty-five seconds when most players could barely handle thirty.

On his third shift of the period, he nearly got in a fight. The opposing defenseman had been targeting him all game—small hooks, slashes when the refs weren't looking. This time, after Ethan beat him wide and nearly scored, the guy cross-checked him from behind.

Ethan spun around fast, dropping his gloves halfway before Tyler grabbed him, pulling him away. The ref called a penalty on the other team—two minutes for cross-checking—but Ethan skated to the bench still burning with adrenaline.

"Intensity's good," Sophia heard Jordan say from a few rows behind them. "But he needs to channel it better or he's gonna get himself suspended."

Coach Richards was clearly saying the same thing, based on his gestures. But when Ethan came back out for the power play, he was even more focused—controlled aggression instead of wild energy.

And that's when everything changed.

Then, eight minutes left in the second period, it happened.

Ethan stole the puck at center ice, deked past one defender, then another. Instead of passing to Jordan who was wide open, he went for it himself—full speed, one-on-one with the goalie. Time seemed to slow down. The defenseman was closing fast. Ethan should pull up, make the safe play.

Instead he went high glove side, impossible angle, and the puck went in so fast the goalie never moved.

The arena exploded. Sophia was on her feet screaming before she realized she'd stood up. Maya was yelling beside her, candy flying everywhere. On the ice, Ethan's teammates mobbed him—Tyler jumping on his back, Jordan pounding his helmet—but through the celebration, Ethan was already looking up.

His eyes found hers in the crowd. Found her specifically, like he'd known exactly where she was sitting. Time seemed to stretch as he skated toward their section, his teammates still celebrating around him.

Then he pointed. Directly at her. Not vague, not general—his arm extended, his finger aimed right at her face, and he was smiling that real smile, the one that wasn't performance.

Everything went sharp at the edges—the way it did before a tournament serve, her body deciding fight or flight without asking permission. The noise of the arena faded to white noise. Her hands went to her mouth without conscious decision, and she felt heat everywhere—chest, neck, cheeks, her whole torso trying to protect something.

"Oh my god," Maya said beside her, grabbing her arm. "Did he just—"

"He did," Sophia whispered, still standing, still staring. Her whole body was pulsing now, her heartbeat too loud, too fast. She couldn't hold still. "He just—in front of everyone—"

Around them, phones were up. So many phones. Recording, filming, taking photos. This moment was being captured from every angle, would be on Instagram Stories within minutes, probably already being texted to group chats. Sophia felt exposed, seen, claimed in the most public way possible.

On the ice, Tyler had noticed where Ethan was pointing and started laughing, shoving Ethan toward the bench. Jordan was grinning, shaking his head. The whole team had seen it. Everyone in their section had definitely seen it.

And across the arena—Sophia's eyes finally tracked there—Becca was standing too, clapping, but her smile had frozen. Her head turned, following Ethan's point, finding Sophia in the crowd.

Their eyes met for one horrible second. Becca's expression shifted—confused, then understanding, then hurt. Before her friend beside her said something and she sat down.

"I need to sit down," Sophia said faintly, sinking back into her seat. Her legs felt like water. She couldn't stop trembling.

"You need to process what just happened," Maya said, sitting too but keeping her hand on Sophia's arm—grounding, supportive. "He just claimed you. Publicly. In front of his girlfriend, his team, everyone. That wasn't subtle, Sophie. That was a declaration."

Sophia couldn't breathe right. The arena was still celebrating—horn blaring, crowd cheering—but all she could feel was the weight of that point. The deliberateness of it. The way Ethan had found her eyes first, like he'd needed her to know it was for her.

"He was just excited. It doesn't mean—"

"Sophie." Maya grabbed her arm. "He. Pointed. At. You. That means something."

The rest of the period passed in a blur. Sophia's hands were shaking. She kept replaying the moment—his eyes finding hers through the crowd, that deliberate point, the way he'd smiled like he'd done it just for her.

Friends didn't do that. Players didn't dedicate goals to Just Friends while their girlfriends watched from across the arena.

Her phone buzzed. Text from an unknown number: this is jordan

maya gave me your number

we need to talk after the game

about ethan

dont worry its not bad

just... we should talk

Sophia stared at the message, anxiety spiking. What did Jordan want to talk about? How much had he noticed? How much did everyone notice?

She opened Instagram, immediately regretting it. Three people had already tagged her in Stories—clips of Ethan's goal, his point, her reaction. The comments were starting: heart emojis, ship names, speculation. Her notifications were climbing by the second.

The third period was scoreless—both teams exhausted, playing defensive. St. Paul's won 3-2, Ethan's goal proving to be the game winner. As the final buzzer sounded, Sophia felt relief and dread in equal measure.

"Okay," Maya said, gathering their candy debris. "Post-game tradition: we wait for them to change, then group outing to Stella's Diner. You ready?"

"Not even a little bit."

"Perfect. Let's go."

Stella's Diner was a Winnipeg institution—red vinyl booths, chrome accents, a jukebox that still played actual records. The kind of place that served breakfast all day and knew everyone's orders by heart.

By the time Sophia and Maya arrived, half the team was already there, crowded into the big corner booth. Tyler, Jordan, a few other guys Sophia recognized from the hallways. And Ethan, freshly showered, hair still damp, wearing jeans and his St. Paul's Hockey hoodie.

He lit up when he saw her. Actually, visibly, lit up.

"Sophie! Maya!" He was sliding out of the booth, gesturing them over. "We saved you seats."

"Seats" turned out to be the booth bench next to Ethan, which required everyone shuffling around. Somehow—and Sophia would bet actual money this was Jordan's doing—she ended up pressed between Ethan and the wall, their legs definitely touching under the table.

Maya slid in across from them next to Jordan, who was watching them both with barely concealed amusement.

"Great game," Maya said to the table at large. "That goal in the second period? Insane."

"Which one?" Tyler asked. "Because Ethan's wraparound was—"

"The one where he went full solo hero mode instead of passing to me," Jordan cut in, but he was grinning. "Yeah, that was pretty sick."

Ethan shrugged, looking pleased with himself. "Felt right."

"Felt reckless," said Marcus Webb, one of the defensemen. "Coach is going to make you run drills for that."

"Worth it." Ethan turned to look at Sophia, and they were close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his eyes again. "Did you like it?"

This felt like a loaded question. Like he was asking something bigger than whether she'd enjoyed a hockey goal.

"It was incredible," Sophia said honestly. "Physics shouldn't work that way but you made it work anyway."

"Physics," Jordan said slowly, "is not how most people describe hockey goals."

"Most people aren't as smart as Sophie," Ethan said, still looking at her, and the pride in his voice made her chest tight.

The waitress arrived—Dolores, according to her name tag, probably sixty, definitely taking no nonsense from a table full of teenage hockey players. She took their orders with practiced efficiency, barely writing anything down.

Sophia ordered a grilled cheese and fries because her stomach was too knotted to handle anything complex. Ethan ordered the same thing, which he'd always done when they were kids—matching her order because "if it's good enough for Sophie, it's good enough for me."

"So," Tyler said once Dolores had left, "homecoming. Three weeks away. Everyone got their situations figured out?"

"Got my ticket," Marcus said. "Going with some friends."

"I'm taking Rachel," Tyler continued. "Finally worked up the nerve to ask."

"About time," Jordan muttered. "You've been pining since September."

"What about you, Nakamura? Got a date?"

Jordan shrugged. "Thinking about asking someone. Still deciding."

"Mysterious." Tyler turned his attention to Sophia and Maya. "What about you two? Going together? Looking for dates? Give us something to work with here."

"We're going together," Maya said firmly. "Girl squad."

"Girl squad," Sophia echoed, grateful for the easy out.

"Ethan's going with Becca, obviously," Marcus said. "Where is she, by the way?"

"Student council meeting," Ethan said, and something shifted in his posture. "She'll be here later."

The conversation moved on—homecoming planning, terrible freshman year dance stories, Tyler's detailed plan to ask Rachel that involved way too many candles and potential fire hazards. But under the table, Sophia was hyperaware of Ethan's leg pressed against hers, neither of them moving away.

This was dangerous. This was crossing lines. They were in a public place surrounded by his teammates and his girlfriend was going to show up any minute and his leg was warm against hers and she couldn't make herself move away.

Their food arrived. Sophia focused on her grilled cheese like it was the most important thing in the world. Beside her, Ethan was doing the same thing, both of them carefully not looking at each other, both of them acutely aware of every point of contact.

"Okay but seriously," Tyler said, gesturing with a fry, "that goal? I've been on the team with you for two years and I've never seen you play that aggressive. What was different today?"

Ethan shrugged, but Sophia felt him tense beside her. "Just felt focused."

"Focused," Jordan repeated, and his tone was loaded with meaning. "Sure. That's one word for it."

Marcus leaned forward, grinning. "He's been different all week. Keeps checking his phone in the locker room, smiling at nothing. Tyler thought he was sick."

"I did not—"

"You literally asked if he had a fever," Marcus interrupted. "Yesterday. In the shower."

"The point is," Tyler said, "something's got him in his feelings. And based on that goal dedication—"

"Can we not?" Ethan cut in, but he was smiling despite the embarrassment in his voice. "Can we please not do this?"

"Do what?" Maya asked innocently, though Sophia could see she was enjoying this. "Discuss the fact that you pointed at Sophie after scoring? In front of the entire arena?"

"Girl squad's got jokes," Jordan said, but he was watching Ethan with that assessing director's gaze. "But she's not wrong. That was pretty public, man."

Ethan's jaw tightened. Under the table, his leg pressed more firmly against Sophia's—whether seeking comfort or offering it, she couldn't tell.

"It was a heat of the moment thing," Ethan said finally, his voice careful. "I scored, I was excited, I saw Sophie in the crowd. That's it."

"Uh-huh," Marcus said, clearly not believing a word. "And the fact that you asked Coach three times yesterday if we were sure she was coming to the game?"

Ethan's ears went slightly red. "I didn't—"

"You did," Tyler confirmed. "Jordan and I were there. You were weirdly intense about it."

Sophia wanted to sink through the floor. Or possibly combust. Both seemed like reasonable options. Everyone was looking at them now—her and Ethan, pressed together in the booth, his leg against hers, tension thick enough to cut.

"We're friends," Sophia said, trying to rescue the situation. "Childhood friends. That's—that's allowed, right? Friends support friends?"

"Of course," Jordan said smoothly. "Though most friends don't get goal dedications. Or have dinner with each other's parents. Or look at each other like—"

"Jordan," Ethan warned.

"What? I'm just observing." Jordan's grin was wicked. "You know, for my documentary. This is great character development."

"I will end your documentary," Ethan threatened, but there was no heat in it.

Maya was watching this whole exchange with barely suppressed laughter. When she caught Sophia's eye, she mouthed: You okay?

Sophia wasn't sure. The attention was overwhelming. But also—there was something oddly thrilling about it. About everyone seeing what had been carefully hidden. About Ethan's friends teasing him about her. About being claimed, even if it complicated everything.

"So Sophie," Jordan said casually, clearly enjoying himself, "how was dinner with the Price family last night?"

The entire table went quiet at the shift. Ethan's leg tensed against hers.

"It was good," Sophia said carefully. "His parents are intense but nice."

"Intense is an understatement," Ethan muttered. "My dad practically interviewed her."

"That's what parents do," Marcus said. "They vet. My mom does the same thing with anyone I bring around."

"Sophia's not—" Ethan started, then stopped. "We're friends. From when we were kids. She's not being brought around, she's just... around."

Just around. Sophia tried not to let that sting. He was right—she was just around, just a friend, just the complication he kept having to explain.

"Sure," Jordan said, and there was definitely subtext there. "Friends."

Before Sophia could analyze what that meant, the diner door opened and Becca walked in with two other student council girls. She spotted their table immediately and headed over, smiling.

"Hey! Sorry I'm late." She slid into the booth next to Tyler, across from Ethan. "Meeting ran long. How was the game? I saw you scored, babe!"

"Yeah, felt good." Ethan's smile was warm but measured—Boyfriend Ethan, performing the role. "We were just talking about homecoming."

"Oh good! I wanted to coordinate colors." Becca pulled out her phone. "I was thinking maybe navy blue? It would look good on both of us."

"Sure, whatever you want."

Sophia focused on her fries, trying to become invisible. This was Becca's space—girlfriend, homecoming dates, coordinated colors. Sophia was just the friend sitting too close under the table.

Except Ethan hadn't moved his leg away. Even with Becca here, even in front of everyone, he kept that point of contact. And Sophia hated herself for how much that mattered.

The conversation flowed around her. Maya kept shooting her concerned looks. Jordan was watching everyone with that same assessing gaze, like he was directing a play and taking notes on each actor's performance.

Then Becca said something that made Sophia's blood freeze.

"By the way, Ethan, my parents want us to come over for dinner next Saturday. Family thing—they want to talk about your hockey season, college plans, all that." Becca paused, then added with careful casualness, "I didn't know you had dinner with Sophia's family last night."

"Other way around," Ethan corrected. "She had dinner with my parents."

"Oh." Becca's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "That's nice. Reconnecting with old friends."

The emphasis on "old friends" was pointed. Sophia wanted to sink through the floor.

"My parents invited her," Ethan said, and there was an edge in his voice. "They remembered her from when we were kids. It wasn't a big deal."

"Of course not." Becca's voice was light, but Sophia could hear the question underneath: Why didn't you tell me? Why do your parents want to meet your childhood friend? What am I supposed to think about this?

Maya kicked Sophia under the table—gentle, supportive. This is awkward and I'm here for you.

"Anyway," Becca continued, redirecting, "Saturday? Six PM? My mom's making lasagna."

"Can't," Ethan said quickly. "I have that hockey clinic thing. The youth league coaching."

"That's not until four. You'd be done by five-thirty."

"Right, but I'll be exhausted—"

"Ethan." Becca's voice was still light, but there was steel underneath. "It's one dinner. My parents specifically asked for next Saturday."

Sophia watched him struggle with it—the performance, the obligation, the box he was trapped in. Finally he nodded.

"Yeah. Okay. Six PM. Lasagna. Got it."

"Great!" Becca's smile returned to full wattage. "Now, tell me about this goal everyone keeps texting me about. Tyler said you went full showboat?"

As Ethan described the goal—downplaying it, making it sound less spectacular than it was—Sophia felt something shift in her chest. This was his life: performing for his parents, performing for his girlfriend, being who everyone needed him to be.

And she was just the person who made him remember who he used to be. The complication. The distraction. The variable.

Under the table, his leg was still pressed against hers. But it felt different now—less like connection, more like something they were both pretending wasn't happening.

The group stayed at Stella's for another hour—too much coffee, shared plates of fries, the easy chaos of people comfortable with each other. Sophia mostly listened, occasionally contributing, trying to figure out when it would be socially acceptable to leave.

Maya was her lifeline, keeping up conversation, deflecting attention when Sophia went quiet. Jordan too, surprisingly—he seemed to sense her discomfort and would steer the conversation away whenever it got too personal or too close to relationship territory.

Finally, around four PM, people started drifting away. Marcus had a family thing. Tyler needed to pick up his sister. The table emptied in waves until it was just Sophia, Maya, Ethan, Jordan, and Becca.

"We should go too," Maya said, reading Sophia's desperation. "Got homework to deal with."

"Same," Jordan said, standing. "Need to edit that documentary footage."

Which left Ethan and Becca. Couple time. As it should be.

"I'll walk you out," Ethan said, sliding out of the booth. To Becca, he added, "Be right back."

"Okay." Becca was scrolling through her phone, but Sophia saw her eyes track them as they left.

Outside, the October afternoon was cold and getting colder—the sun already lowering, shadows long. Maya and Jordan headed toward their cars, leaving Ethan and Sophia in a pocket of semi-privacy.

"Thanks for coming," Ethan said, hands shoved in his pockets. "To the game. It meant a lot."

"You played really well."

"I played better because you were there." He said it simply, like it was just fact. "I always— I just always do."

Her ribcage felt two sizes too small. "Ethan—"

"I know. I know I shouldn't— stuff like that. Saying stuff like that. I know it's a mess." He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "But it's true. When you're watching, I want to— I want to be better. The person you remember. Not just the hockey player everyone else sees, you know?"

"You are that person. You don't have to prove anything to me."

"Maybe I want to anyway." He looked at her, and the vulnerability in his expression hurt. "This is all— it's so messed up. You being back. My parents. Becca. All of it. I don't know how to—" He made a frustrated gesture. "I can't figure out how to—"

He stopped, shaking his head. "Never mind. I should— I should get back. Becca's waiting."

"Yeah. You should."

Neither of them moved.

"Ethan?" Jordan's voice came from across the parking lot. "Need something from my car. Come help?"

It was clearly a rescue—giving Ethan an excuse to leave, to end this moment before it became something neither of them could take back.

"Coming," Ethan called. Then, quieter, just to Sophia: "See you Monday?"

"See you Monday."

He walked away, and Sophia stood there in the cold, trying to understand what had just happened. What they'd almost said. What it all meant.

Maya appeared at her elbow. "You okay?"

"No."

"Yeah. I figured." Maya steered her toward the car. "Come on. Let's go consume ice cream and discuss the disaster that is your life."

"It's not a disaster."

"Sophie. Babe. Friend of my heart." Maya unlocked the car, and they both got in. "He pointed at you after scoring a goal. While his girlfriend watched. Your life is absolutely a disaster."

Sophia couldn't argue with that, so she just buckled her seatbelt and let Maya drive to the nearest DQ—because when your life was imploding, only a Blizzard would do.

They got their ice cream and sat in Maya's car in the parking lot, heater running, condensation forming on the windows like they were in their own little world.

"Okay," Maya said, attacking her Oreo Blizzard with determination. "Let's process. He dedicated a goal to you in front of everyone. Including Becca. What are you feeling?"

Sophia took a bite of her Reese's Blizzard, trying to find words for the chaos in her chest. "Guilty, mostly. But guilt that feels suspiciously like hope around the edges."

"That's valid."

"Is it though?" Sophia set down her spoon, suddenly not hungry. "He has a girlfriend, Maya. A girlfriend who was sitting right there watching him point at another girl. That's—I'm the other girl. I'm the one making him act like this."

"No." Maya's voice was firm. "He's the one making himself act like this. You're not controlling him. You're just existing, being yourself, and he's the one who can't handle it."

"But what if I'm encouraging it? What if by being around him, by going to his games, by—" Sophia's voice cracked. "What if I'm the reason he's going to mess everything up?"

Maya reached over and grabbed her hand. "Listen to me. Ethan Price is almost eighteen years old. He's smart, he's capable of making his own decisions, and if he's having feelings he can't control, that's on him to manage. Not you."

"But his parents—"

"His parents don't get to dictate who he has feelings for. And neither does Becca, honestly. I like Becca, she's great, but you can't force someone to feel what they don't feel." Maya squeezed her hand. "The real question is: what do you want?"

That was the question, wasn't it? Sophia stared out at the darkening parking lot, at the other cars with their own stories, their own complications.

"I want him," she whispered. "I want to be the person he points at. I want to be the one sitting next to him at dinner, wearing coordinated homecoming colors, being part of his actual life instead of just the complication he has to explain." She wiped at her eyes, frustrated with herself. "But I also want him to be happy. And I don't think choosing me makes him happy. It just makes everything harder."

"Or," Maya said gently, "maybe it makes things honest. Maybe all this performing he's doing—for his parents, for Becca, for everyone—maybe that's what's actually making him miserable."

Sophia didn't have an answer for that. She just ate her ice cream in silence while Maya put on music—something upbeat and empowering, because Maya was good at reading moments—and they sat there until the Blizzards were gone and Sophia felt marginally more human.

"Better?" Maya asked.

"Getting there."

"Good. Because I refuse to let you implode before our badminton tournament next weekend. I need you functional." Maya started the car. "Now let's get you home so you can overthink this in the privacy of your own room like a normal teenager."

Despite everything, Sophia laughed. "You're the worst."

"I'm the best and you know it."

End of Chapter 3

Word Count: ~5,300 words

Notes for Chapter 4:

Monday at school, Sophia processing everything

Overhearing hallway conversation between Ethan and Jordan

"Just friends" and "setting her up with someone"

Sophia's badminton tournament - playing angry, winning

Group text about Friday party

Ethan's private message: "Can we talk before the party?"

Her misunderstanding: thinks he wants to tell her about who he wants to set her up with

CLIFFHANGER: Typing and deleting responses, finally "Sure."

Her internal spiral about what this means

Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Misheard

Monday morning arrived with the kind of cold that felt personal—wind cutting through Sophia's coat, her breath visible in angry little clouds, the Honda's heater refusing to work until she was halfway to school.

She'd spent Sunday with Maya consuming ice cream and watching bad movies and carefully not discussing Ethan Price. She'd also turned off Instagram notifications after the goal point video hit fifty reposts and her mentions became unmanageable. People had opinions. So many opinions. But now it was Monday and she had to face school and him and the aftermath of Saturday's game and that conversation in the parking lot.

I play better because you were there. I always do.

Sophia parked in her usual spot and sat for a moment, gathering courage. She could do this. She could see Ethan in the hallways and in class and act like everything was normal, like her heart wasn't trying to develop its own weather system every time he looked at her.

The school parking lot was its usual Monday chaos—too many cars, too little space, everyone moving slow because weekends made them soft. Sophia grabbed her backpack and headed for the main entrance, already planning her route to avoid certain hallways.

She made it approximately ten steps before Maya intercepted her.

"Morning," Maya said, falling into step. "You look terrible."

"Thanks. You're a great friend."

"I mean it lovingly. Did you sleep?"

"Some." Sophia had actually spent most of Sunday night staring at her ceiling, replaying Saturday on loop. The goal. The point. His leg against hers. Becca's careful questions. The parking lot almost-confession. "I'm fine."

"You're a terrible liar." Maya held open the door, letting a blast of warm air hit them. "For what it's worth, Jordan texted me last night. He wants to talk to you. About Ethan."

Sophia's stomach dropped. "What about Ethan?"

"He didn't say. Just said it was important and to find him before first period." Maya squeezed her arm. "Whatever it is, I'm backup. Just text if you need extraction."

They split up at the science wing—Maya heading to her locker, Sophia going in search of Jordan. She found him at his locker near the gym, sorting through approximately seventeen hockey-related items.

"Hey," she said, and he turned, looking relieved.

"Sophie. Good." He grabbed his backpack, shut his locker. "Walk with me? We should talk."

This sounded ominous. Sophia followed him toward the less-crowded back hallway, anxiety building with each step.

"So," Jordan said once they were relatively alone, "I need to tell you something. About Ethan. And I'm breaking about fifteen bro codes by doing this, but I think you should know."

"Okay...?"

"He's into you." Jordan said it bluntly, without preamble. "Like, really into you. Has been since you showed up three weeks ago."

Sophia's ribcage felt two sizes too small. "What?"

"He won't admit it—keeps calling you his friend, keeps trying to do the right thing with Becca—but it's obvious to everyone who has working eyes." Jordan leaned against a locker, watching her carefully. "I thought you should know. Because watching you two do this dance is painful and someone needs to just say it out loud."

"He has a girlfriend."

"I know. That's the problem." Jordan sighed. "Look, Becca's great. She's been great for him all summer. But since you showed up, he's been different. More himself. Less like he's performing all the time."

"Jordan, I can't—"

"I'm not telling you to do anything," Jordan interrupted. "I'm just giving you information so you can make informed decisions. Because I think you're into him too, and I think you're both torturing yourselves trying to be appropriate."

Sophia couldn't breathe. This was too much, too direct, too honest. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because Ethan's my friend and you're becoming my friend and I'm tired of watching you both be miserable." Jordan's expression softened. "Also because I overheard his parents at the game on Saturday. They were talking about you. About how you're 'problematic' for his focus. And I think you should know what you're dealing with."

The world tilted slightly. "Problematic?"

"Their word, not mine. His dad was saying something about how Ethan's been distracted since you got here, asking questions about MIT again, spending less time on hockey focus." Jordan hesitated. "His mom said they should 'manage the situation.' Whatever that means."

Sophia felt sick. She was the problem. The variable that didn't fit. And now Ethan's parents were actively planning to manage her out of his life.

"I should go," she said, backing away. "I have to—thanks for telling me, but I really need to—"

"Sophie." Jordan caught her arm gently. "Don't freak out. Just... be aware. And maybe talk to Ethan? Actually talk, not this thing you're both doing where you dance around everything?"

Sophia nodded, not trusting her voice, and escaped before she could do something humiliating like cry in the hallway. She made it to the bathroom, locked herself in a stall, and tried to process what Jordan had just told her.

Ethan was into her. His parents thought she was problematic. Everyone could apparently see what she'd been trying to hide.

And none of it mattered because he was with Becca and his parents were planning to manage the situation and Sophia was still just the complication in his perfectly planned life.

Her phone buzzed.

maya: you okay?

maya: need extraction?

sophia: im fine

sophia: just needed a minute

sophia: see you in ap calc

maya: liar

maya: but okay

maya: im here when youre ready to talk

Sophia took three deep breaths, fixed her ponytail, and headed to first period. She could do this. She could face the day and Ethan and all of it without falling apart.

She was getting really good at lying to herself.

AP Calculus was third period, which gave Sophia two full classes to catastrophize about seeing Ethan.

By the time she walked into the classroom, she'd prepared seventeen different facial expressions ranging from "completely normal" to "definitely didn't just learn you're into me and your parents think I'm problematic."

She settled on "focused on calculus and nothing else."

Ethan was already there, sitting in his usual seat three rows over. He looked up when she entered, smiled—that real smile, not the performance one—and Sophia felt her prepared expressions crumble.

Jordan's words echoed: He's into you. Like, really into you.

She managed a small wave and slid into her seat. Pulled out her textbook. Stared at it like differential equations were the most fascinating thing in the universe.

"Hey."

Sophia looked up. Ethan was standing beside her desk, backpack slung over one shoulder, looking uncertain in a way she'd never seen him look.

"Hey," she managed.

"Can we talk? After class?"

Her whole body pulsed. "Sure."

"Great. Good." He hesitated, like he wanted to say more, then nodded and went back to his seat.

The class lasted approximately seventeen years. Every time Sophia glanced over, Ethan was either staring at his textbook with intense focus or looking at her. They made eye contact three times. Each time felt like touching a live wire.

When the bell finally rang, Sophia gathered her stuff. Her fingers wouldn't cooperate with the zipper on her bag. Ethan was waiting by the door, and they fell into step together heading toward the cafeteria.

"So," he said once they were in the hallway. "About Saturday."

"Yeah?"

"I shouldn't have said that stuff. About playing better when you're watching. It was—" He ran a hand through his hair. "It was too much. I put you in a weird position."

"You didn't—"

"I did. You're trying to be my friend and I keep making it tangled." They stopped near the science wing lockers, creating a small pocket of space in the crowded hallway. "I'm sorry. I'm going to do better. Keep things... clearer."

Clearer. Right. Friend zone, established and maintained.

"Okay," Sophia said, even though something under her sternum was squeezing—hope or panic or both. "Clearer. Good."

"Good." Ethan smiled, but it looked painful. "So we're good?"

"We're good."

They weren't good. Nothing about this was good. But Sophia nodded anyway and let him walk away toward the cafeteria, toward Becca and his normal life, while she stood there trying to remember how to breathe.

Maya found her three minutes later, still standing in the same spot.

"What happened?" Maya demanded, steering her toward their usual lunch table.

"He wants to keep things clearer." Sophia slumped into her seat. "Friend zone, officially established."

"But Jordan said—"

"I know what Jordan said. But Ethan just made it very clear that we're friends and he's going to act like it." Sophia pulled out her lunch without seeing it. "Which is good. It's what I wanted. It's what should happen."

"Sophie—"

"I'm fine." Sophia took a bite of her sandwich, chewed mechanically. "Really. This is good. Clearer is better."

Maya looked like she wanted to argue, but Priya and Emma arrived with their lunch trays and the conversation shifted to badminton—their tournament was in five days, Coach wanted extra practice sessions, they needed to coordinate rides.

Sophia let the talk wash over her, grateful for the distraction. She could do this. Friend zone was safe. Friend zone was clear.

She just had to convince her heart to cooperate.

The week passed in a blur of careful distance.

Sophia and Ethan still studied together—they had that AP Calc test on Friday and neither of them was willing to let their grades slip—but it was different now. Clearer. They sat farther apart at the library tables. No more hand-holding across study desks. No more almost-confessions.

Just friendship. Clean, safe, exactly what everyone needed.

It was killing her.

Wednesday afternoon, between classes, Sophia found herself walking past the main hallway toward the gym. She wasn't spying. She was just... taking a different route to European History. The fact that it happened to go past where hockey players usually congregated was purely coincidental.

She heard Ethan's voice first, then Jordan's, coming from around the corner near the trophy cases. Sophia should keep walking. She should absolutely keep walking.

She stopped, pressing herself against the wall, and listened. Because apparently she was that person now.

"—can't keep doing this, man." Jordan's voice, frustrated. "You need to make a decision."

"I have made a decision." Ethan sounded tired. "Becca's great. We work. I'm not going to screw that up because I have feelings for someone I can't have."

Her lungs forgot how to work for a second. Feelings for someone I can't have.

"Why can't you have her?" Jordan pressed. "You're both miserable pretending—"

"Because my parents are already on high alert. Because Becca deserves better than me breaking up with her for my childhood friend who makes me question everything. Because Sophie needs to be able to have a normal life here without me making it a mess." Ethan's voice dropped. "And because if I'm being honest, I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"Of choosing wrong. Of disappointing everyone. Of wanting something I'm not supposed to want and ruining everything in the process."

Silence. Then Jordan said quietly, "So what are you going to do?"

"The right thing." Ethan sounded resolved. "I'm going to stay with Becca, be a good boyfriend, and help Sophie meet other people. Actually, I'm thinking of setting her up with someone. Alex Chen maybe? He's pre-med, smart, nice—"

Sophia didn't hear the rest. She was backing away, blood rushing in her ears, fighting to keep her breathing quiet.

Setting her up with someone. He was going to set her up with someone because that was the right thing to do. Because she was the problem he needed to solve, the variable he needed to manage out of his equation.

She made it to the bathroom before the first tears fell, locking herself in a stall and pressing her fist against her mouth to keep the sound in.

I'm thinking of setting her up with someone.

That's what she was to him. A problem requiring a solution. A distraction requiring management. Not someone he had feelings for—despite what he'd said to Jordan—but someone he needed to neutralize so he could focus on his real life.

Her phone buzzed.

maya: where are you

maya: you missed the bell

Sophia wiped her eyes, took three shaky breaths, and texted back: bathroom

be there in a minute

She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror—red eyes, blotchy cheeks, the look of someone who'd just had her heart casually ripped out in a hallway. She splashed cold water on her face, but it didn't help. She still looked wrecked.

Setting her up with someone.

The words kept echoing. He'd said it so casually, like it was the obvious solution. Like she was a problem to be managed. A distraction to be neutralized. Not someone he cared about—not really. Just an inconvenience in his carefully planned life.

She couldn't fall apart. She had European History in five minutes, then badminton practice, and a tournament this weekend that required focus. She could cry later. She could process later.

Right now, she needed to put on her "I'm fine" face and get through the day.

European History was torture.

Sophia sat in the back row, staring at her notebook without seeing it. Mr. Thompson was lecturing about the Congress of Vienna, something about balance of power and diplomatic marriages, and normally she'd be taking notes. Normally she'd care.

But all she could think about was Ethan's voice: I'm thinking of setting her up with someone. Alex Chen maybe?

Alex Chen. She knew him vaguely—pre-med track, quiet, nice enough. Exactly the kind of person who made sense for her. Someone appropriate. Someone who wouldn't complicate Ethan's life.

Her phone buzzed silently in her pocket. Probably Maya, checking on her. Sophia didn't look.

At lunch, she couldn't face the cafeteria. Couldn't face seeing Ethan with Becca, couldn't face pretending everything was fine. She hid in the library instead, at a back table behind the stacks, and tried to eat her sandwich. It tasted like cardboard.

Maya found her anyway.

"Hey," Maya said, sliding into the seat across from her. "I've been texting you."

"Sorry. Phone's on silent."

"Sophie." Maya's voice was gentle. "What happened? You disappeared after second period looking like—" She stopped, studying Sophia's face. "Oh god. What did he do?"

"Nothing. He didn't do anything." Sophia set down her sandwich, appetite gone. "I just— I overheard him talking to Jordan. About me. About setting me up with someone so he can focus on Becca and hockey and his perfect life."

Maya's expression went from concerned to furious. "He what?"

"It's fine. He's doing the right thing. The responsible thing." Sophia's voice cracked slightly. "I'm the distraction, Maya. He's just managing the situation."

"That's not—" Maya stopped, took a breath. "Okay. First of all, you are not a distraction. You're a person with feelings who he clearly has feelings for. Second, if he's too much of a coward to deal with that honestly, that's on him. Not you."

"But I understand why he can't—"

"Stop," Maya interrupted firmly. "Stop making excuses for him. Stop understanding. He hurt you. You're allowed to be hurt."

Was she? Sophia stared at her hands—the same hands Ethan had held across a study table just yesterday. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he'd laced their fingers together and thanked her for seeing him. And now he was planning to set her up with someone else so she'd stop being a problem.

"I have badminton practice after school," Sophia said numbly. "I need to focus on that. The tournament's Saturday."

"Okay. But we're talking about this later. Real talk. Not you pretending you're fine." Maya squeezed her hand. "You're allowed to not be fine, Sophie."

Sophia nodded, but she knew she wouldn't talk about it later. She'd keep being fine, keep smiling, keep pretending her heart wasn't shattered. Because that's what you did when you were the thing someone needed to solve.

The rest of Wednesday afternoon dragged. In AP Calc, she kept her head down, avoided eye contact with Ethan across the room. She felt him looking at her—felt it like a physical thing—but she didn't look back. Couldn't.

After class, as she was gathering her books, he appeared beside her desk.

"Hey," he said. "You okay? You seemed off today."

Off. She was off. Like a light switch. Like something that needed adjusting.

"I'm fine," Sophia said, shouldering her backpack. "Just tired."

"Sophie—"

"I have to go. Badminton practice." She was moving before he could say more, before she could see whatever expression was on his face, before she could do something humiliating like cry in the hallway.

She felt him watching her leave, but she didn't turn around.

By Friday, Sophia had perfected the art of smiling while dying inside.

She smiled through AP Calc (they both aced the test). Smiled through lunch when Ethan joined their table and made everyone laugh. Smiled through badminton practice even though Coach Patterson kept asking if she was okay, she seemed off.

"Tournament tomorrow," Coach said after practice, pulling Sophia aside. "You're my top singles player. I need you sharp, focused, present. Whatever's going on in your life, set it aside for one day. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Coach."

"Good. Get some sleep tonight. Hydrate. Visualize winning." Coach squeezed her shoulder. "You've got this, Chen. I wouldn't have put you on varsity if I didn't believe in you."

Sophia nodded, grabbed her bag, and headed for the parking lot. The October evening was cold and clear, stars beginning to emerge. She should go home, eat dinner, study, sleep. Do all the responsible things.

Instead, she sat in her car and stared at her phone.

The group chat—the hockey team plus friends, which now included her—was full of messages about a party Saturday night. Tyler's house, parents out of town, low-key hangout post-game and post-tournament.

tyler: everyone better show up

tyler: im making my famous nachos

jordan: your nachos are not famous

jordan: theyre barely edible

tyler: lies and slander

becca: well be there! sounds fun

maya: me and sophie are in

maya: assuming we dont die from badminton exhaustion

Then a private message popped up, separate from the group chat. From Ethan.

ethan: can we talk before the party?

ethan: theres something i want to ask you about

Sophia stared at the message, stomach sinking. This was it. This was him setting her up with Alex Chen or whoever he'd decided was appropriate for her. This was him managing the situation, doing the right thing, solving the problem of her feelings.

She should say no. She should protect herself, create distance, stop walking into situations that would hurt.

But her thumbs were already typing: sure

Three dots appeared immediately.

ethan: meet at the forks around 5?

ethan: before we head to tylers?

sophia: okay

ethan: great

ethan: see you tomorrow

ethan: good luck at your tournament

Sophia locked her phone and dropped it in the passenger seat. Then she sat in the dark parking lot and let herself feel everything she'd been holding back all week.

He was going to tell her about someone he wanted her to date. Some nice, appropriate boy who made sense in the equations of their lives. And she was going to smile and thank him and pretend it didn't feel like her heart was being fed through a shredder.

Because that's what friends did. That's what you did when you were the complication someone needed to manage.

A knock on her window made her jump. Maya was standing outside, concern written across her face.

Sophia rolled down the window. "Hey."

"I saw your car still here." Maya tilted her head, studying her. "You okay?"

"Not really."

"Want to talk about it?"

Did she? Sophia looked at Maya—her friend, her teammate, the person who'd adopted her three weeks ago and refused to let her suffer alone—and felt something break loose.

"He's going to set me up with someone," she said, voice cracking. "I overheard him talking to Jordan. He has feelings for me but he's doing the 'right thing,' which apparently means setting me up with Alex Chen or someone equally appropriate so he can stay with Becca and I can stop being a problem."

Maya's expression went from concerned to furious in about two seconds. "Are you kidding me?"

"Nope. He wants to talk tomorrow before the party. About something he wants to ask me. Which obviously means—"

"Which means he's an idiot." Maya pulled open the car door. "Move over. We're sitting here until you process this like a normal human instead of whatever self-destructive thing you're planning to do."

Sophia moved over. Maya climbed into the driver's seat, shut the door, and turned to face her.

"Okay. Real talk. Do you have feelings for him?"

"Yes," Sophia whispered. "Everything. All at once. I can't stop."

"And he has feelings for you."

"But he's with Becca. And his parents hate me. And I'm the distraction that's messing up his focus." Sophia's eyes were burning. "I'm the variable that doesn't fit the equation, Maya. And he's trying to solve for a future that doesn't include me screwing everything up."

"Sophie. Babe." Maya grabbed her hands. "You are not the problem here. You are a brilliant, amazing person who makes him remember who he actually is under all the performance. If his parents can't see that, if he's too scared to choose what he actually wants, that's on them. Not you."

"But I understand why he's scared. I get it. There's so much at stake—his hockey future, his family expectations, everything. How can I ask him to risk that for me?"

"You're not asking. That's the problem." Maya squeezed her hands. "You're just existing, being yourself, and he's the one who can't handle it. That's not fair to you."

Sophia knew Maya was right. But knowing didn't make it hurt less.

"Tomorrow," Maya said firmly, "you're going to kill it at your tournament. You're going to play angry and win every match. Then you're going to meet him at The Forks, listen to whatever he has to say, and decide what YOU want. Not what's convenient for him, not what his parents approve of, but what you actually want."

"What if what I want isn't possible?"

"Then at least you'll know. And you can start moving on instead of being stuck in this limbo." Maya pulled her into a hug. "But Sophie? I don't think it's impossible. I think he's just scared. And maybe if you tell him how you actually feel—"

"I can't." Sophia pulled back, wiping her eyes. "He's with Becca. I can't be the girl who confesses feelings to someone else's boyfriend. That's not who I am."

"So you're just going to let him set you up with Alex Chen?"

"I'm going to smile and thank him and pretend I'm fine." Sophia's voice was steady now, resolved. "Because that's what friends do. And if friendship is all he can offer, I'll take it. Because having him in my life as a friend is better than not having him at all."

Maya looked like she wanted to argue, but finally just hugged her again. "You're stronger than me. I'd have set his hockey equipment on fire by now."

Despite everything, Sophia laughed. "That's why you're my friend. Emotional support and arson backup."

"Always." Maya climbed out of the car, then leaned back in through the window. "Tournament tomorrow. Focus on that. Everything else can wait until after you've crushed every opponent and reminded yourself how amazing you are."

"Thanks, Maya."

"Anytime. Now go home, eat something, sleep. You've got this."

Sophia drove home on autopilot, her mind already shifting toward tomorrow. Badminton first. Win matches, make Coach proud, prove to herself that she was good at something she could control.

Then the conversation with Ethan. Whatever he wanted to ask her about—whoever he wanted to set her up with—she'd handle it with grace.

She'd smile. She'd thank him. She'd pretend her heart wasn't breaking.

She'd become an expert at it.

Saturday morning arrived with brutal clarity: tournament day.

Sophia woke up at six, did her visualization exercises like Coach taught her, ate a protein-heavy breakfast, and carefully did not think about Ethan Price.

The tournament was at a community center across town, hosted by one of the other high schools in their division. Twelve schools competing, singles and doubles matches, running from nine AM until roughly forever.

Maya picked her up at seven-thirty, blasting pump-up music and radiating competitive energy.

"You ready to destroy people?" Maya asked as Sophia climbed in.

"So ready."

"Good. Because I have money riding on you making the finals." At Sophia's look, Maya grinned. "Kidding. Mostly. But seriously, you're going to kill it today."

They arrived to organized chaos: teams warming up, coaches checking rosters, the distinctive thwack of shuttlecocks being hit in warm-up courts. Sophia found her zone quickly—that focused headspace where nothing existed except the court, the birdie, and winning.

Her first match was a warm-up against a sophomore from another school. Sophia won 21-10, 21-8, barely breaking a sweat.

Second match was harder—a senior with a vicious serve and good court coverage. But Sophia's smashes were on fire today, powered by a week of repressed feelings, and she won 21-17, 21-15.

By lunch break, she'd won three matches and was seeded into the afternoon semifinals.

"You're playing angry," Coach Patterson observed, handing her a water bottle. "It's effective. But are you okay?"

"Fine," Sophia lied. "Just focused."

"Well, keep that focus for the semis. You're facing Jennifer Huang from St. Paul's. She placed third in provincials last year."

Sophia had seen Jennifer play that morning—tall, powerful, smart strategy. This would be a real match.

Good. She needed a real match. She needed something to pour all this feeling into that wasn't Ethan Price and his careful distance and his plan to set her up with someone appropriate.

The semifinal match started at two PM. Sophia and Jennifer were evenly matched—long rallies, strategic shots, both of them refusing to give an inch. The first game went to deuce, Sophia finally winning 24-22. The second game was brutal—Jennifer adjusted her strategy, targeted Sophia's backhand, won 21-18.

Third game, winner take all.

Sophia served. Jennifer returned. They fell into a rhythm—drop shot, clear, smash, defense. The score climbed: 10-10, 15-15, 18-18.

At 19-19, Jennifer hit a shot that was probably out. Probably. The line judge called it in.

Sophia gritted her teeth and kept playing. Not the time to argue. Focus.

20-19, Jennifer's lead. Match point.

Jennifer served—long, high. Sophia returned with a cross-court shot. Jennifer smashed. Sophia dove, got under it, sent it back high. Jennifer positioned for another smash but Sophia anticipated, moved forward, caught it at the net with a perfect drop shot that Jennifer couldn't reach.

20-20.

Sophia's serve now. She took a breath, visualized the shot, served deep to Jennifer's backhand. The rally went eight shots—both of them exhausted, both refusing to lose—and then Sophia saw her opening. Jennifer was slightly off-balance, favoring her forehand side. Sophia smashed cross-court to the open space.

21-20.

One more point. She could do this.

She served again, Jennifer returned aggressive, and they went into the longest rally of the match. Sophia's lungs were burning, her whole body trembling, but she wouldn't lose. Couldn't lose. This was what she controlled. This was where she got to win.

Finally, Jennifer's shot went wide by inches. Out.

"Point," the line judge called. "Match."

Sophia had won.

She shook Jennifer's hand, accepted Coach Patterson's proud hug, and made it to the bathroom before she started shaking for real.

She'd won. She was going to the finals. She was good at something, excellent at something, something that had nothing to do with Ethan Price and impossible feelings.

Her phone buzzed. Multiple texts.

maya: THAT WAS AMAZING

maya: YOURE A WARRIOR

priya: holy shit sophie youre in the finals!!!

Coach Patterson (group text to team): chen advances to finals. 4 pm. everyone better be there to cheer.

And then, from Ethan: maya posted on her story

i saw your match

you were incredible

good luck in the finals

Sophia stared at that message, emotions warring in her chest. He was watching. Somehow, even from wherever he was, he was paying attention.

She didn't respond. She splashed cold water on her face, went back out, and prepared for the finals.

The finals match was at four PM against a girl from Lord Selkirk High who was apparently being recruited for university programs. She was that good.

Sophia lost the first game 21-14. Won the second 21-18. The third game went to 23-21, and Sophia lost.

Second place. Silver medal. Outstanding performance for a junior in her first varsity tournament.

But Sophia felt like she'd lost more than just the match.

She accepted her medal, smiled for photos, listened to Coach Patterson's praise about what an achievement this was. Inside, she felt hollow.

"You played amazing," Maya said, hugging her fiercely. "Seriously. That girl's a senior being recruited by universities and you almost beat her."

"Almost."

"Almost is still incredible for your first tournament." Maya pulled back, studying her face. "This isn't about badminton, is it?"

"No," Sophia admitted quietly. "It's not."

"Then let's get you to that conversation with Ethan. Get it over with. Rip off the bandaid."

Right. The conversation. Where he was going to set her up with someone and she was going to smile and pretend to be fine.

Sophia changed out of her athletic clothes, got into Maya's car, and checked her phone. Five-fifteen. She was supposed to meet Ethan at The Forks at five.

ethan: running a few minutes late

ethan: coach wanted to talk after the game

ethan: meet you at our spot by the river at 5:30?

Their spot. The bench he'd shown her that first day at The Forks, his quiet place.

sophia: okay

Maya drove her to The Forks, giving her hand one last squeeze before she got out. "You're amazing and brilliant and if he can't see that, it's his loss. Remember that."

"Thanks."

"Text me after. I'll be at Tyler's setting up for the party. You're still coming, right?"

"Yeah. I'll be there."

Sophia walked through The Forks market—quieter on a Saturday evening, tourists thinning out—toward the path that led to Ethan's bench. The October sun was setting, painting everything gold and orange, and she tried to memorize this moment. Before. Whatever came next, this was the before.

Ethan was already there, sitting on the bench, staring at the river. He looked up when he heard her footsteps, and his smile was full of things he wasn't saying.

"Hey," he said, standing. "You made it."

"Yeah." Sophia sat down, leaving space between them. "What did you want to talk about?"

This was it. The moment where he set her up with someone appropriate and she pretended her heart wasn't splintering.

But Ethan didn't sit down. He stayed standing, running a hand through his hair—nervous gesture, childhood tell.

"I need to ask you something," he said. "And I need— you need to be honest with me. Okay?"

"Okay..."

"Do you—" He laughed, frustrated with himself. "These past few weeks. Being around you again. It's been..." Another rough laugh. "God, Sophie, it's been the best part of— of moving back to Winnipeg. Coming back here. You make me feel like myself again. Like the person I was before everything got so..." He gestured vaguely, couldn't find the word.

Sophia's heart was going wild. This wasn't the speech she'd expected.

"And I know— I know I'm with Becca. I know my parents have opinions. I know this is all super messed up." He was pacing now, words coming faster. "But I need to know if I'm— if I'm imagining this. If it's just me who's feeling—" He cut himself off with a noise of frustration. "I don't know how to ask this."

He stopped pacing. Looked at her directly. "Do you feel it too? This— whatever this is. Between us. Do you feel it?"

The world condensed to this moment: Ethan Price, asking the question she'd been too scared to ask. Offering her a chance to be honest instead of safe.

Sophia opened her mouth to answer—to say yes, I feel it, I've felt it since the moment I saw you again—when her phone exploded with notifications.

Buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz.

Group chat going crazy. Multiple messages from Maya, from Jordan, from numbers she didn't recognize.

"Sorry," she said, pulling out her phone to silence it. But she saw the preview of Maya's message: DONT GO TO THE PARTY. BECCA KNOWS. EMMAS COUSIN TOLD HER ABOUT—

"What's wrong?" Ethan asked, reading her expression.

Sophia looked up from her phone to find him watching her, and all the words she'd been about to say evaporated.

Becca knew. About what? About them? About the hand-holding, the library sessions, the way Ethan had pointed at her after scoring?

"I have to go," Sophia said, standing abruptly.

"What? Sophie, wait—"

"I'm sorry. I just—" She was backing away, phone buzzing again with more messages. "I have to go. I'm sorry."

"Sophie!" Ethan called after her, but she was already running, back through The Forks, toward the parking lot where Maya said she'd wait.

Her phone wouldn't stop buzzing. More messages, different people:

jordan: heads up

jordan: becca confronted ethan about you after the game

jordan: it got messy

tyler: party might be cancelled

tyler: drama incoming

maya: where are you

maya: are you with him?

maya: call me

And then, from an unknown number:

unknown: this is becca

unknown: we need to talk

unknown: about you and ethan

unknown: im not angry

unknown: i just want to understand whats happening

unknown: can you call me?

Sophia stopped in the middle of the parking lot, staring at her phone, the sunset painting everything the color of ending.

She'd been so focused on protecting herself, on being appropriate, on not causing problems. But the problems had found her anyway.

And Ethan—Ethan had been about to ask her something. Had been about to be honest about what was between them. And she'd run.

Her phone buzzed again. Private message from Ethan:

ethan: i need to talk to you

ethan: not about setting you up with someone

ethan: i was never going to do that

ethan: jordan misunderstood

ethan: i was going to ask if you felt the same way i feel

ethan: because sophie

ethan: im falling for you

ethan: and i need to know if im doing this alone

Sophia stared at that message, the words blurring through sudden tears.

im falling for you

He'd said it. Actually said it. And she'd run.

She started typing a response—i feel the same way, ive felt the same way since i saw you again, im falling for you too—when Maya's car screeched into the parking lot.

"Get in," Maya yelled through the window. "Everything's exploding and we need to figure out what to do."

Sophia got in, phone still in her hand, Ethan's message still unanswered. Behind her, the bench by the river sat empty, and somewhere Ethan was waiting for a response that would change everything.

"What happened?" Sophia asked as Maya drove.

"Emma's cousin told Becca about Saturday—about him pointing at you after the goal, about the way you were sitting together at Stella's. Becca confronted him after his game today. He tried to explain and it went badly." Maya glanced at her. "She broke up with him, Sophie. Told him to figure out what he actually wants before dragging her along for it."

It hit Sophia somewhere behind her collarbone—that oh shit feeling. "He got dumped because of me."

"He got dumped because he was emotionally cheating with you while dating her. That's on him, not you." Maya's voice was firm. "But now the question is: what do you want to do about it?"

Sophia looked at her phone. Ethan's message: im falling for you. and i need to know if im doing this alone

She started typing, fingers unsteady: youre not alone

i feel it too

im sorry i ran

im sorry for all of this

but i—

Before she could finish, another message came through from Ethan: my parents just called

they saw what happened with becca

they want me home now for a "family discussion"

pretty sure that means theyre going to tell me to stop seeing you

Then: i dont know what happens next

but i need you to know

whatever happens

you werent the distraction

you were the reminder

of who im supposed to be

who i want to be

Another message: i have to go deal with my parents

but can we talk?

tomorrow?

actually talk this time?

Sophia typed back: yes

tomorrow

im sorry about becca

im sorry about all of it

ethan: dont be sorry

ethan: nothing about you is something to be sorry for

Then: talk tomorrow

i promise

Sophia locked her phone and stared out the window as Maya drove. The sun was setting over Winnipeg, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson, and everything was falling apart and coming together at the same time.

He was falling for her. His girlfriend had broken up with him. His parents were probably going to try to manage the situation. And tomorrow they were going to talk—really talk—about what this thing between them actually was.

"So," Maya said quietly. "What now?"

Sophia didn't have an answer. She just sat in the passenger seat, watching the city blur past, and tried to figure out how her life had gone from carefully controlled to absolutely chaotic in the span of four weeks.

Her phone buzzed one more time. Private message from Ethan:

ethan: for the record?

ethan: i was never going to set you up with alex chen

ethan: i was going to ask if you wanted to go to homecoming

ethan: with me

ethan: as more than friends

Sophia stared at that message, and something in her chest broke open—not painful, but like sunlight through clouds.

with me. as more than friends

She typed back: ask me tomorrow

when everything isnt exploding

ethan: tomorrow

ethan: i promise

Maya glanced over. "You okay?"

"I have no idea," Sophia said honestly. "Everything's a disaster. His parents probably hate me. Becca's hurt. Everyone at school is going to have opinions. But Maya?"

"Yeah?"

"He's falling for me." Sophia couldn't help the smile that broke through despite everything. "He's actually falling for me."

"I know. I could have told you that weeks ago." Maya grinned. "So what are you going to do about it?"

"Tomorrow," Sophia said, echoing Ethan's promise. "Tomorrow I'm going to actually talk to him. Be honest about what I feel instead of hiding. And then..." She took a breath. "Then I guess we figure out if we can make this work despite everything trying to stop us."

"That's my girl." Maya cranked up the music. "Now, do we go to this party and face the drama, or do we go consume ice cream and plan your next move?"

Sophia thought about it—the party full of people with opinions, questions, judgments. Ethan wouldn't be there; he was dealing with his parents. Becca might be there, hurt and confused. Everyone would want to know what happened.

"Ice cream," Sophia decided. "Definitely ice cream."

"Best decision you've made all day."

As they drove through Winnipeg, Sophia pulled up her text thread with Ethan and read his messages again:

im falling for you

you werent the distraction. you were the reminder

i was going to ask if you wanted to go to homecoming with me. as more than friends

Tomorrow, she'd tell him yes. To all of it. Yes to being more than friends. Yes to homecoming. Yes to figuring out how to make this work despite his parents' plans and her own fears and the complicated mess of their lives.

Tomorrow, she'd stop being the variable that didn't fit and start being the equation's solution.

But tonight—tonight she was going to eat ice cream with her best friend and try to process the fact that Ethan Price was falling for her, and everything was about to change.

Her phone buzzed one last time. Another message from Ethan:

ethan: sleep well soph

ethan: tomorrow everythings going to be different

ethan: better

ethan: i promise

Sophia smiled at her phone, at the nickname only he used, at the promise in those words.

She typed back: better

i like the sound of that

Then she locked her phone, leaned back in her seat, and let herself feel everything—the fear, the hope, the cautious joy of maybe, possibly, this could actually work.

Tomorrow they'd talk. Tomorrow they'd figure it out.

Tomorrow everything would be different.

End of Episode 2: "New Lines"

NEXT TIME ON THE BOY WHO KNEW ME FIRST...

Episode 3: "Real Talk"

Sophie and Ethan finally have the conversation they've been avoiding. But when his parents present an ultimatum—focus on hockey and forget MIT, or lose their support entirely—he has to choose between the future he's supposed to want and the one he actually does. Meanwhile, Becca's hurt is real, school is full of opinions, and Sophie has to decide if being with Ethan is worth the cost to both their carefully planned lives.

Coming soon...

End of Chapter 4

Word Count: ~5,800 words

EPISODE 2 TOTAL WORD COUNT: ~22,000 words

Episode 2 Summary:

Sophia integrates into Ethan's world while battling her feelings. Group hangouts, study sessions, and his second hockey game deepen their connection despite boundaries. His parents evaluate her over dinner, measuring if she's appropriate or problematic. At Stella's Diner after his game, they sit too close, feel too much, pretend too little. When Sophia overhears him talking about "setting her up with someone," she spirals—but he was actually planning to ask her to homecoming. Her badminton tournament success is overshadowed by emotional chaos. At The Forks, Ethan almost confesses his feelings when everything explodes: Becca knows, breaks up with him, and his parents call for a "discussion." The episode ends with Ethan's text: I'm falling for you. And I need to know if I'm doing this alone. Sophie's response: You're not alone. Tomorrow, they talk. Tomorrow, everything changes.