The Boy Who Knew Me First

Season 1

Episode 3

by Joxy

The Boy Who Knew Me First - Season 1, Episode 3: Defensive Zone

Chapter 1: CHAPTER 1: The Morning After

Sophia's phone buzzed at 6:04 AM, pulling her from a dream she couldn't quite remember. Something about autumn leaves and hands that almost touched but didn't.

The screen lit up with Ethan's name.

E: Meet before school? Like we promised?

She stared at the message, her room still dark except for the phone's glow. Sunday night felt like it had happened years ago and also five minutes ago. Standing at The Forks, the city lights below them, his confession hanging in the air between them like something physical she could reach out and touch.

I haven't stopped thinking about you since you came back.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. Every possible response felt too much or not enough.

S: Tim Hortons parking lot? 7:15?

E: I'll bring coffee

S: You don't know my coffee order

E: Double double, one sugar packet on the side that you never use but like having the option

Sophia sat up in bed, something warm spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with the blankets.

S: How do you—

E: See you at 7:15, Soph

She set the phone down and pressed her palms to her face. Her brain did that thing again—the spiral where everything became an equation except nothing actually solved for x. Numbers jumping around, probabilities that didn't... she couldn't even finish the thought.

But this wasn't physics. This was Ethan Price sitting in his car somewhere right now, probably in his driveway, texting her while his parents slept upstairs. Ethan who'd kissed Becca Martinez goodbye yesterday and then stood with Sophia watching the Esplanade Riel Bridge lights and said things that made her forget how to breathe.

Her phone buzzed again.

Maya: you're up early

Maya: or you never went to sleep

Maya: WAIT did something happen after you left the dinner??

Sophia typed and deleted three responses before settling on: Meeting Ethan before school. Will explain.

Maya: oh you'll DEFINITELY explain

Maya: like with DETAILS

Maya: bring me a muffin and I might forgive you for holding out

Sophia smiled despite the knot in her stomach. She rolled out of bed and pulled on jeans and the oversized U of M hoodie Maya had gotten her as a "welcome to Winnipeg winter" gift last month. Her reflection in the mirror looked the same as yesterday, which felt wrong somehow. Shouldn't confession and everything changing show on your face?

Her mom was already up, making breakfast. The smell of congee filled the kitchen.

"You're awake early," Mom said, glancing up from stirring the pot. "Bad sleep?"

"Meeting a friend before school." Sophia grabbed her backpack, checking for her physics textbook. They had a test Wednesday she definitely hadn't studied for.

"This friend have a name?"

"Ethan. We're studying."

Mom's expression did something complicated. "The hockey boy? From when you were little?"

"He's not just—" Sophia stopped herself. "Yeah. Him."

"Your father mentioned his parents are very serious about his training."

"I know."

"Just..." Mom turned back to the congee. "Be careful with serious people's children. They have expectations."

Sophia thought about that as she pulled on her jacket. Expectations. Like Ethan was something to be built according to a plan, not a person who might want different things.

Maybe that's what yesterday was. Everything changing at once.

She grabbed her keys and headed out into the dark morning. October in Winnipeg meant the sun didn't care about your schedule—it showed up when it felt like it. The air bit at her face, frost already forming on car windshields up and down the street.

The drive to Tim Hortons took twelve minutes. She counted every one of them.

Ethan's Jeep was already in the parking lot, engine running, exhaust visible in the cold air. Her heart did something ridiculous that she immediately classified as "elevated cardiovascular response to anticipated social interaction" because giving it a scientific name made it feel less terrifying.

She parked two spots away. Close enough to be obviously there for him, far enough to maintain the illusion of casual.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Just two running cars in a Tim Hortons parking lot at 7:18 AM, winter coming early, everything changed.

Then Ethan's driver door opened.

He stepped out in his Saints hockey warm-up jacket and jeans, hair still wet from a shower, holding two Tim Hortons cups. He looked exactly like he had every morning freshman year when they'd started this ritual—meeting before school to study, to talk, to exist in the space before the rest of the day demanded they be who everyone expected.

Except he didn't look exactly the same. Because now Sophia knew what his voice sounded like saying I haven't stopped thinking about you and how his eyes had looked in the bridge lights and the precise way he'd stood just close enough that she could feel the heat from his body without actually touching.

She got out of her car.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi." He held out one of the cups. "Double double. Sugar packet acquired separately and placed in my pocket for safekeeping."

She took the coffee, their fingers brushing. Even through gloves, it felt like something.

"Thanks."

They stood there. A truck pulled into the drive-through lane. Somewhere down Portage Avenue, a snow plow scraped asphalt even though there wasn't really snow yet, just frost and the promise of what was coming.

"This is weird," Ethan said finally.

"So weird."

"Want to sit in my car? It's warmer."

They relocated to the Jeep, Sophia in the passenger seat she'd occupied dozens of times over the past weeks. Ethan turned the heat up. The radio was on low—some morning show hosts laughing about something.

"So," Sophia said.

"So," Ethan echoed.

"Sunday happened."

"Sunday definitely happened." He wrapped both hands around his coffee cup. "I told Becca it was over. Officially. At her house, before I went home."

Sophia's stomach twisted. "How did she—"

"She knew. She saw us at The Forks." Ethan stared at the steering wheel. "She said she'd known for a while, actually. That I wasn't... that my head was somewhere else."

"Ethan—"

"She was kind about it. That's the worst part." He finally looked at Sophia. "She was so understanding it made me feel like even more of an asshole. She said 'go be with whoever makes you look like that.'"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Present? Alive? She said when I talked about you—about physics and old memories and literally anything you'd said—I lit up. Her exact words: 'You light up like the scoreboard when someone scores.'"

Sophia didn't know what to do with that information. She took a sip of coffee to buy time. Perfect temperature. Perfect sweetness. Perfect sugar packet waiting in his pocket even though she never used it.

"What did your parents say?" she asked.

Ethan's jaw tightened. "That's actually what I need to talk to you about."

Something in his tone made Sophia set down her coffee.

"When I got home last night," Ethan said slowly, "they were waiting up. Both of them. In the living room like it was an ambush."

"Oh no."

"They'd already talked to Becca's mom. Don't ask me how. Winnipeg is a small city when parents are friends." He rubbed his face. "They knew I'd ended it. They knew I was at The Forks. They didn't know with who, but they had theories."

"Let me guess. Their theories involved me."

"My dad said, 'This wouldn't have anything to do with the Chen girl, would it? The one you've been spending every afternoon with?'" Ethan's voice took on an imitation quality. "'The girl who just moved here and suddenly you can't focus on hockey?'"

Sophia's chest felt tight. "What did you say?"

"I told them the truth. That yes, it had to do with you. That I have feelings for you. That Becca and I were ending anyway because I couldn't be with her when I—" He stopped. "When I wanted to be with someone else."

"And?"

Ethan looked at her, and in his eyes, Sophia saw something that made her want to put her hand over his, to touch him, to close the distance that suddenly felt huge even though they were in the same small space.

"They gave me an ultimatum," he said quietly. "Focus on hockey or lose their support for college."

The words hung there like something physical she could choke on.

"What?" Sophia whispered. Then louder: "What?"

"They said—it's not—they've invested everything. The AAA program, the skating coaches, the camps every summer. My dad kept saying 'investment' like I'm a fucking stock portfolio and—" He stopped. Started again. "He had spreadsheets, Sophie. Actual spreadsheets of my performance metrics."

"For a girl."

"They didn't say—well, actually no, my dad literally said 'that Chen girl' which is somehow worse?" Ethan's laugh came out wrong. "He had stats. My assists from the last two games. Penalty minutes. Morrison apparently said I seemed 'distracted' which is bullshit because I played fine, I played—"

His hands were shaking around the cup.

"So I am the distraction."

"No. You're not—Soph, you're not a distraction. You're the opposite. When I'm with you, everything makes sense. Hockey makes sense again, like it did when we were kids and it was just fun. Remember? At Granite Curling Club, before any of this pressure existed?"

Sophia remembered. She remembered being seven and terrible at skating, Ethan laughing but not making fun of her, showing her how to push off, how to stop. Before hockey became his whole identity. Before her parents moved away and she switched to badminton and they both became these achievement-focused people their parents needed them to be.

"I remember," she said.

"But they don't see it that way. They see their investment at risk. They see me potentially not making the NHL or getting a scholarship to a Division 1 program because I'm 'distracted by a relationship.'" He made air quotes with one hand. "They gave me a literal ultimatum. Focus on hockey—and only hockey—or they'll pull funding for college."

"Can they do that?"

"They're paying. So yeah, they can do whatever they want." Ethan's voice was bitter. "I have a trust fund from my grandparents for college, but it's not enough for Ivy League tuition. Not without their help."

Sophia felt something crack in her chest. The unfairness of it, the control, the way they held his future hostage—it made her want to scream. Her hands were shaking, and she pressed them flat against her thighs to steady them.

She couldn't breathe. The Jeep was too small, too hot, everything was—

"I need—" She fumbled for the door handle, couldn't find it, fuck where was—"I need air."

"Sophie—"

But she was already out, stumbling, the November wind hitting her face like a slap. She bent forward, hands on her knees, trying to—lungs, how did lungs—just breathe, just—

This was too much. Too complicated. Too unfair.

After a moment, Ethan was beside her, not touching, just standing close enough that she could feel his warmth.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I don't know why—"

"It's okay. It's a lot."

She forced herself to straighten, to breathe normally. And then, only then, did her mind start racing through calculations. Tuition, room and board, fees. His parents' income level based on their house and his training expenses. The trust fund amount he'd need. She was working through optimization algorithms—her brain's default response after the panic passed.

"Stop," Ethan said gently.

"What?"

"I can literally see you calculating. Your left eye does this thing when you're running numbers."

"I don't have a thing."

"You definitely have a thing." He smiled, small and sad. "You're trying to solve this like an equation. But it's not math, Soph. It's people and feelings and my parents' expectations and everything that can't be optimized."

She wanted to argue. Everything could be optimized if you had the right variables. But looking at Ethan's face—the exhaustion under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the way he was holding himself together like ice about to crack—she realized he was right.

This wasn't physics. This was them.

"So what do we do?" she asked.

"I don't know. That's why I wanted to meet before school. To figure it out together."

"Together," Sophia repeated. The word felt heavy with implication.

"If you want there to be a together," Ethan added quickly. "I know this is a mess. I know I've made it complicated. If you want to just go back to being friends, I understand—"

"I don't want that."

The words came out before she could stop them.

Ethan went very still. "No?"

"No," Sophia said, more certain now. "I don't want to go back. I tried not feeling this for weeks. I tried optimizing myself out of it. But every time you explained something or made me laugh or texted me some random thing that reminded you of when we were kids, it just got worse. Or better. I don't know which."

"Both," Ethan said softly. "It's definitely both."

They looked at each other. The morning was getting lighter outside, the sky turning from black to gray. Other cars were pulling into the parking lot—the early morning crowd, people stopping for coffee on their way to work.

"We should probably go to school," Sophia said.

"Probably."

Neither of them moved.

"Everyone's going to know," Sophia said. "About you and Becca. They're going to talk."

"They're definitely going to talk."

"I don't want to be the reason you lose everything, Ethan. Your parents are right that you've worked incredibly hard. You love hockey. I've seen you play—you're amazing. I won't be the person who derails that."

"You're not derailing anything. You're—" He reached over and took her hand. Just picked it up off her lap and held it, his glove off, her fingers suddenly wrapped in his. "You make me remember why I loved it in the first place. Before the pressure and the expectations and the scouts and all of it. You were there when it was just fun."

Sophia looked down at their hands. His was bigger, rough on the palm from his stick grip, warm despite the cold.

"Your parents see me as the variable to remove," she said quietly. "To get you back to optimal performance."

"Then we prove them wrong."

"How?"

"We set boundaries. We're careful. You focus on badminton—you have provincials coming up, right? I focus on hockey. We still study together because we're helping each other academically. That's not a relationship, that's academic collaboration."

"Academic collaboration," Sophia repeated.

"With some feelings involved."

"Some extremely complicated feelings."

"The most complicated." Ethan squeezed her hand. "But we can do complicated. You're literally taking AP Physics and Calculus simultaneously. I'm running hockey plays that require calculating angles and velocity in real-time. We understand complicated."

Sophia wanted to point out that calculating puck trajectory was not the same as navigating parental ultimatums and social pressure and whatever this was between them. But the way he was looking at her made her think maybe it didn't matter. Maybe they'd figure it out anyway.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay?"

"We try. We're careful. We give your parents time to see that I'm not a distraction. That we can both be excellent and still—" She gestured between them.

"Still us," Ethan finished.

"Yeah. Still us."

His thumb moved against her knuckles. Just a small movement, barely there. But Sophia felt it like electricity.

"We should really go to school now," she said.

"Definitely."

"People will see us arrive together."

"They've seen us arrive together every morning for weeks."

"True. But now it's different."

"Everything's different," Ethan agreed. Then, quieter: "Is that okay?"

Sophia thought about equations and variables and optimization. She thought about her mom's warning about serious people's children and expectations. She thought about Becca Martinez saying go be with whoever makes you look like that and Ethan's face when he talked about physics and her achieving things and remembering when hockey was fun.

"It's terrifying," she said honestly. "But yeah. It's okay."

Ethan smiled—the real one, not the performance version he wore for coaches and parents and anyone who expected him to be perfect. "I'll see you inside?"

"Physics before first period?"

"Obviously."

They separated, the loss of his hand immediate and sharp. Sophia got back into her own car, started the engine, sat there breathing in the coffee-scented air.

Her phone buzzed.

E: Thanks for meeting me

E: And for not running

S: I've never been good at running

S: That's why I chose badminton. You stay in one place and hit things really hard

E: Metaphor noted

S: See you inside, Ethan

She put the car in drive and followed his Jeep out of the parking lot, down Portage Avenue toward St. Paul's. Two cars, separate but together. Like particles with charge, close enough to affect each other but not quite touching.

That feeling between them—invisible but definitely there, pulling them together even while they stayed apart.

God, she had it bad.

St. Paul's High School looked exactly the same as it had Friday afternoon when Sophia left for the weekend. Same brick facade, same parking lot gradually filling with cars and buses, same groups of students clustering by the front doors to delay going inside for another thirty seconds.

But walking through those doors Monday morning felt like entering a completely different building.

Because everyone knew.

Sophia felt it the moment she stepped into the main hallway. The subtle shift in attention, the glances that lingered half a second too long, the whispers that stopped just as she got close enough to hear actual words.

Maya found her at her locker within ninety seconds.

"Okay, so I heard from Sarah who heard from Emma who heard from Tyler that Ethan and Becca broke up," Maya said without preamble. "And also that they were seen having some kind of intense conversation at The Forks yesterday. And ALSO—" She looked at Sophia. "You have a specific expression right now."

"What expression?"

"The 'something happened and I'm processing it scientifically to avoid processing it emotionally' expression. I know this face. I've seen this face. This is your face when you're trying to turn feelings into equations."

Sophia shoved her textbooks into her locker harder than necessary. "Ethan and I talked. This morning. Before school."

"AND?"

"And it's complicated."

"Everything's complicated. Give me details or I'll make loud speculative announcements in the hallway."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Sophia grabbed Maya's arm and pulled her into the alcove by the water fountains where they had approximately forty-five seconds of privacy before someone else needed water or to eavesdrop.

"He told his parents he has feelings for me," Sophia said quietly. "They gave him an ultimatum. Focus on hockey or lose college funding."

Maya's eyes went wide. "Holy shit."

"Yeah."

"Wait, so his parents are basically saying you're a distraction and he has to choose hockey over you?"

"Not exactly. They're saying he needs to focus on hockey. The 'over me' part is—wait, no, actually his dad did say something about 'certain influences' or was it 'social distractions'? I can't remember the exact—"

"That's the same thing!"

"It's not though, the wording matters because—"

"Sophia. It's the same fucking thing."

"Sophia. Come on." Maya leaned against the wall. "His parents are controlling as hell. Everyone knows it. They've basically engineered his whole life around getting him to the NHL."

"He's really good—"

"He's excellent. That's not the point. The point is they're treating you like a variable to eliminate instead of a person he cares about."

Sophia had literally used the same metaphor in Ethan's car. Hearing Maya say it out loud made it sound even worse.

"We're going to prove them wrong," Sophia said. "Both focus on our sports, maintain academic excellence, show them I'm not a distraction."

"Or," Maya said carefully, "you could tell them to fuck off and let Ethan make his own choices about what makes him happy."

"He's seventeen. They control his college funding."

"Doesn't make it less controlling."

The bell rang—five-minute warning. Students started flowing past them toward classrooms.

"I need to get to physics," Sophia said.

"We're not done talking about this."

"I know."

"And you owe me a muffin. You said you'd bring a muffin."

"I'll get you two muffins."

"Three. Trauma surcharge." Maya hugged her quickly. "Just... don't make yourself smaller for his parents, okay? You're not the problem here."

Sophia nodded, but as Maya walked away, all she could think was: But what if I am?

She headed to the physics lab where she and Ethan had started meeting before first period to work through problem sets. It had become routine—arriving early, claiming the back lab table, spreading out textbooks and calculators and working until the warning bell.

He was already there.

Same back table, same AP Physics textbook open, same mechanical pencil he always used. But when he looked up and saw her, his expression did something that made Sophia's cardiovascular response kick into high gear again.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

She slid into the seat across from him—their usual configuration. Close enough to share the textbook, far enough to maintain the appearance of appropriate study distance.

Except now every inch between them felt like a measurement she was acutely aware of.

"Everyone's talking," Sophia said, pulling out her own textbook.

"I noticed. Tyler cornered me in the parking lot to ask if I was okay. Jordan texted me six times asking what happened with my parents."

"Maya ambushed me at my locker."

"Are we calling it an ambush when friends express concern?"

"Fair point." Sophia opened to the chapter on centripetal force. "Should we actually study? We have that test Wednesday."

"Are you capable of focusing on physics right now?"

She looked at him. "Probably not. But I'm going to try because that's what I do when things get complicated."

"Retreat into equations."

"It's a valid coping mechanism."

Ethan smiled. "Okay. Centripetal force. Circular motion. Extremely relevant to absolutely nothing in my life right now."

But they tried. They worked through the first problem—something about a car rounding a curve, calculating the friction required to maintain the turn. Sophia showed her work, checking her numbers twice.

"You forgot to convert to meters per second," Ethan said, pointing at her velocity calculation.

"Shit. You're right." She erased, recalculated. "Better?"

"Perfect."

They moved to the next problem. Then the next. Students started filtering into the classroom, taking their seats. The morning announcements crackled over the PA system—something about yearbook photos and the fall play auditions.

Tyler dropped into the seat beside Ethan. "Morning, lovebirds."

"We're studying," Ethan said without looking up.

"Uh-huh. Very studious. Much learning happening."

"Tyler," Sophia said sweetly, "do you understand centripetal force?"

"No?"

"Then stop talking and maybe you'll learn something."

Tyler grinned. "I like her. She's mean."

"I'm not mean. I'm efficient."

"Efficient mean. The best kind."

Mr. Reimer walked in, which saved Sophia from having to respond. The morning lesson began—more circular motion, applications of Newton's laws. Sophia took notes automatically, her brain splitting attention between the board and the acute awareness of Ethan three desks away.

He was doing the same thing, she realized. Taking notes but glancing over. Small looks, barely there. But she felt every single one.

This was going to be impossible.

After class, they walked out together. Tyler and some other hockey guys immediately claimed Ethan, pulling him into conversation about practice that afternoon. Sophia veered toward her locker, putting distance between them like they'd silently agreed.

But she felt him watching as she walked away.

The day continued like that—moments of nearness, deliberate separation, the constant awareness of where he was in relation to where she was. Like her brain had developed a secondary processing system dedicated entirely to tracking Ethan Price's location.

At lunch, they sat at the same table they'd occupied for weeks now. Her, Maya, Ethan, Jordan, Tyler, a rotating cast of other friends. Normal. Except everyone kept looking between them like they were waiting for something to happen.

"So," Jordan said eventually, because Jordan had never met a silence he couldn't fill, "anyone want to talk about the elephant in the room?"

"What elephant?" Ethan asked mildly.

"The Ethan-and-Becca-broke-up-and-maybe-it-has-something-to-do-with-other-people-at-this-table elephant."

"That's a very specific elephant," Sophia said.

"I'm an artist. I paint with words."

"You paint with actual paint, Jordan."

"Multitalented." He looked at Ethan. "Seriously though. You okay?"

Ethan pushed rice around his plate. "Yeah. It was the right thing. Becca and I... we were good, but we weren't right. Not anymore."

"And?" Jordan prompted.

"And nothing. We're focusing on school and sports and not making things complicated."

Maya snorted. "Too late for not complicated."

"Maya," Sophia warned.

"What? I'm just saying. Complicated already happened. You're living in complicated. Complicated is your current zip code."

"That metaphor doesn't work," Tyler said.

"You don't work."

"Children," Jordan sighed. "Can we be supportive without being weird?"

"Where's the fun in that?" But Maya softened. "Seriously though. We're here if you need anything. Both of you."

Sophia caught Ethan's eye across the table. He smiled, small but real.

"Thanks," he said.

The conversation shifted to other things—Tyler's upcoming history presentation, Jordan's art show submission, Maya's girlfriend Sarah joining them for a movie on Friday. Normal teen lunch conversation. Like nothing had changed.

Except everything had.

After school, Sophia had badminton practice. Two hours of drills, footwork, hitting shuttles until her arm ached. Coach Yun was ramping up their training—provincials were three weeks away, and the team had a real shot at placing.

"Chen!" Coach called during a water break. "Your cross-court drops are getting sloppy. Tighten your angle."

"Yes, Coach."

She went back to the court, focused on her form, on the precise wrist rotation needed for a perfect drop shot. Badminton was clean. Mechanical. If you did the right things in the right sequence with the right force and angle, the shuttle went where you wanted. Cause and effect. Input and output.

Not like feelings, which were messy and non-linear and refused to be optimized.

"Better!" Coach approved. "Again!"

After practice, Sophia's phone showed three texts from Ethan.

E: How was practice?

E: Ours was brutal. Coach Morrison made us run drills for 45 minutes

E: I think he's mad about something but won't say what

Sophia typed back while walking to her car.

S: Practice good. Coach says my drops are sloppy

S: Obviously I'm now offended and will hit 500 perfect drop shots to prove her wrong

E: Obviously

E: Want to study later? I could use help with the calc homework

S: Can you? Or is your dad monitoring your activities?

A longer pause before his response came.

E: Fair point. Maybe better to keep distance for a few days

E: Let them see I'm focused

S: Yeah. Good idea.

Sophia sat in her car and stared at that message. Good idea. It was a good idea. Strategically sound. Give his parents space to calm down, prove his focus was solid, show that Sophia wasn't impacting his performance.

So why did it feel terrible?

She drove home, did her homework, ate dinner with her parents while half-listening to her dad talk about work and her mom discuss some colleague's drama. Her phone stayed silent.

That night, lying in bed, she pulled up the weather app. First frost warning for Winnipeg. Tomorrow morning would be cold.

A text appeared.

E: This is harder than I thought it would be

S: What is?

E: Not talking to you

S: We're talking right now

E: You know what I mean

Sophia did know. She knew exactly what he meant. The difference between texting and being in the same space. Between words on a screen and the way his voice sounded when he said her name.

S: Give it a few days. Let your parents see you're handling things

S: Then we can figure out the rest

E: The rest meaning us

S: If there's an us to figure out

E: There's an us, Soph. Even if we're not... official or whatever. There's definitely an us.

She read that message four times before responding.

S: Okay. Then we'll figure out us. Just... later.

E: Later. I can do later.

E: Goodnight

S: Night, Ethan

Sophia set her phone on the nightstand and stared at the ceiling. Her room was dark except for the streetlight outside casting shadows through the blinds. Somewhere across the city, Ethan was in his room too, maybe also staring at his ceiling, thinking about tomorrow and boundaries and how to prove to his parents that caring about someone wasn't the same as losing focus.

Her mom had said be careful with serious people's children.

But what if she was becoming a serious person's child too? What if they both were—products of parental expectations and investment, optimized for achievement, learning to navigate want and duty like they were opposing forces instead of things that could exist simultaneously?

In physics, two forces could act on an object at once. The result was vector addition—magnitude and direction combining to create a new trajectory.

Maybe that's what they were doing. Combining forces. Creating new trajectories.

Or maybe she was overthinking it because that's what she did when she was scared.

Sophia closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Tomorrow would be easier. They'd have their routine, their boundaries, their careful distance.

Tomorrow she wouldn't spend every moment aware of exactly where he was and how many steps it would take to close the space between them.

Tomorrow would definitely be easier.

It was not easier.

The week crawled by in a series of moments that were too much and not enough simultaneously.

Tuesday: Physics class where Ethan's hand brushed hers reaching for the same calculator, and they both pulled back like they'd been shocked. Mr. Reimer looking at them quizzically. Tyler grinning from two desks over.

Wednesday: The physics test that Sophia finished in forty minutes and spent the remaining twenty doodling force diagrams in her notebook margins while Ethan worked two rows back. Afterwards he caught her at her locker. "How'd you do?" / "Good. You?" / "Good." Standing there in the crowded hallway with nothing to say and everything to say until Maya appeared and pulled Sophia away to lunch.

Thursday: Study group in the library. Her, Maya, Ethan, Jordan, Tyler, two other friends. Everyone doing homework except Sophia and Ethan were both acutely aware of the fact that their feet were almost touching under the table. Almost. Not quite. Jordan kept looking between them with an expression that said you two are ridiculous.

Friday: Ethan's hockey game against Dakota. Sophia didn't go—deliberate choice to give him space. Watched the score online instead. Saints won 4-2. He got two assists. Texted her after: Played better than last week / Good. Proud of you / Wish you'd been there / Me too.

By Friday night, Sophia felt like she'd run an emotional marathon while standing still.

Saturday morning, her phone rang. Not texted—actually rang. Ethan's name on the screen.

She answered. "Hello?"

"Hey. Are you busy?"

"Depends. Why?"

"Want to go for a walk? It's actually nice out for once."

Sophia looked out her window. He was right—October sunshine, the kind of clear fall day that Winnipeg got sometimes before winter arrived for real. The trees along her street were still holding onto their leaves, bright red and gold against blue sky.

"Where?" she asked.

"Assiniboine Park? I'll pick you up?"

"Ethan—"

"As friends. Just a walk. We're allowed to be friends."

Friends. Right. Because that's what they were being. Friends who happened to have feelings they were carefully not acting on while his parents monitored his focus and everyone at school watched for drama.

"Okay," Sophia said. "Give me twenty minutes."

She changed into jeans and her warmest sweater, told her mom she was meeting a friend at the park, grabbed her jacket. Ethan's Jeep pulled up exactly twenty minutes later.

"Prompt," she said, climbing in.

"Reliability is important." He was wearing a Saints hoodie and looked tired. "How was your week?"

"Long. Yours?"

"Also long."

They drove to Assiniboine Park, parked near the duck pond, started walking. The park was busy—families with kids, people walking dogs, runners taking advantage of the good weather. The leaves crunched under their feet.

"My parents are watching everything I do," Ethan said after they'd walked in silence for a while. "My dad checks my phone at night. My mom asked my coach about my 'demeanor' at practice. It's like I'm under surveillance."

"That's intense."

"It's suffocating." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I played well this week. Better than last week. My stats are good. But it's not enough. They want perfect focus, perfect execution, perfect everything."

"You are perfect at hockey," Sophia said.

"Not perfect enough apparently." He kicked at a pile of leaves. "Sorry. I didn't ask you here to complain about my parents."

"Why did you ask me here?"

Ethan stopped walking. They were near the pond, ducks paddling around, the water reflecting the trees and sky.

"Because I missed you," he said simply. "We've seen each other at school but it's not the same. I miss actually talking to you. Not performing being normal in front of other people."

Sophia understood exactly what he meant. This week had been like playing a role—normal friends, nothing complicated, certainly nothing that would be classified as a distraction from hockey.

"I missed you too," she admitted.

They found a bench overlooking the pond and sat down. Not too close, but close enough that she could feel the warmth from his body in the cool air.

"Tell me about badminton," Ethan said. "How's training going?"

"Intense. Coach is preparing us for provincials. I have a real shot at placing in singles."

"Of course you do. You're incredible."

"You've never seen me play."

"I've seen you practice. Through the gym windows. Maybe more than once."

Sophia looked at him. "You watched me practice?"

"You were using the gym during my spare period. I happened to walk by. Multiple times. And stop to watch."

"That's borderline creepy, Ethan."

"Or romantic?"

"Romantically creepy."

He laughed, and it was the first real laugh she'd heard from him all week. The sound made something in her chest loosen.

"Tell me about the game last night," she said. "The actual game, not just the score."

So he did. Described the plays, the assists, the way they'd been down 2-1 in the second period and fought back. How Tyler had screened the goalie perfectly on the third goal, how Jordan—who played defense—had made this incredible breakout pass that led to Ethan's second assist.

Sophia listened and watched him talk. This was the Ethan she remembered from being kids—the one who loved hockey because it was beautiful and fast and required this incredible synchronization between thinking and doing. Not the Ethan who performed under pressure, who calculated every move against scout expectations.

"I love watching you talk about hockey," she said when he finished.

"Yeah?"

"You light up. Like the scoreboard when someone scores."

Ethan went very still. "Becca said that."

"I know. You told me." Sophia pulled her knees up to her chest. "She was right. You do light up."

"Only about certain things."

"Hockey and physics?"

"Hockey and physics and you."

The words hung in the air between them. A dog barked somewhere across the pond. A kid shouted about seeing a duck. Normal park sounds around this moment that felt anything but normal.

"Ethan—"

"I know. We're being careful. Boundaries. Space. Proving focus." He turned to look at her. "But we're also allowed to be honest when we're alone. That was the deal, right? Public distance, private truth?"

"I don't remember negotiating those exact terms."

"I'm negotiating them now."

"That's not how negotiation works."

"Fine. I'm proposing terms. You can accept or counteroffer."

Sophia bit back a smile. "You're ridiculous."

"You like ridiculous."

"I do not."

"You're smiling."

"Am not."

"Sophia Chen, you are definitely smiling."

She was. She couldn't help it. Something about him turned her brain off and something else on—something that didn't calculate or optimize, just felt.

"Okay," she said. "I accept your terms. Public distance, private honesty."

"Mm-hmm."

She nodded, couldn't quite speak.

They sat there, the afternoon sun warm on her face, the air smelling like autumn and leaves and the particular scent of Winnipeg in October—wood smoke from somewhere, the last cut grass, cold water from the pond.

"This is nice," Ethan said softly.

"It really is."

"We should probably go soon though. Before it gets suspicious."

"How long have we been here?"

"Almost two hours."

Sophia checked her phone. He was right. Two hours had vanished while they sat and talked and existed in this bubble where his parents' expectations and school drama and everything else didn't penetrate.

"We should go," she agreed. But neither of them moved.

"Soph?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you moved back."

She looked at him. His face was open, honest, showing everything he usually kept carefully controlled. This was private-Ethan, not performance-Ethan.

"Me too," she said.

They stood up together. Started walking back toward the parking lot. The sun was lower now, making everything golden. The kind of light that photographers loved, that made ordinary things look magical.

They were almost to his Jeep when Ethan stopped suddenly.

"What?" Sophia asked.

He was looking at her in a way that made her heart rate accelerate. Made her aware of how close they were standing, how the golden light was hitting his face, how his eyes were doing that thing where they looked almost amber instead of brown.

"I really want to kiss you right now," he said quietly.

Every atom in Sophia's body said yes.

Every rational thought in her brain said no.

"We can't," she whispered.

"I know."

"Your parents—"

"I know."

"We just agreed to boundaries—"

"I know, Soph. I know." But he didn't step back. Neither did she.

They stood there in the parking lot, the space between them measured in inches. Close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his eyes, count the freckles on his nose that only showed up in summer but were still faintly visible. Close enough to feel the rise and fall of his breathing.

"This is a terrible idea," Sophia said.

"The worst."

"We should get in the car."

"Definitely should."

Neither of them moved.

Later, Sophia would think about that moment. How they'd both leaned in, just slightly. How the distance had shrunk to almost nothing. How she'd seen his eyes start to close and felt her own doing the same.

And how they'd both pulled back at the exact same moment.

"We can't," Ethan said, voice rough.

"Not yet," Sophia agreed.

"Not until..."

"Until things are different."

"Yeah."

They got in the car. Ethan started the engine. The radio came on—some indie song about wanting and waiting. He turned it off.

The drive back to her house was quiet. Not awkward, exactly, but charged with everything they'd almost done and chosen not to.

He pulled up in front of her house. She reached for the door handle.

"Sophia?"

She looked back.

"Thank you," he said. "For the walk. For understanding. For not making this easy."

"Not making it easy?"

"If you'd let me kiss you back there, I would have. And then everything would be more complicated. You made the right choice by pulling back."

"We both pulled back," she pointed out. "At the same time."

"Simultaneous decision-making. Very efficient."

"Very us," she agreed.

She got out of the car but leaned back in before closing the door. "Text me later?"

"Always."

Sophia went inside, climbed the stairs to her room, flopped on her bed and stared at the ceiling.

They'd almost kissed.

In a parking lot, in golden autumn light, they'd come within inches of crossing the line they'd agreed not to cross.

And they'd both chosen not to.

Her phone buzzed.

E: That was the hardest thing I've ever done

E: And I've done two-a-day hockey practices in summer

S: Same. And I've done badminton conditioning drills in a non-air-conditioned gym

E: We're very strong

E: Or very stupid

E: Possibly both

S: Definitely both

S: See you Monday?

E: Monday. Back to careful distance and public performance

S: At least we'll always have Assiniboine Park

E: Was that a Casablanca reference?

S: Maybe

E: I'm a terrible influence. You never made old movie references before me

S: You're a GOOD influence. I'm culturally expanding

E: That's what I'll tell your parents when they ask why their daughter suddenly quotes 1940s films

S: Please never talk to my parents about that

E: Noted

E: Goodnight, Soph

S: Night, Ethan

Sophia set her phone down and closed her eyes. One week down. His parents were watching. She had provincials in three weeks. He had hockey games and scouts and pressure. They had boundaries and public distance and private honesty.

They had almost-kisses in parking lots and texts that said everything they weren't saying out loud.

It was enough.

It had to be enough.

For now.

Her phone buzzed again. She almost didn't check it, assuming it was Maya with more questions.

But it wasn't Maya.

It was an unknown number. A photo attachment.

She opened it and her blood ran cold.

The photo showed her and Ethan in the Tim Hortons parking lot from that morning. Through the fogged windows of his Jeep, you could clearly see them sitting close, her hand on his face, the moment right before their almost-kiss.

Another text appeared:

Unknown: Interesting study session. His parents might want to see how their son "focuses" on academics.

Then nothing. No more messages. No explanation.

Someone had been watching them. Someone had evidence.

And someone wanted her to know they had—

End of Chapter 1

Chapter 2: CHAPTER 2: Rules of Engagement

The following Monday, Sophia arrived at school to find a new rhythm had established itself without anyone officially announcing it.

She and Ethan were "academic collaboration partners." That was the phrase Jordan used sarcastically when he found them working through calc problems in the library before first period.

"Very academically collaborative," Jordan observed, watching them debate the proper way to find the derivative of a composite function. "Much learning. Such education."

"Do you need something?" Ethan asked without looking up from his textbook.

"Just appreciating the collaborative energy. The scholarly vibes. The extremely platonic mathematics."

"Jordan," Sophia said sweetly, "don't you have an art project due?"

"Deflection. Classic academic collaborator move."

"I will throw this calculator at your head."

"Violent academic collaboration. Even better."

Tyler appeared behind Jordan, dropping his backpack on the table with a thud. "Leave them alone. They're being painfully obvious but at least they're subtle about being painfully obvious."

"That sentence doesn't make sense," Sophia said.

"Your face doesn't make sense."

"We're seventeen, not twelve."

"You're never too old for 'your face' jokes." Tyler pulled out his own calc textbook. "Actually though, can someone explain integration to me? Because I'm pretty sure I've been doing it wrong for three weeks."

"You've definitely been doing it wrong for three weeks," Ethan confirmed, looking at Tyler's homework. "You forgot the constant of integration on every single problem."

"The what?"

"The plus C," Sophia explained. "When you integrate, you add an arbitrary constant because you're essentially reversing differentiation, and constants disappear when you differentiate."

Tyler stared at her. "I understood maybe 40% of those words."

"Here." She pulled his notebook over and started showing him the correct method. Behind her textbook, where Jordan and Tyler couldn't see, her phone lit up with a text from Ethan.

E: You're very patient with Tyler

E: I would have given up after explaining once

S: He's trying. That counts for something

E: You're good at teaching

S: Years of explaining badminton strategy to Maya

S: She has zero hand-eye coordination but wanted to understand the game

E: Maya plays badminton?

S: God no. She watches and yells encouragement

S: Mostly she yells "HIT THE THING" which is technically accurate

Sophia watched Ethan's shoulders shake with silent laughter across the table.

"Are you texting each other right now?" Jordan asked. "While sitting at the same table?"

"No," they said simultaneously.

"You're both terrible liars."

"Focus on your art project, Jordan."

"I finished my art project."

"Then go be artistic somewhere else."

"Rude. I'm wounded. Artistically wounded."

But he was smiling as he said it, and Sophia knew that underneath the teasing, Jordan was being protective. Making sure they were okay. Making sure this new dynamic—whatever it was—worked.

The warning bell rang. They packed up books, headed to separate classes. Sophia felt Ethan watching her walk away and deliberately didn't look back.

This was the new normal. Present but distant. Together but separate. Like they were running parallel code that occasionally intersected at designated points.

Physics class felt like an exercise in calculated awareness. Mr. Reimer was lecturing about rotational motion—angular velocity, torque, moment of inertia. Sophia took notes and understood the material and was also hyper-conscious of Ethan three rows back.

Her phone buzzed silently in her pocket.

E: Rotational motion is basically fancy spinning, right?

She glanced at the board. They were working through a problem about a figure skater pulling in her arms to increase rotation speed.

S: Conservation of angular momentum

S: Moment of inertia decreases, angular velocity increases to compensate

E: So she spins faster when she's more compact

S: Exactly

E: That's actually beautiful

E: Physics is weirdly beautiful when you explain it

Sophia had to actively stop herself from smiling at her desk.

After class, Tyler caught up to her in the hallway. "Hey, question."

"What's up?"

"Is Ethan okay? Like actually okay?"

Sophia chose her words carefully. "Why do you ask?"

"He's been weird at practice. Not bad weird—he's playing fine, maybe better than usual. But he's in his head about stuff. Coach Morrison pulled him aside Friday to ask what's going on."

"What did Ethan say?"

"That everything's fine. But everything's clearly not fine because his parents showed up to practice last week. Just stood there watching. His dad was taking notes."

Sophia's stomach dropped. "Notes about what?"

"No idea. But it freaked Ethan out." Tyler shifted his backpack. "Look, I know something's going on with you two. Everyone knows. And I don't care about the drama or whatever. I just care that he's okay. We need him focused for playoffs."

There it was. The subtext she'd been expecting since this whole thing started. We need him focused for hockey. Don't mess with his focus.

"He's fine," Sophia said. "We're just friends."

"Sure. Friends who stare at each other like physics has suddenly become intensely fascinating."

"Physics IS fascinating."

"Yeah, okay, nerd." But Tyler said it fondly. "Just... I don't know. His parents are intense. Everyone on the team knows it. They've got his whole life mapped out. If you actually care about him, be careful with that."

He walked away before Sophia could respond.

She found Maya at lunch, slid into the seat across from her in the cafeteria. "Everyone's got opinions about me and Ethan."

"Welcome to high school, where everyone has opinions about everything." Maya bit into her sandwich. "What's the latest opinion?"

"Tyler wants to make sure I'm not 'messing with Ethan's focus.'"

"Of course he does. Hockey bros before actual human emotions."

"That's not fair. Tyler's being protective."

"Tyler's being a hockey bro. There's a difference." Maya pointed her sandwich at Sophia. "But also, how ARE things with you and Ethan? You've been doing this weird dance all week."

"We're being careful. His parents are watching everything."

"That's seriously messed up."

"They're invested in his success."

"They're controlling. Those are different things."

Sophia picked at her own lunch. "I know. But it's his life. His choice how to handle them."

"Is it though? If they're threatening to pull college funding?"

"Maya—"

"I'm just saying. You're bending over backward to prove you're not a distraction, but maybe the problem isn't you. Maybe it's parents who think their son is an investment instead of a person."

Sophia didn't have a response to that.

Ethan appeared at their table with Jordan and Tyler. The cafeteria dynamic shifted—guys on one end, girls on the other, everyone pretending this was totally normal and not a careful orchestration of public distance.

"Anyone doing anything this weekend?" Jordan asked.

"Provincial badminton qualifiers," Sophia said. "All weekend tournament."

"Oh, that's the big one, right?" Tyler asked. "The one you need to place in to make nationals?"

"Yeah. Top eight in singles advance."

"You'll crush it," Maya said confidently. "You've been training like a demon."

"Coach thinks I have a shot at top four."

"Coach is right," Ethan said. Everyone looked at him. "What? I've watched her practice. She's really good."

"When did you watch her practice?" Jordan asked innocently.

"I've... walked by the gym. The windows exist."

"Uh-huh. Casual window-walking. Very subtle."

"I hate you."

"You love me."

Tyler's phone buzzed. He checked it and groaned. "Coach wants extra practice Wednesday night. Something about our defensive zone coverage being sloppy."

"Wednesday?" Ethan frowned. "That's bad timing."

"Why?"

"I have..." He trailed off, glancing at Sophia. "Nothing. Wednesday's fine."

But Sophia knew what he'd been about to say. They had a calc test Wednesday morning and had planned to study Tuesday night. Had planned it via text, carefully, making sure it counted as academic collaboration and not a date.

"We can study a different night," she said quietly.

"You two are the worst at subtle," Jordan observed.

"We're not being subtle. We're being obvious about being academic collaboration partners."

"Is that what we're calling it?"

"That's what everyone's calling it," Tyler said. "Also what Coach Morrison called it when he asked Ethan if his 'study partner' was impacting his performance."

Ethan's jaw tightened. "What did you tell him?"

"That your performance is fine. Better than fine. You've been playing lights out lately." Tyler shrugged. "But he's asking questions. So are the scouts. There's one coming to Friday's game."

"Friday?" Sophia asked before she could stop herself.

"Yeah. Junior scout from Boston College. Apparently they're interested in Ethan and wanted to see a game in person."

The table went quiet.

"That's huge," Jordan said finally. "Boston College is Division 1."

"It's preliminary," Ethan said. "They scout lots of players."

"Still. That's serious interest."

"I know."

He didn't look at Sophia, but she felt the weight of what he wasn't saying. This was important. Exactly the kind of opportunity his parents had invested everything to create. The kind of thing that justified their pressure and control and ultimatums.

The kind of thing she absolutely couldn't interfere with.

"You'll be great," she said. Careful. Supportive. The exact level of friendly that academic collaboration partners would use.

"Thanks."

The conversation moved on to other things, but Sophia barely heard it. Her brain was already running calculations. Friday game with a scout. Wednesday practice instead of studying. His parents watching everything. Her tournament this weekend.

They were both hitting critical moments in their respective sports, and the universe had decided to schedule them simultaneously.

Of course it had.

Wednesday night, Sophia was alone in her room working through calc problems when her phone buzzed.

E: Practice just ended

E: We ran defensive drills for 90 minutes

E: I think Coach is trying to kill us

S: Defensive zone coverage?

E: How did you know?

S: Tyler mentioned it at lunch Monday

E: Right. Yeah. Apparently our formation was collapsing too easily

E: Which is true but also ow my legs

S: Ice bath?

E: Already did. Now just contemplating the nature of suffering

S: Very philosophical

E: I contain multitudes

S: That's a Walt Whitman reference

E: Look at you knowing poetry

S: I contain multitudes too

There was a pause, then:

E: I wish we were studying together tonight

E: The calc problems are kicking my ass and you explain them better than the textbook

S: Which problems?

E: Related rates. I don't understand what they're asking

S: Send me a picture

A minute later, a photo of his textbook appeared. Problem 23, something about a ladder sliding down a wall. Classic related rates.

Sophia could just text him the answer. Or she could...

She hit the video call button.

Ethan answered after two rings. He was in his room, hair wet from the post-practice shower, wearing a Saints hockey t-shirt. His desk was visible behind him, covered in textbooks and paper.

"Hey," he said, smiling.

"Hey. So, related rates."

"Are we really going to study via video call?"

"You need help. I'm helping. This is academic collaboration."

"Very collaborative."

"Shut up and show me the problem."

He angled his phone so she could see his textbook. "Okay, so there's a ladder sliding down a wall—"

"Twenty feet long," Sophia read. "Bottom sliding away at two feet per second. How fast is the top sliding down when the bottom is sixteen feet from the wall?"

"I don't even know where to start."

"Okay. First, draw it out. Visualize the triangle—wall, ground, ladder."

She watched him sketch on paper, his hand moving confidently even though his math was uncertain. Athlete's hands, she thought. Precise motor control even when the brain was still figuring it out.

"Got it," he said. "Triangle."

"Now, what relationship exists between the sides?"

"Pythagorean theorem? Because it's a right triangle?"

"Exactly. So write that out."

He did: x² + y² = 20²

"Good. Now, what are we trying to find?"

"How fast the top is sliding... so the rate of change of y?"

"Right. dy/dt. But we know dx/dt—the bottom is sliding at two feet per second. So we need to relate these rates."

"Which means..."

"Differentiate with respect to time."

She watched understanding dawn on his face. "Oh. So I take the derivative of both sides?"

"Yes! Do it."

He worked through it, mumbling to himself. "2x(dx/dt) + 2y(dy/dt) = 0..."

"Keep going."

"And we know x is sixteen, dx/dt is two, and we can find y using Pythagorean theorem..." He calculated. "y is twelve. So 2(16)(2) + 2(12)(dy/dt) = 0..."

"Solve for dy/dt."

His pencil moved. "64 + 24(dy/dt) = 0... dy/dt = -64/24... approximately -2.67 feet per second?"

"Perfect. The negative means it's moving down, which makes sense."

"I actually understood that."

"You did! See, you don't need me. You just need to visualize it first."

"No, I definitely need you." He was looking at her through the screen in a way that made her acutely aware that she was in her pajamas with her hair in a messy bun. "You make it make sense. The textbook just throws equations at me."

"The textbook assumes you can visualize abstract mathematical relationships without context."

"I'm a hockey player. I need context. Physical examples."

"Then we'll use hockey examples." Sophia grabbed her own textbook. "Next problem—anything about rates of change, think about puck velocity. Anything about angles, think about shot trajectories."

They worked through five more problems, Ethan getting faster and more confident with each one. Sophia found herself relaxing into the familiar rhythm of explaining concepts, watching understanding click into place.

"You really should be a teacher," Ethan said after they finished the last problem.

"I'm going to be a physicist."

"You can be both. Lots of physicists teach."

"Maybe." She'd never thought about it much. Her plan had always been research—pure science, discovering new things about how the universe worked.

"You're good at it," Ethan said. "Making complicated things feel simple."

"Things are simple if you break them down enough."

"Is that true for everything? Or just math?"

"I think..." Sophia considered. "I think most things follow patterns. You just have to find the right framework to see them."

"What about feelings?"

"What?"

"Do feelings follow patterns? Can you framework those?"

She looked at him through the screen. He was asking but also not asking, the question carrying layers.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I keep trying to. But they're more like quantum mechanics than classical physics."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning the act of observing changes the system. You can't measure both position and momentum precisely. Uncertainty principle."

Ethan smiled. "So you're saying feelings are subject to Heisenberg uncertainty?"

"I'm saying feelings don't optimize neatly."

"Good to know we're both confused then."

"Mutually confused academic collaboration partners."

"The most confused."

They looked at each other through their screens. Sophia's room behind her, his room behind him. Miles apart but connected by this ridiculous video call that had started as calc help and become something else.

"I should let you sleep," Sophia said. "You have practice tomorrow."

"And you have your tournament this weekend."

"Yeah."

"You're going to be incredible. You know that, right?"

"I'm going to try to be incredible."

"You don't have to try. You just are."

Her heart did the ridiculous thing again.

"Goodnight, Ethan."

"Night, Soph."

She ended the call and sat there staring at her blank phone screen. They'd just spent ninety minutes doing calculus via video chat, and somehow it felt more intimate than sitting next to each other at school had all week.

Her phone buzzed.

E: Thanks for the help

E: I actually feel ready for the test now

S: You were ready. You just needed to visualize it

E: I needed YOU

E: To help me visualize it

E: The math thing

E: I'm going to stop talking now

Sophia laughed out loud.

S: Goodnight, Ethan

E: Goodnight for real this time

She plugged in her phone and got into bed. Tomorrow was Thursday. Then Friday with his scout game. Then her tournament all weekend. They'd barely see each other, which was probably good. Maintained distance. Proved focus.

So why did it feel terrible?

Thursday's calc test went well. Sophia finished with twenty minutes to spare and spent them doodling force diagrams again. When she glanced back, Ethan was still working, but he looked confident. Not stressed.

After class, he caught up to her. "I think I actually aced that."

"Of course you did."

"Because you explained it."

"Because you understood it. I just helped you see what you already knew."

Tyler appeared between them. "You two are disgustingly wholesome. Can you be normal teenagers and make bad decisions?"

"We're studying," Sophia said. "That's a good decision."

"Exactly. Disgusting." But he was grinning. "Ethan, you coming to lunch? Coach wants to talk to the team about tomorrow's game."

"Yeah, one sec." Tyler walked ahead, and Ethan lowered his voice. "Good luck this weekend. Text me how you're doing?"

"You'll be at your game."

"Before and after. I want to know."

"Okay."

"Okay."

They stood there for a moment too long, then separated. Sophia went to find Maya, who was at their usual lunch table looking amused.

"You two are painful to watch," Maya said.

"We're being appropriate."

"You're being constrained. It's different."

"His parents are watching everything. There's a scout at his game tomorrow. I can't be a distraction."

"You're not a distraction. You're a person he cares about. Those are different things."

"Not to his parents."

Maya sighed. "When's your first match?"

"Saturday morning, eight AM."

"Gross. Who schedules sports at eight AM?"

"Tournament organizers who hate joy."

"I'll be there. Sarah too. We'll bring signs."

"Please don't bring signs."

"We're definitely bringing signs."

"Maya—"

"I'm thinking 'CHEN DESTRUCTION' in big letters. Maybe some glitter."

"I will disown you as a friend."

"You can't disown me. I know too many of your secrets."

"I don't have secrets."

"You have an entire secret pining situation happening with Ethan Price."

"It's not pining. It's mutual acknowledgment of feelings that we're not acting on due to external pressures."

Maya stared at her. "That's literally the definition of pining."

"It's strategic delay."

"PINING."

Sophia threw a carrot at her.

Friday arrived with the weight of importance. Ethan had his scout game. The whole school knew—there were posters in the hallway advertising it, the hockey team wore their jerseys, there was an energy in the building like something significant was happening.

Sophia deliberately didn't go to the game.

She'd thought about it. Imagined sitting in the stands with Maya and Sarah, watching him play. But Tyler's words kept echoing: We need him focused.

So instead, she went home after school and did homework and tried not to check her phone every thirty seconds.

The game started at seven. By 7:15, she gave up pretending she wasn't going to track the score online.

Saints were up 1-0 after the first period. Ethan had the assist.

By the end of the second period, it was tied 2-2. Ethan had scored one of the goals.

Sophia's phone buzzed at 8:47.

Maya: why aren't you here

S: Giving him space

Maya: that's dumb

Maya: he keeps looking at the stands

Maya: like he's looking for someone

S: Don't

Maya: I'm just saying

Maya: He's playing well but he looks sad

Sophia stared at that message. He looks sad.

Her phone buzzed again, but this time it was her badminton group chat. Coach Yun sending final instructions for tomorrow. Reminding them about warm-up time, what to bring, the importance of mental preparation.

Right. Her tournament. The thing she'd trained months for. The qualification for nationals.

She couldn't be at Ethan's game because she needed to focus too.

That's what she told herself.

The final score came in at 9:23: Saints 4, Raiders 3.

Ethan had two goals and one assist. Three points in a game with a Division 1 scout watching.

Her phone buzzed at 9:45.

E: We won

S: I saw! Three points!!

E: Scout wants to meet with me and my parents next week

E: This is huge

S: It's amazing. You were incredible

E: I wished you'd been there

E: But I understand why you weren't

S: You needed to focus

E: I know

E: Still wished it though

Sophia typed and deleted four responses before settling on:

S: Me too

S: But this is what matters. The scout. The opportunity. Your future.

S: I'm so proud of you

E: Thanks, Soph

E: Good luck tomorrow. Destroy everyone.

S: That's the plan

S: Get some rest. You earned it

E: You too

E: Goodnight

S: Night

She set her phone on her nightstand and lay in the dark thinking about him looking at the stands. Looking for someone who wasn't there. Looking for her.

Her mom had said be careful with serious people's children.

But what if they were both serious people's children? What if they were both being optimized and engineered and pushed toward predetermined futures? What if the thing they needed most was someone who understood that pressure?

Sophia closed her eyes.

Tomorrow, she'd play in the biggest badminton tournament of her life. She'd prove she was excellent independently. Show that she wasn't just "the girl Ethan likes" but an athlete with her own achievements.

And maybe, if she placed well enough, his parents would start to see her differently.

Not as a distraction.

As a peer.

Saturday morning arrived dark and cold, October in Winnipeg showing its teeth. Sophia was up at six, eating breakfast that tasted like cardboard, checking her gear three times.

Her parents drove her to the University of Manitoba PAC Arena. The parking lot was already filling up—badminton clubs from across the province converging for the qualifying tournament.

"You're going to do great," her mom said, pulling into a spot.

"I know."

"That's my daughter. Confidence." Her dad smiled in the rearview mirror. "Make them work for every point."

Inside, the arena had been converted into a badminton facility—eight courts set up with nets, officials' tables, scoreboards. The atmosphere was electric with competitive energy. Players warming up, coaches giving last-minute instructions, the sound of shuttles being hit echoing through the space.

Sophia found Coach Yun and her team. Maya and Sarah were already in the stands, holding a sign that read "CHEN DOMINATION" in glittery letters.

She should have known better than to think Maya was kidding.

"Chen!" Coach called. "You're on Court 3 at 8:15. First match is against Williams from Brandon."

"Yes, Coach."

"You've played her before. She's got a strong smash but weak defense. Make her move."

"Got it."

Sophia warmed up, hitting shuttles with one of her teammates, getting loose. The familiar rhythm calmed her nerves—set up, swing, follow through. Cause and effect. Input and output.

Her first match started at 8:18. Williams was good—powerful serves, aggressive net play. But Coach was right about the defense. Sophia worked the angles, dropped shots just over the net, made her opponent run.

She won 21-15, 21-17.

Second match at 10:30 against Chang from Winnipeg. Tougher competition—longer rallies, better defense. Sophia had to work for every point. The first game went to deuce, finally ending 24-22 in Sophia's favor. The second game was easier, 21-16.

By lunch break, she was 2-0 and in quarterfinals.

Her phone had six messages.

E: How's it going?

E: Saw you're 2-0. Obviously.

E: I'm watching the bracket online

E: Is that creepy?

E: Probably creepy

E: But I'm invested now so I'm watching anyway

Sophia smiled at her phone.

S: Not creepy. Sweet.

S: Quarterfinals at 1:30

E: You've got this

E: Make them regret showing up

Maya: come get lunch, champion

Sophia found Maya and Sarah in the concourse area, eating Tim Hortons sandwiches.

"You're destroying people," Maya said approvingly. "It's beautiful."

"I'm winning matches. That's different."

"No, you're destroying people. That last rally? Williams looked like she wanted to cry."

"That's just competitive emotion."

"It was beautiful devastation." Sarah handed Sophia a sandwich. "Eat. Your next match is the hard one."

She was right. Quarterfinals at 1:30 against Lee from Winnipeg—ranked second in the province, nationally competitive, absolutely brutal on court.

The match was a war.

Lee's defense was incredible. Everything Sophia hit came back. Long rallies, both players running, the shuttle barely clearing the net or landing just inside the lines. The first game went to 26-24, Lee winning. The second game went to Sophia, 21-18. The third game was pure competition—every point fought for, neither player giving an inch.

At 20-19, match point for Sophia, she served.

Lee returned deep. Sophia returned cross-court. Lee smashed. Sophia defended, lofting high to the back. Lee moved to smash again—and Sophia saw the opening. As Lee committed to the smash, Sophia moved forward. The shuttle came hard and fast, and she dropped it just over the net. Perfect touch. Lee dove, couldn't reach it.

Point. Game. Match.

The score was 23-21.

Sophia barely remembered the next hour. Semifinal match at 3:45 against Tran from Steinbach. Won 21-17, 21-14. She was in finals.

Finals at 6:00 PM against Manitoba's top seed: Rachel Morrison, who'd won provincials three years running.

Sophia was exhausted. Her legs ached. Her shoulder was sore from a hundred overhead smashes. She'd been playing for almost ten hours with only short breaks.

But she was in finals.

Her phone buzzed during her dinner break.

E: FINALS!!

E: I knew you'd make it

E: When does it start?

S: 6:00

S: I'm tired

E: You're amazing

E: Go be amazing for forty more minutes

E: Then you can collapse

S: Sound plan

The finals match started at 6:07. The gym had filled with spectators—other players who'd been eliminated, parents, coaches, scouts taking notes. The sharp crack of shuttlecocks from other courts had died away. Everyone was watching court one.

The lights felt hotter. Sophia's shirt was already damp with sweat from the day's matches. Her grip tape was wearing thin, the handle slightly slippery despite the powder she'd applied.

Morrison stood across the net, bouncing on her toes, completely fresh. She'd had a bye in the semifinals when her opponent withdrew with an injury. The unfairness of it made Sophia's jaw clench.

The first rally set the tone. Morrison's clear sailed high and deep, the shuttlecock making that distinctive whistle as it cut through the air. Sophia retreated, set up for the return, but Morrison was already moving forward, anticipating. The smash came fast—a sharp crack that echoed through the gym. Sophia barely got her racket up in time.

Point to Morrison.

The shuttlecock felt heavier with each rally. The synthetic feathers caught the air differently when Sophia was tired, her timing off by milliseconds that felt like centuries. The court squeaked under her shoes as she scrambled for Morrison's drops, lunged for her drives. The crowd's gasps and cheers became white noise.

Sophia lost the first game 21-12.

Her legs were shaking as she walked to her bag for water. The bottle was warm, the water tasting like plastic. She could hear Morrison talking to her coach, calm and analytical. Not even breathing hard.

Coach Yun pulled Sophia aside, his voice low and urgent. "She's better than you."

"I know." The admission burned her throat.

"But you're faster. And you're smarter. Stop playing her game. Make her play yours."

"How?"

"Variation. She's expecting power. Give her finesse. Then when she adjusts, hit her with power. Make her guess."

The second game started. Sophia changed strategy. Delicate drop shots that barely cleared the net, the shuttlecock dying just past the service line. Slices that curved away from Morrison's backhand. Cross-court drives at impossible angles.

The crowd started murmuring. Morrison's smooth rhythm faltered. For the first time, she looked frustrated, wiping sweat from her forehead between points.

It worked—sort of. The game was closer, each point a battle. The rallies got longer, both players grunting with effort. At 18-17, Sophia could taste blood in her mouth from breathing so hard. Her calves were cramping.

But Morrison adjusted, finding her rhythm again. A perfect clear pushed Sophia deep. A deceptive drop brought her scrambling forward. Then the final smash—clean, powerful, unreturnable.

The shuttlecock hit the floor with a soft thud that sounded like finality.

21-18. Match to Morrison.

Silver medal. Second in the province. Qualified for nationals.

She should have been happy. She'd achieved her goal. Made nationals. Proven herself.

But standing on the podium getting her silver medal while Morrison got gold, all Sophia could think was: Second place.

After the ceremony, Maya hugged her hard. "You were incredible."

"I lost."

"You got second in the entire province. You're going to nationals."

"I lost to Morrison."

"Everyone loses to Morrison. She's basically a robot designed to win at badminton."

Sophia laughed despite herself.

Her phone buzzed.

E: Silver medal and nationals qualification

E: You're amazing

S: I came in second

E: Out of hundreds of players

E: You're ranked 2nd in Manitoba

E: That's not losing

E: That's being elite

Something in her chest loosened.

S: Thanks

E: Can I see you tomorrow?

E: Celebrate properly?

S: Yes

S: Please

E: I'll pick you up at 1?

S: Perfect

Sophia put her phone away and went to find her parents. Her dad was beaming. Her mom had tears in her eyes.

"Second in the province," her dad said, hugging her. "We're so proud."

"I wanted to win."

"You will. Next time." Her mom squeezed her shoulder. "Rachel Morrison is a graduating senior. Next year, that gold is yours."

Maybe. Or maybe Sophia would always be second. Maybe that's just who she was—excellent but not the best. Good enough to qualify but not to win.

She shook off the thought. Silver medal was still a medal. Nationals was still nationals.

And tomorrow, she'd see Ethan. They'd celebrate. For one afternoon, they could just exist without boundaries or pressure or careful distance.

Tomorrow could be different.

Tomorrow had to be different.

Her phone buzzed. Not Ethan this time. The unknown number from last week.

Unknown: Congratulations on silver. You played well.

Unknown: Halloween party tomorrow at Jordan's, right?

Unknown: His parents will be interested to know their son is hosting while they're away.

Unknown: Unless certain boundaries are maintained.

Sophia stared at her phone. Whoever this was, they weren't just watching her and Ethan. They were watching everyone. They knew about the party. They were making threats.

S: Who is this?

But the messages showed as read with no response.

Tomorrow wasn't just going to be different.

Tomorrow was going to be—

Her phone rang. Maya. Fuck.

End of Chapter 2

Chapter 3: CHAPTER 3: Tournament Weekend

Sunday afternoon, Sophia was showering off the exhaustion of yesterday's tournament when her phone rang. She almost didn't hear it over the water, but when she got out and checked, she had three missed calls from Ethan and a text.

E: Are you alive?

E: Should I be worried?

E: I'm picking you up in 45 minutes whether you respond or not

She called him back, still wrapped in a towel, hair dripping.

"Hey," she said when he answered.

"Oh good, you're not dead."

"Why would I be dead?"

"You weren't answering. I thought maybe you'd collapsed from athletic exhaustion."

"I was in the shower."

There was a pause. Then: "Right. Shower. Normal post-tournament activity."

Was he blushing? She couldn't tell over the phone, but something in his voice suggested he was blushing.

"Still picking me up at 1?" she asked.

"Unless you're too tired?"

"I'm never too tired for—" She stopped. For what? For him? For whatever this was between them?

"For celebration ice cream?" Ethan supplied. "Because I promised you celebration ice cream."

"You didn't promise ice cream."

"I'm promising it now. Get dressed. Warm clothes. It's freezing out."

He hung up before she could respond.

Forty-five minutes later, Sophia was waiting by her front window when his Jeep pulled up. She grabbed her coat and was out the door before he could come to get her—her parents were home, and the last thing she needed was them meeting Ethan while whatever this was remained undefined.

"Hey," she said, climbing into the passenger seat.

"Hey yourself, provincial silver medalist."

"Don't."

"Don't what? Be proud of you?"

"Don't make a big thing of it."

"Sophia Chen, you got second in the province and qualified for nationals. I'm making the biggest thing of it." He pulled away from her house. "Also, you look exhausted."

"Thanks?"

"It's a good look. Like you fought a battle and won."

"I lost the finals."

"You won silver. That's not losing."

They drove through Winnipeg's Sunday afternoon traffic—light, everyone either at church or sleeping off the weekend. The sky was that particular shade of gray that meant snow was coming soon. Maybe not today, but this week. Winter announcing itself.

"Where are we going?" Sophia asked.

"You'll see."

"That's ominous."

"It's mysterious. There's a difference."

They ended up at BDI, an ice cream place near the university. In October. When it was 4 degrees Celsius outside.

"We're getting ice cream in October," Sophia observed.

"Champions get ice cream regardless of temperature."

"I'm not a champion. I'm a runner-up."

"Sophie." He turned off the engine and looked at her. "Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Diminishing what you accomplished. You trained for months. You played eight matches yesterday—"

"Seven."

"Seven matches. You beat almost everyone in the province. You're going to nationals. That's not 'runner-up.' That's elite athlete."

Something in her throat felt tight. "Rachel Morrison is better than me."

"Right now. But you're a junior. She's a senior who's been training nationally for years. Give yourself credit for getting close."

"I don't want to get close. I want to win."

"I know." His voice was soft. "Trust me, I know that feeling. But you can want to win and still be proud of what you did achieve."

Sophia looked at him. Really looked. Ethan Price, who'd been groomed for hockey excellence since he was seven, whose parents had mapped out his entire athletic career, who probably hadn't been allowed to just be proud of "good enough" ever in his life.

"Do you do that?" she asked. "Feel proud of good achievements even when they're not perfect?"

"I'm learning to." He smiled, a little sad. "Mostly from watching you work. You love physics because it's beautiful, not because you have to be the best physicist. You chose badminton because you enjoyed it, not because someone invested your college fund in it. You're allowed to just be excellent for its own sake."

"But I—"

"Sophia. Please. Just let me buy you ice cream and celebrate your silver medal."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

They went inside. Sophia got maple walnut because it felt appropriately Canadian. Ethan got chocolate peanut butter because apparently he had the taste preferences of a twelve-year-old.

"This is objectively the best flavor," he defended, sitting across from her at a small table.

"It's the flavor of someone who never evolved past elementary school ice cream socials."

"You're just jealous of my superior taste."

"I'm absolutely not."

"Maple walnut is what old people get."

"Maple walnut is what people with refined palates get."

"You sound seventy."

"You sound twelve."

He grinned at her, and Sophia felt something in her chest do a complicated flip.

"Tell me about the finals match," Ethan said. "For real. Not just 'I lost.'"

So she did. Described the rallies, Morrison's incredible defense, the moment she realized she was outmatched. How Coach Yun had told her to vary her play, how she'd tried, how it almost worked.

"I could see what I needed to do," Sophia said. "I understood the strategy. But my body couldn't execute fast enough. There was this gap between knowing and doing."

"That's experience. You'll close that gap."

"You sound like my dad."

"Your dad sounds smart."

"He is. He keeps trying to tell me that silver is impressive, but all I can think is that I was eight points away from gold. Eight points across two games. If I'd just played a little better—"

"Stop," Ethan said gently. "You can analyze for improvement, but don't torture yourself with what-ifs."

"Do you do that? After games?"

"All the time. Every mistake, every missed opportunity. Jordan has to physically stop me from rewatching game footage sometimes."

"So you're telling me to do something you don't do?"

"I'm telling you to do something I'm trying to learn to do." He reached across the table, and for a second Sophia thought he was going to take her hand. But he just nudged her ice cream cup. "Eat your old-person flavor and accept that you're amazing."

"I'm not—"

"Sophie. Second in the province. Qualified for nationals. Amazing."

She ate her ice cream and tried to believe him.

"What about you?" she asked. "Your scout game. Three points."

"Yeah." Ethan's expression shifted, something complicated crossing his face. "The scout wants to meet with me and my parents next week. He said I'm on their 'serious interest' list for recruitment."

"That's huge."

"It's terrifying."

"You're incredible at hockey. You should be recruited."

"My parents are already planning my future. They had the scout over for dinner last night. Spent two hours talking about training philosophy and academic standards and whether I should consider prep school for senior year to strengthen my application."

Sophia's ice cream suddenly tasted like nothing. "Prep school? Like boarding school?"

"There are hockey prep schools that specifically train for college recruitment. Some of the guys on elite teams do a fifth year of high school at prep schools to develop more."

"Would you want that?"

"No. But I don't know if what I want matters."

They sat in silence, the cheerful ice cream shop atmosphere suddenly feeling incongruous with the weight of what he was saying.

"I'm sorry," Sophia said.

"For what?"

"That your parents are..." She searched for the right word. "Intense."

"That's diplomatic."

"I'm trying not to say 'controlling.'"

"You can say it. It's accurate." Ethan pushed his ice cream around with his spoon. "They're not bad people. They just have very specific ideas about what my life should look like."

"And you don't get a vote?"

"I get to vote in favor of their ideas." He said it like a joke, but Sophia heard the edge underneath.

"Ethan—"

"It's fine. This is what we signed up for, right? Both of us. High-achieving children of invested parents. This is the trade-off."

"It doesn't have to be."

"Doesn't it though?" He looked at her. "Your parents moved here for better opportunities. Mine invested everything in my training. We both have expectations to meet."

"My parents want me to be happy."

"Mine want me to be successful. They think it's the same thing."

Sophia didn't know what to say to that. Because her parents did want her to be happy—but they also had expectations. Good grades, good university, good career. The happiness was supposed to come from achieving those things.

"Do you want to play college hockey?" she asked.

"I don't know anymore. I used to. When it was just fun, when you and I were kids learning to skate at Granite, before scouts and rankings and recruitment." He met her eyes. "You were there when I fell in love with hockey. Remember? You were terrible at skating."

"Thanks for the reminder."

"But you kept trying. And you'd laugh every time you fell. You made it fun. Made me remember it was supposed to be fun." His voice got quieter. "That's what I miss. The fun. The joy of just playing."

"You can still have that."

"Can I though? With scouts watching and parents planning and everyone waiting for me to either succeed or fail spectacularly?"

Sophia reached across the table and did take his hand this time. Wrapped her fingers around his and squeezed.

"Yes," she said firmly. "You can. Because hockey is beautiful and you're beautiful at it, and no amount of pressure can take that away unless you let it."

Ethan looked at their joined hands on the table. His thumb moved against her knuckles—small movement, deliberate.

"We're holding hands in public," he said.

"We're friends celebrating achievements. Friends can hold hands."

"Can they?"

"I'm deciding they can."

He smiled. "Okay then. Friends who hold hands."

"Exactly."

They finished their ice cream like that, hands linked across the table, talking about nothing important. Classes and homework and Maya's new obsession with true crime podcasts and Jordan's upcoming art show.

Normal teenage conversation. Except for the electric current running through their joined hands.

When they finally left, the sun was lower in the sky, the air colder. Ethan drove her home slowly, like he was trying to extend the afternoon as long as possible.

He pulled up in front of her house but didn't immediately let her get out.

"Sophia?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for today. For letting me celebrate with you."

"Thanks for making me celebrate."

"I mean it. You're..." He paused, searching for words. "You're one of the most incredible people I know. And I'm not just saying that because I—" He stopped.

"Because you what?"

"Because I care about you. A lot."

Her heart rate elevated approximately 40%.

"I care about you too," she said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They looked at each other. His hand was on the gear shift, hers on her backpack strap. The space between them was maybe eighteen inches.

"I should go in," Sophia said.

"You should."

"My parents are probably watching."

"Definitely watching."

Neither of them moved.

"We're doing it again," Ethan said.

"Doing what?"

"The thing where we know we should maintain distance but we don't want to."

"Oh. That thing."

"Yeah."

Sophia forced herself to open the car door. "Text me later?"

"Always."

She got out, walked to her front door, turned back to wave. He was still watching, smiling that private smile that was just for her.

Inside, her mom was in the kitchen. "That was the hockey boy?"

"His name is Ethan."

"He seems nice. Your father wants to meet him."

"We're just friends, Mom."

"Friends who take you for ice cream and look at you like you're the most interesting thing they've ever seen?"

"Mom—"

"I'm just observing." But she was smiling. "Go do your homework. Dinner in an hour."

Sophia went to her room and flopped on her bed. Her phone buzzed immediately.

E: Your mom was definitely watching through the window

S: Both my parents were watching

E: Embarrassing?

S: So embarrassing

E: For the record, your mom has good taste in observing things

S: What does that mean?

E: Nothing

E: Just that you're interesting to look at

E: At

E: Interesting to look AT

E: I'm stopping now

Sophia laughed into her pillow.

S: You're an idiot

E: An idiot who bought you ice cream

S: The best kind of idiot

E: I'll take it

She set her phone down and stared at her ceiling. Today had been good. Simple. Just two people getting ice cream and talking and holding hands because they wanted to.

Tomorrow they'd go back to school and careful distance and public performance. But today had been theirs.

That was enough.

It had to be enough.

Monday morning brought reality back with force.

Sophia walked into school to find posters in the hallway announcing the academic awards assembly. Wednesday morning, all-school mandatory attendance, recognizing students for academic achievement.

Her name was on the list: Top marks in AP Physics, AP Calculus, and Honor Roll.

So was Ethan's: Mathematics Achievement Award, Honor Roll, and something called the Scholar-Athlete Recognition.

"Fancy," Maya said, appearing at her locker. "You're getting awards."

"It's just recognition for grades."

"It's recognition for being a genius. Take the compliment."

"I'm not a genius. I just work hard."

"Sophia. You're taking two AP science courses simultaneously while training for badminton nationals. You're a genius."

Tyler walked past and overheard. "Wait, you're getting academic awards?"

"So is Ethan," Sophia said.

"Yeah, but Ethan's been getting those forever. His parents make him." Tyler looked at her with something like respect. "You're actually smart smart. Not just study-hard smart."

"Those are the same thing."

"They're really not." He continued down the hallway, leaving Sophia confused.

Jordan found her and Maya at lunch. "Academic assembly Wednesday. You know what that means?"

"Free period out of class?" Maya suggested.

"It means Ethan's parents will be there." Jordan looked at Sophia. "They come to everything that's public recognition. They'll see you getting awards."

"So?"

"So maybe they'll start seeing you as something other than 'the distraction.'" He stole a fry from Maya's tray. "You're ranked second in provincial badminton, top of your class academically, and you're going to be on stage with Ethan receiving awards. That's peer-level achievement. Hard to argue you're derailing him when you're excelling at the same things."

Sophia hadn't thought about it that way.

"Unless they just get more threatened," Maya said. "Some parents don't want their kids to have peer-level partners. They want them to have subordinate-level partners who'll support from the sidelines."

"Maya," Jordan said, "you're a ray of sunshine."

"I'm realistic."

But Maya's words stuck with Sophia through the afternoon. What if excelling just made Ethan's parents more determined to keep them apart? What if being excellent wasn't enough?

After school, she had badminton practice. Coach Yun worked them hard, already planning for nationals in January.

"Chen, your footwork is getting sloppy," Coach called. "Tighten it up."

Sophia focused, moved through the drills. Lunges, jumps, lateral movements. Her legs still ached from Saturday's tournament, but she pushed through.

"Better," Coach approved. "You played well Saturday. But Morrison exposed your weaknesses. We need to work on your defensive returns."

"Yes, Coach."

They spent an hour on defensive drills. Sophia returning smash after smash, learning to absorb the power and redirect it. By the end of practice, her arms felt like jelly.

In the locker room, one of her teammates—Jasmine, a sophomore—approached her. "Hey, is it true you're friends with Ethan Price?"

"Um. Yeah?"

"That must be weird now. With him and Becca breaking up."

"It's fine."

"Some people are saying you're the reason they broke up."

Sophia went very still. "What?"

"Just rumors. You know how people talk." Jasmine shrugged. "I mean, you guys do study together a lot. And you moved here right before they broke up."

"We're friends. That's all."

"Sure. I'm just saying what people are saying."

She left, and Sophia sat on the locker room bench feeling sick.

Maya was waiting outside when she emerged. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"People are saying I broke up Ethan and Becca."

"People are idiots."

"But what if they're right? What if I did?"

"Sophia." Maya grabbed her shoulders. "Ethan and Becca were ending anyway. You didn't break them up. You just existed, and he realized he wanted different things. That's not your fault."

"It feels like my fault."

"That's because you're a good person who thinks too hard about everything." Maya steered her toward the parking lot. "Come on. Sarah and I are getting bubble tea. You're coming."

"I have homework—"

"Homework can wait. Friendship emotional support is happening now."

They ended up at Nuvo Bubble Tea on Pembina Highway. Sarah was already there, had ordered their usual drinks, and had claimed a corner table.

"Rough day?" Sarah asked when they sat down.

"People are talking," Sophia said.

"People are always talking. Ignore them."

"Easier said than done when they're talking about you being a homewrecker."

"You're not a homewrecker," Maya said firmly. "You're a person. Ethan's a person. Becca's a person. Sometimes people's feelings change. That's life, not drama."

"Try telling that to the entire school."

"I will. Literally. I'll make an announcement."

"Please don't."

"I'm very good at announcements."

"Maya—"

"Fine. But I reserve the right to glare menacingly at anyone who says shit about you."

Sophia laughed despite herself. "Deal."

They talked about other things—Sarah's college application stress, Maya's part-time job at her aunt's restaurant, the ridiculousness of having to read Hamlet AGAIN for English class. Normal teenage conversation that made Sophia feel slightly more normal.

Her phone buzzed.

E: Heard about assembly Wednesday

E: We're both getting awards

S: Yeah. Your parents will be there?

E: Probably

E: Is that weird?

S: Little bit

E: They need to see you're not what they think

S: What if that makes it worse?

E: It won't

E: Trust me

But Sophia wasn't sure she did trust that. Because excellence could be threatening. Achievement could make her more, not less, of a complication.

Wednesday morning arrived with the particular energy of an all-school assembly—everyone grateful for missing first period but also bored in advance at sitting through an hour of names being called.

Sophia sat with Maya and Sarah in the packed auditorium. The stage was set up with a podium, chairs for award recipients, and a screen showing the St. Paul's logo.

Principal Chen—no relation, but Sophia got jokes about it constantly—took the podium to talk about the importance of academic excellence and balanced achievement.

Sophia tuned it out, scanning the audience. She spotted Ethan's parents three rows from the front: his dad in a suit like he'd come from work, his mom in business casual, both looking intensely focused.

Her own parents were in the back—they'd come despite her telling them it wasn't a big deal. Her dad waved when he saw her looking. She waved back, embarrassed.

"Now I'll begin calling our award recipients to the stage," Principal Chen announced.

Names started being called. Students filed up, shook hands, received certificates or small plaques. Polite applause after each name.

"Sophia Chen, for excellence in AP Physics and AP Calculus, and for maintaining Honor Roll status."

Sophia stood, smoothed her skirt, walked to the stage. Principal Chen shook her hand and gave her two certificates.

"Remarkable achievement, Ms. Chen. We're proud to have you at St. Paul's."

"Thank you."

She took her seat on stage. From there, she could see the entire auditorium. Could see Maya and Sarah clapping enthusiastically. Could see her parents beaming. Could see Ethan's parents whispering to each other.

More names. More awards. Tyler got recognized for history excellence, which surprised everyone including Tyler.

Then: "Ethan Price, for Mathematics Achievement Award, Honor Roll status, and Scholar-Athlete Recognition."

Ethan walked up, shook hands, received his certificates. He was in dress pants and a button-down—she'd never seen him in anything but jeans or hockey gear. He looked older, more serious.

He took the seat three down from hers on stage.

Their eyes met. He smiled, small and private.

Principal Chen was still talking. "Our Scholar-Athlete Recognition is particularly special this year. We have multiple students who have excelled both academically and in athletic pursuits. These students embody our school's values of balanced excellence."

More names. Jordan got called for art achievement. A girl from the volleyball team got recognized for science and sports. Then—

"I'd like to particularly note two students whose achievements this semester have been exceptional. Ethan Price, whose hockey performance has attracted Division 1 college attention while maintaining a 3.9 GPA. And Sophia Chen, who qualified for national badminton competition while achieving perfect scores in two AP science courses."

Applause. Sophia's face felt hot.

"These students represent what's possible when passion meets discipline. They inspire their peers and represent our school's highest values."

From her seat on stage, Sophia could see Ethan's parents. His mother was smiling, applauding. His father's expression was harder to read—not disapproving exactly, but thoughtful. Calculating.

The assembly continued. More awards, some closing remarks about maintaining excellence. Finally, they were dismissed to second period.

Sophia filed off stage with the other award recipients. Her parents found her immediately.

"So proud of you," her mom said, hugging her.

"It's just certificates, Mom."

"It's recognition of hard work." Her dad took a picture of her holding the certificates. "Your grandmother will want to see."

Ethan was talking to his parents a few feet away. Sophia tried not to obviously watch, but she saw his father's hand on his shoulder, his mother saying something that made Ethan nod seriously.

Then his mother looked over and saw Sophia. Said something to his dad. They both looked at her.

His mother smiled and waved.

His father just looked.

Then they were leaving, and Ethan was walking over to her and her parents.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

"These are your parents?"

"Yeah. Mom, Dad, this is Ethan. Ethan, these are my parents."

Her dad shook Ethan's hand with the firm enthusiasm of dads everywhere. "We've heard a lot about you. You're the hockey player?"

"Yes, sir. And Sophia's study partner."

"She says you're very good at hockey."

"I try to be."

"He's being modest," Sophia's mom said. "We read about the scout interest. That's very impressive."

Ethan looked genuinely flustered. "Thank you. Your daughter is pretty impressive herself. National badminton qualification is a big deal."

"We're very proud." Her mom looked between them with an expression Sophia couldn't read. "You two should celebrate. Young people should celebrate their achievements."

"Mom—"

"I'm just saying. You work very hard. Take time to enjoy success."

Ethan's parents approached before Sophia could die of embarrassment.

"Ethan," his mother said. "We should get going. You have practice this afternoon."

"Right. Yeah." He looked at Sophia's parents. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too, young man," her dad said.

Then the moment Sophia had been dreading: both sets of parents in the same space.

"Robert and Caroline Price," Ethan's father said, extending his hand to her dad. "Ethan's parents."

"Wei and Lin Chen. Sophia's parents."

They shook hands. The mothers smiled politely. There was a moment of social calculation where everyone tried to figure out if they should have an actual conversation or just exchange pleasantries and leave.

"Your daughter is very accomplished," Caroline Price said finally. "Ethan speaks highly of her academic abilities."

"He's been a good influence," Sophia's mom replied. "She enjoys their study sessions."

"Ethan could use more academically-minded friends," Robert Price said. "Sometimes hockey culture can be... less focused on education."

"Sophia needs friends who understand competitive sports," her dad countered. "Not everyone appreciates that kind of discipline."

They were talking about her and Ethan like they weren't standing right there.

"We should go," Caroline said, touching her husband's arm. "Practice starts at three."

"Right." Robert looked at Sophia directly for the first time. "Congratulations on your badminton achievement. National qualification is impressive."

"Thank you, Mr. Price."

He nodded, then steered his family away.

When they were gone, Sophia's mom said, "They seem... intense."

"That's the polite word for it," Sophia muttered.

"He's under a lot of pressure, isn't he? That boy."

"Yes."

Her mom looked at her with an expression that was too knowing. "Be careful with that, sweetie."

"We're just friends, Mom."

"I know." But her tone said she didn't quite believe it. "Just be careful."

Her parents left, and Sophia stood in the emptying auditorium feeling like she'd just survived some kind of test she didn't know she was taking.

Her phone buzzed.

E: Well that was awkward

S: Which part? The assembly or our parents meeting?

E: Yes

S: Your dad called my achievement "impressive"

S: Is that good?

E: Coming from him? That's basically glowing praise

E: He never calls anything impressive

S: Your mom seemed nice

E: She is. She's softer than my dad about most things

E: But they're a united front when it matters

S: And I matter?

There was a long pause before his response.

E: You matter a lot

E: That's the problem

Sophia didn't know how to respond to that, so she didn't. Just went to her second period class and tried to focus on English literature and not the fact that Ethan's parents had now seen her as a peer-level achiever and she had no idea if that made things better or worse.

That weekend, there was a party at Jordan's house. His parents were out of town for some art convention, and Jordan had convinced them he was mature enough to be trusted alone for the weekend.

"I am extremely mature," Jordan said on Thursday at lunch, planning the party. "I will be the most responsible host."

"You're going to trash your house," Tyler predicted.

"I'm going to tastefully celebrate Halloween with a few close friends."

"It's Halloween?"

"Saturday. Keep up, Tyler."

"I thought Halloween was for kids."

"Halloween is for everyone who enjoys festive gatherings and creative costumes."

"You just want an excuse to throw a party."

"Also true."

Sophia wasn't planning to go. She had homework and was still recovering from the tournament and social situations made her anxious at the best of times.

But Friday afternoon, Maya cornered her at her locker.

"You're going to Jordan's party."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Too bad. You're going."

"Maya—"

"Sophia. You spend every weekend studying or training or overthinking your entire existence. You're going to one party. You're going to wear a costume. You're going to have fun."

"I don't have a costume."

"We're going shopping. Now. Come on."

Forty minutes later, they were at Value Village looking at the picked-over Halloween section.

"Everything's already been taken," Sophia said.

"Then we get creative." Maya held up a white lab coat. "You're a scientist. You could literally wear this with your normal clothes and call it a costume."

"That's not creative. That's lazy."

"You're right. You need something better." Maya rifled through the racks. "What about Marie Curie? Lab coat, vintage dress, carry around a beaker labeled 'Radium.'"

"That's... actually kind of funny."

"I'm a genius. A genius who's going to be a cat because I'm also lazy."

They bought the lab coat and found a vintage-looking dress at Goodwill. Maya made her buy red lipstick "for authenticity" even though Sophia never wore lipstick.

Saturday afternoon, Sophia was getting ready when her phone buzzed.

E: Are you going to Jordan's tonight?

S: Maya's making me

E: Good. I'll see you there?

S: What are you going as?

E: It's a surprise

S: That's ominous

E: Or mysterious. There's a difference.

Maya picked her up at seven. They arrived at Jordan's house at 7:30, and it was already packed. Music loud, people everywhere, someone had set up colored lights that made everything feel like a club.

Jordan answered the door dressed as Bob Ross—complete with wig and fake beard and a palette of paint.

"You look ridiculous," Maya said.

"I look iconic. There's a difference." He saw Sophia's costume and grinned. "Marie Curie?"

"How did you know?"

"The beaker labeled 'Radium' is a clue. Very science-nerd of you."

"Thanks?"

"It's a compliment. Come in. Food's in the kitchen, drinks are... also in the kitchen. Everything's in the kitchen."

They pushed through the crowd. Sophia recognized people from school, some she knew, most she didn't. Maya immediately found Sarah, who was dressed as a pirate.

"Your costume coordination is questionable," Sophia observed.

"We're eclectic," Sarah said. "It's artistic."

Sophia got a soda and leaned against the kitchen counter, watching people. This wasn't really her scene—the noise, the crowd, the performative social interaction. But Maya had been right that she needed to do normal teenage things sometimes.

"Nice costume," Tyler said, appearing next to her. He was wearing a hockey jersey and had drawn stitches on his face. "Hockey player who got in a fight?"

"Creative."

"I'm committed to the bit." He grabbed chips. "You seen Ethan yet?"

"No. Why?"

"You'll see." He grinned and walked away before she could ask what that meant.

Sophia circulated, talked to a few people from her physics class, avoided the living room where people were dancing because absolutely not. She was considering texting Maya that she'd done her social duty and wanted to leave when she heard someone say—

"Is that Ethan Price dressed as Einstein?"

Sophia turned.

And there he was.

Wild white wig, mustache drawn on, wearing a wrinkled shirt and vest, holding a chalkboard with "E=mc²" written on it.

Their eyes met across the room.

He was dressed as Einstein. She was dressed as Marie Curie. They were accidentally matching costumes.

Jordan appeared at her shoulder. "Oh, this is perfect."

"We didn't plan this," Sophia said quickly.

"Sure you didn't."

"Jordan, we literally didn't—"

"The universe is shipping you. Embrace it."

Ethan made his way through the crowd toward her. "Hey."

"Hey."

"You're Marie Curie."

"You're Einstein."

"We're... science costume twins."

"Apparently."

They stared at each other. Someone took a picture. Maya was openly laughing from across the room.

"This is either really funny or really embarrassing," Ethan said.

"Both. Definitely both."

"Want to lean into it?"

"What does that mean?"

He held up his chalkboard. "We could take photos. Commit to the bit."

"You sound like Tyler."

"Tyler has some good ideas occasionally."

Sophia laughed. "Okay. Fine. We're science costume twins. Let's own it."

They ended up taking ridiculous photos—holding their props, making serious "scientist" faces, recreating the "Back to the Future" poster pose that Jordan insisted was thematically appropriate even though neither of them were dressed as Doc Brown.

"You two are adorable," Maya said, taking approximately fifty photos.

"We're not adorable. We're historically accurate," Sophia protested.

"Historically accurate adorableness."

"That's not a thing."

"It is now. I'm making it a thing."

The party continued around them. Music, people, the normal chaos of teenagers in a house without parents. Sophia found herself relaxing, laughing at Jordan's stories about art class disasters and Tyler's explanation of why hockey fights were "technically athletic performance art."

But she was always aware of where Ethan was. Like her brain had dedicated processing power to tracking his location. He'd be talking to someone across the room, and she'd know exactly where he stood. He'd laugh at something Jordan said, and she'd hear it over the music.

Around nine, she needed air. The house was too warm, too many people. She slipped out to Jordan's back deck.

The air was cold, sharp in her lungs. Halloween night in Winnipeg, winter coming. The sky was clear, stars visible despite the city lights.

The door opened behind her.

"You okay?" Ethan asked.

"Yeah. Just needed quiet."

He joined her at the deck railing. "Too much party?"

"Little bit."

They stood there in silence, their breath visible in the cold air. Sophia was very aware of how close he was standing. How his Einstein wig had gotten slightly askew. How she could see the marker mustache up close and it was somehow both ridiculous and endearing.

"We really didn't plan the costumes," she said.

"I know."

"But everyone thinks we did."

"Does it matter what everyone thinks?"

"Doesn't it? Your parents, the team, everyone watching to see if you're distracted..."

"Sophie." He turned to face her. "I'm tired of caring what everyone thinks."

"You have to care. Your recruitment—"

"I played well with the scout watching. I got good grades. I'm doing everything right. And I'm still not allowed to just..." He gestured between them. "This."

"This?"

"Whatever this is. Whatever we are. I'm so tired of pretending it's nothing."

Sophia's heart was doing complicated things. "Ethan—"

"I know. I know all the reasons we're being careful. But standing here in matching science costumes on Halloween, I really don't care about any of them."

"We can't—"

"I know we can't. But I want to."

He was looking at her the way he had at Assiniboine Park. Like she was the only thing in focus, everything else blurred background.

"Jordan has an art studio," Ethan said quietly. "Upstairs. It's quieter up there."

"We shouldn't—"

"Probably not."

"People will notice—"

"Maybe."

But Sophia found herself nodding. "Okay."

They slipped back inside, navigated through the party. No one seemed to notice them heading upstairs—everyone was too busy with their own conversations and drama.

Jordan's art studio was at the end of the upstairs hallway. A converted bedroom full of easels and canvases and the smell of paint. The music from downstairs was muted here, distant.

Ethan closed the door.

They were alone.

Sophia's brain immediately started calculating risk factors, probability of discovery, potential consequences. But her heart—her heart was saying something different.

"We can just talk," Ethan said. "That's all this has to be."

"Okay."

But neither of them moved toward the chairs or the couch. They stood in the middle of the room, Einstein and Marie Curie, two people dressed as brilliant scientists who probably understood matter and energy better than they understood whatever force was operating between them right now.

"I meant what I said," Ethan continued. "About being tired of pretending."

"I know."

"Do you feel the same?"

"Yes," Sophia whispered. "But that doesn't change anything. Your parents, your recruitment, everything you've worked for—"

"What about what I want?"

"What do you want?"

"You," he said simply. "I want you. I want to not have to calculate every interaction and maintain careful distance and pretend I don't think about you constantly."

Sophia couldn't breathe. "Ethan—"

"I want to kiss you, Sophie. I've wanted to kiss you since The Forks. Since before The Forks. Since you moved back and showed up in my physics class and made everything complicated and better simultaneously."

"We can't."

"Why not?"

"Because—" She had reasons. Good reasons. Important reasons. But standing there looking at him, she couldn't remember a single one.

"Because," she tried again, "your parents will find out eventually. The team will know. It'll be more complicated."

"Everything's already complicated. Might as well be complicated and honest."

He took a step closer. Then another. Until they were inches apart, close enough that she could see the marker from his fake mustache had smudged slightly, could count the gold flecks in his eyes.

"Tell me to stop," he said quietly.

Sophia didn't tell him to stop.

She closed the remaining distance and kissed him.

She kissed him.

And immediately forgot how to do it properly.

Their noses bumped. The Einstein wig got in her mouth somehow—synthetic hair, tasted terrible. She started to pull back, embarrassed, but then his hand was on her face and oh—

Oh.

Apple cider. That's what she noticed first, maybe the only thing she could process. Apple cider and the mint gum he'd been chewing and then just... warmth. Everywhere. Her face felt like it was on fire. Good fire. Was that a thing?

Her knees did something weird—not romantic movie weak, more like she'd forgotten they existed—and she grabbed his shoulders hard. Probably too hard. The Einstein wig was definitely in her mouth again but she didn't care because he made this sound, this tiny gasp, and her entire body just—

The party noise disappeared. Or maybe her ears stopped working. Time did something impossible. Her heartbeat was so loud he had to hear it, had to feel it where her chest pressed against his costume (when had that happened?).

She'd read about first kisses. They were supposed to be perfect or terrible. This was neither. This was messy and overwhelming and his thumb on her cheek was the only point of clarity in a world that had gone completely sideways.

Like finding home in a place she'd never been. Like her molecules rearranging. Like—

God, even now her brain wanted to make it physics.

They broke apart, both breathing hard. Her lips tingled. She could still taste him.

"We just kissed," Sophia said.

"We really did."

"This is going to make everything more complicated."

"I know."

"Your parents—"

"I know."

"Everyone will—"

"Sophia." He rested his forehead against hers. "Can we just have this moment? Before we figure out all the complications?"

She nodded. And kissed him again.

This time it was slower, softer. His hands in her hair, her hands on his shoulders. Taking their time because they could, because they were alone, because this was theirs and no one could tell them it was wrong.

When they separated again, Ethan was smiling. "So that happened."

"That definitely happened."

"Regrets?"

"Ask me when your parents find out."

"They're going to find out eventually."

"I know."

"Are you okay with that?"

Sophia thought about it. About consequences and complications and everything that was about to get harder. About Ethan's recruitment and his parents' expectations and the fact that being together would make both their lives more difficult.

But she also thought about the way he looked at her. The way he'd shown up to her tournament with flowers. The way he explained physics like it was beautiful and looked at hockey like it was art and made her remember that achieving things could be joyful, not just necessary.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm okay with it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He kissed her again, and Sophia let herself stop calculating. Just for a few minutes. Just for this moment.

They were still standing there, wrapped up in each other, when footsteps sounded in the hallway.

Then Jordan's voice, urgent: "Ethan! Your dad's here!"

They froze.

"He's looking for you," Jordan continued, voice closer now. "His car's in the driveway."

Ethan pulled out his phone. Seven missed calls. Three voicemails. Multiple texts, each more urgent.

"Shit," he muttered.

"You have to go down," Sophia said.

"Come with me."

"That'll make it worse. He can't see us together right now. Not like this."

Footsteps on the stairs. Multiple people coming up.

Jordan appeared at the door. "He's coming up here. He saw someone say you went upstairs."

Sophia's panic spiked. "Where do I—"

"Behind the easel," Jordan pointed. "Quick."

She dove behind the large easel in the corner just as heavier footsteps reached the top of the stairs.

Then Ethan's father's voice: "Ethan? Jordan said you're up here?"

Ethan moved toward the door, putting himself between his father and the rest of the room. "Dad? What are you doing here?"

Robert Price appeared in the doorway, still in his coat, expression thunderous.

"We need to go. Now. Coach Morrison called. There's been a situation."

"What situation?"

"Your spot on the AAA roster. They're reconsidering."

From behind the easel, Sophia could see a slice of the room. Ethan's shock, his father's barely controlled anger.

"What? Why?"

"We'll discuss it at home. Get your things."

Robert's eyes scanned the room, landing on the two cups of cider on the table. One Ethan's, one Sophia's, sitting there like evidence.

"Are you alone up here?" he asked.

Ethan hesitated. Just for a second, but Sophia saw it. The choice: tell the truth and face the consequences, or lie and protect her.

"Ethan," his father said, voice hard. "I asked you a question."

Ethan opened his mouth—

End of Chapter 3

Chapter 4: CHAPTER 4: Power Play

Behind the easel, Sophia held her breath.

From her limited view, she could see Ethan's profile. The way his jaw tightened. The way his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The way he was standing perfectly still, processing the impossible question his father had just asked.

Are you alone up here?

The truth would mean everything coming out. Right now. In front of Jordan. With a party full of people downstairs. His father already angry about his roster spot. Everything exploding at the worst possible moment.

The lie would protect her. Would buy them time. Would let them figure this out on their own terms instead of having it forced into the open by circumstance.

Sophia watched Ethan's shoulders rise and fall with one deep breath.

"Jordan was up here," Ethan said. "He left when you showed up."

It wasn't exactly a lie. Jordan had been up here. But it also wasn't the truth.

Robert Price's eyes narrowed, scanning the room again. Landing on those two cups.

"Jordan drinks cider?" he asked.

"We both do," Ethan said evenly. "It's a party. People drink things."

Sophia pressed herself flatter against the wall behind the easel, making herself as small as possible. Her Einstein costume suddenly felt ridiculous—the lab coat too white, too visible. If he came farther into the room...

But Robert didn't move from the doorway. "Get your coat. We're leaving."

"What's this about my roster spot?"

"Not here. At home."

"Dad—"

"Ethan. Car. Now."

The command in his voice made even Sophia flinch. This wasn't a parent making a request. This was someone who expected immediate obedience.

Ethan looked back into the room one more time. His eyes didn't go to where Sophia was hiding—that would have given her away—but she saw the apology in his expression anyway.

Then he followed his father out.

Sophia waited thirty seconds. Then a minute. Then Jordan appeared in the doorway.

"He's gone," Jordan said quietly. "They're driving away."

Sophia emerged from behind the easel, her legs shaking.

"You okay?" Jordan asked.

"No. Maybe. I don't know." She sank onto the paint-stained couch. "What just happened?"

"Ethan's dad showed up looking for him. Said something about his roster spot being reconsidered. He was pissed."

"But why? Ethan's been playing well. He had three points in the scout game."

"I don't know. But whatever's going on, it's bad."

Sophia pulled out her phone. No texts from Ethan. No calls. Just silence.

"I should go home," she said.

"You're shaking."

"I'm fine."

"Sophia—"

"I just need to go home, Jordan."

He drove her, because Maya was still at the party and Sophia couldn't face going back downstairs. Couldn't face people asking where she'd been, why she looked upset, what had happened to her matching costume twin.

In Jordan's car, she finally asked: "Did you know Ethan's dad was that controlling?"

Jordan was quiet for a moment. "It's not just controlling, Sophia. What Ethan's parents do... Maya told me her mom's a therapist, and she says it has a name. Emotional abuse. The way they control every aspect of his life, use his hockey career as leverage, threaten to take things away if he doesn't comply... That's not normal parenting. That's abuse."

Sophia felt something cold settle in her stomach. "But everyone just accepts it?"

"Everyone knows. The whole team knows. It's just... that's Ethan's life, you know? He's dealt with it forever. The school counselor has tried to talk to him about it, but he won't admit anything's wrong. Says they're just 'intense about his success.'"

"It's not right."

"No. But it's his reality. And now..." Jordan glanced at her. "Now he's got something they can use against him. You."

The words hit like ice water.

Jordan pulled up to her house. The lights were on inside—her parents still awake, waiting.

"Thanks for the ride," Sophia said.

"Anytime. And Sophie? For what it's worth, I think you're good for him. I've known Ethan since we were kids, and I've never seen him as happy as he's been since you moved back. But his parents... they're going to make this ugly. You need to be prepared for that."

"His happiness is going to cost him everything."

"Maybe. Or maybe it'll show him there's more to life than what his parents planned. Maybe you're exactly what he needs to finally stand up to them."

Sophia went inside, told her parents the party was boring so she came home early, went to her room and stared at her phone.

Nothing.

She changed out of her Marie Curie costume, washed off the red lipstick, lay in bed still wearing the Einstein wig because taking it off felt like admitting something was over.

At 11:47, her phone finally buzzed.

E: I'm sorry

S: Are you okay?

E: No

E: Can you talk?

S: Calling now

She hit his contact before he could respond. He answered on the first ring.

"Hey," he said, voice rough.

"What happened?"

"My roster spot. They're threatening to move me down to AA if I don't 'refocus on hockey.' Apparently someone told Coach Morrison I was 'distracted' at the party. That I was upstairs with a girl instead of networking with the scouts who were there."

"There were scouts at Tyler's party?"

"A couple guys who work with the junior teams. They saw me go upstairs and not come back down. Someone made sure they knew I wasn't alone up there."

"Who would—"

"Tyler. Had to be Tyler. He's been pissed since Becca and I broke up. Since he figured out it was because of you."

"Ethan—"

"My dad's furious. He says if I get moved down to AA, my junior prospects are gone. No scholarships, no NHL development program, nothing. Everything they've invested, everything they've planned—gone."

Sophia's chest felt tight. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. They want me to... They basically said I need to stop seeing you."

The words hung between them through the phone connection.

"Did they say that explicitly?"

"They said I need to 'eliminate distractions' and 'commit fully to hockey.' But we both know what they mean."

"So we stop seeing each other."

"What? No. Sophie—"

"Your whole future, Ethan. Your hockey career. Everything your parents have worked for—"

"Everything THEY'VE worked for. Not me. I never asked for this level of pressure. I just wanted to play hockey because I loved it. But they turned it into this thing, this machine that controls my entire life. And now they want to use it to control who I can care about?"

"It's still your future."

"Is it? Or is it theirs?"

Sophia didn't have an answer for that.

"I need to see you," Ethan said. "Tomorrow. Can you meet me?"

"Your parents—"

"Are going to their stupid country club thing from noon to four. Please, Sophie. I need to figure this out with you, not over the phone."

"Okay. Where?"

"The art studio. Jordan gave me the key weeks ago. Two o'clock?"

"I'll be there."

"Sophie? We're going to figure this out. I promise."

She wanted to believe him. But as she lay in the dark after hanging up, all she could think about was the equation they were trying to solve. His future plus her presence equaled failure in his parents' eyes. The math was simple.

The solution was, too.

She just didn't want to accept it.

November third. Two PM. The art studio was empty, autumn light filtering through dirty windows, paint smell and dust motes and the ghost of last night's almost-confession still hanging in the air.

Ethan was already there when Sophia arrived, sitting on the paint-stained couch, head in his hands. He looked up when she entered, and she could see he hadn't slept.

"Hey," she said softly.

"Hey."

She sat next to him, not touching. The distance between them felt calculated, measured. Like they were both afraid that contact would make everything harder.

"Talk to me," she said.

"My parents called a meeting with Coach Morrison this morning. They're threatening to pull their donation to the hockey program if he doesn't keep me on AAA. He's pissed. Says he doesn't respond to threats, but also made it clear that if I don't start showing 'appropriate focus,' he'll have no choice but to make roster changes."

"That's manipulation."

"That's my life, Sophie. Everything is leverage. Everything is a negotiation. Even this—us—it's just another variable they're trying to control."

"Maybe they're right."

Ethan's head snapped up. "What?"

"Maybe I am a distraction. Maybe you'd be better off—"

"Stop." He turned to face her fully. "Don't do that. Don't let them get in your head."

"I'm being realistic. Your hockey career—"

"Is not more important than my life. Than having actual connections with people. Than being happy."

"Your parents think it is."

"My parents think a lot of things. Doesn't make them right." He ran a hand through his hair. "Jordan said something last night, after you left. He said what my parents do has a name."

Sophia waited.

"Abuse," Ethan said quietly. "He called it emotional abuse. Said Maya's mom is a therapist and she has a whole framework for identifying it. The control, the manipulation, using my dreams as weapons against me... He said it's not normal."

"It's not," Sophia agreed. "You know it's not, right? The way they treat you?"

"I know. Logically, I know. But it's been my whole life. I don't know how to push back without losing everything."

"Is hockey worth keeping if it comes with those conditions?"

Ethan was quiet for a long moment. "I used to think so. Hockey was everything. The only thing that mattered. But then you came back, and suddenly there were other things. Other possibilities. You make me remember that there's more to life than just being excellent at one thing."

"Your parents won't accept that."

"No. They won't." He took a shaky breath. "They're sending me to prep school."

The words hit Sophia like a physical blow. "What?"

"Shattuck-St. Mary's in Minnesota. It's one of the top hockey prep schools in North America. They've been threatening it for years, but now... They gave me an ultimatum. Either I go for second semester, focus completely on hockey, and 'get my priorities straight,' or they pull all support. No hockey fees, no equipment, no university fund. Nothing."

"They can't just—"

"They can. And they will. You don't know them like I do. When they make a threat, they follow through."

Sophia felt tears building behind her eyes. "When?"

"After Christmas. January second."

"That's eight weeks away."

"I know."

"So what do we do?"

Ethan looked at her, and she could see him wrestling with something. "We could stop. End this now before it gets harder. You could focus on badminton and nationals, I could focus on hockey, we could just... be friends."

"Is that what you want?"

"No." The word came out fierce. "I want to date you publicly. Hold your hand in the hallways. Take you to winter formal. Tell everyone that you're my girlfriend and I'm your boyfriend and that's just how it is. I want normal teenage relationship things. But I can't have those."

"So what's the alternative?"

"We be careful. Really careful. Secret careful. And we take these eight weeks and we make them count. Then when I'm at prep school, we figure out long distance. And when I come back for senior year, we'll be together. Publicly. Because by then I'll be eighteen and they can't control everything."

"That's a lot of sneaking around."

"I know."

"A lot of lying."

"I know."

"Your parents will make your life hell if they find out."

"They already make my life hell. At least this way, I get something good out of it."

Sophia looked at him—really looked. He was asking her to be his secret. To accept hidden moments and careful lies and the constant threat of discovery. It went against everything she believed about honesty and directness.

But he was also sitting here, exhausted and defeated, fighting against parents who controlled his entire life, trying to carve out just one thing that was his.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay?"

"We'll be careful. We'll be secret. We'll take these eight weeks."

"You sure?"

"No. But I'm sure about you. That's enough for now."

Ethan exhaled like he'd been holding his breath since last night. Then he kissed her. Soft and grateful and a little desperate.

"Thank you," he whispered against her lips.

"Don't thank me yet. We haven't even started the hard part."

The hard part, as it turned out, was everything.

Being secret meant no holding hands, no obvious looks, no sitting together at lunch. It meant Maya being confused why Sophia was suddenly distant. It meant watching Becca flirt with Ethan in the hallways and not being able to say anything. It meant stolen moments—five minutes between classes, texts sent from different rooms, meetings in the art studio when Jordan could cover for them.

The first two weeks were torture.

"I hate this," Sophia said one Tuesday afternoon. They were in the art studio, supposed to have twenty minutes before Ethan had practice, but time always went too fast.

"I know." He was playing with her hair, her head in his lap as they sat on the couch. "But it's temporary."

"Six more weeks isn't temporary."

"In the grand scheme of things—"

"Don't go philosophical on me. That's my thing."

He smiled. "You're right. This sucks."

"Tyler posted another Instagram story about you and Becca. 'Power couple reunited?'"

"Tyler's an ass. And Becca and I aren't anything."

"She doesn't seem to know that."

"She does. I was very clear. We're friends, nothing more."

"She sat in your lap at lunch yesterday."

"And I moved her off."

"After like thirty seconds."

"It took me a second to process what was happening."

"Thirty seconds."

Ethan laughed. "Are you jealous?"

"I'm frustrated. I have to watch other people act like you're available when you're not."

"I'm really not."

"Prove it."

He kissed her, and for a few minutes, the frustration faded. But it always came back.

Week three brought the Remembrance Day tournament. Ethan played three games in two days, scouts watching every shift. Sophia sat in the stands with Maya and Sarah, cheering like a casual friend, dying inside every time his parents yelled criticism from their seats.

"They're so intense," Maya muttered after Ethan's mom screamed at him for a missed pass.

"Yeah," Sophia agreed, keeping her voice neutral.

"I don't know how he deals with it."

He deals with it by texting me at midnight, voice breaking over FaceTime, wondering if he'll ever be good enough, Sophia thought.

But she just said, "He's tough."

Week four was American Thanksgiving. Ethan's parents took him to Minneapolis to tour Shattuck-St. Mary's. He sent Sophia pictures—pristine facilities, Olympic-sized rink, dorm rooms that looked like jail cells.

E: They love it here

S: Do you?

E: I want to come home

S: Four more weeks

E: Feels like forever

E: I miss you

S: I miss you too

E: No, like I MISS you miss you

E: Can't stop thinking about the art studio

E: Your laugh

E: The way you explain physics like poetry

S: You're going to make me cry in calc class

E: Sorry

E: Not sorry

E: Completely not sorry

Week five brought snow and secrets almost exposed. Tyler saw them together at the coffee shop—not touching, not obviously together, but laughing at something on Sophia's phone. His eyes narrowed, and the next day there were questions.

"So you and Sophia are friends now?" Tyler said at practice, loud enough for others to hear.

"We've been friends since she moved back," Ethan replied evenly.

"Funny kind of friends."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just interesting timing. You break up with Becca, start hanging out with Chen..."

"Careful, Tyler."

"I'm just saying what everyone's thinking."

"Everyone needs to mind their own business."

Tyler posted another story that night. A picture from the party, Ethan in his Einstein costume. Caption: "Some people forget where they came from."

Sophia wanted to comment, to defend him, to fight back. But that would give them away. So she stayed quiet and sent Ethan funny physics memes instead, trying to make him smile through the frustration.

Week six was the worst.

December arrived with a blizzard that shut down school for two days. Ethan's parents used the time to increase his training—double sessions, video review, calls with prep school coaches. He looked exhausted when school resumed.

"I can't do this much longer," he admitted one afternoon. They had ten minutes in the art studio before Jordan's art class actually needed the space.

"Two more weeks."

"Then four months of prep school."

"We'll handle it."

"Will we? Sophie, I'm already breaking and I haven't even left yet."

She touched his face. "You're not breaking. You're bending. There's a difference."

"Physics metaphor?"

"Life metaphor."

He leaned into her hand. "I don't know how to leave you."

"Then don't think about leaving. Think about coming back."

"May feels like a lifetime away."

"Time is relative."

"That's not how relative time works."

"Don't correct my physics when I'm trying to be romantic."

He laughed, but it was hollow. "I love that about you."

Sophia froze. "What?"

Ethan seemed to realize what he'd almost said. "I... I mean..."

"Ethan."

"I should go. Practice."

"Ethan, wait—"

But he was already leaving, and the moment was gone.

They didn't talk about it. Not during the rushed texts that night, not during the five minutes they had the next morning. The almost-confession hung between them like another secret to keep.

Week seven brought the Christmas tournament and Ethan's extended family visiting. No contact for four days except for one text at 2 AM:

E: I can't stop thinking about what I almost said

S: Almost said?

E: You know what

S: Maybe I need to hear it

E: Not like this

E: Not in a text

E: You deserve better

S: When then?

E: Soon

E: I promise

December twenty-first. The last day of school before winter break. Ethan had eleven days left in Winnipeg.

Sophia found him at his locker after last period, most students already gone for the holidays.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey."

"You've been avoiding me."

"I've been with family all week."

"That's not what I mean."

He closed his locker, looked around the empty hallway. "Can we talk? Properly?"

"When?"

"Tonight. My parents have a thing. Can you come over?"

"To your house?"

"I know it's risky—"

"I'll be there."

That night, Sophia told her parents she was studying with Maya and drove to Ethan's house. His Jeep was in the driveway, porch light on. Her hands shook as she rang the doorbell.

He answered immediately. "Hi."

"Hi."

"Come in."

His house was exactly what she expected—pristine, cold, photos of hockey achievements on every wall. No family pictures, just Ethan in various jerseys, holding trophies, success documented and displayed.

They went to his room. More hockey. Posters of NHL players, shelves of trophies, a desk covered in recruitment letters. The only personal touches were a few paperback books and a photo from freshman year—their study group at Tim Hortons.

"Your parents—"

"Won't be back until eleven. We have time."

They sat on his bed, careful space between them.

"I need to tell you something," Ethan said. "Before I leave. Before everything gets harder."

Sophia waited.

"I love you."

The words landed like physical things in the room.

"I know we've only been together six weeks," he continued, "and I know it's fast, and I know the timing is terrible, but I love you. I've been falling for you since that first morning at Tim Hortons when you called my explanation of hockey strategy 'needlessly complex.' You make me laugh. You make me think. You make me want things beyond hockey and expectations and my parents' plan. You make me feel like I could be more than just excellent at one thing."

Sophia's eyes were burning. "Ethan—"

"You don't have to say it back. I just needed you to know. Before I leave. In case... in case everything falls apart, I needed you to know that this—us—it matters to me. More than hockey. More than scholarships. More than any of it."

"I love you too."

The words came out rushed, desperate. "I love your terrible physics explanations and your secret art obsession and the way you see hockey as poetry. I love that you remember my coffee order and that you think my competitiveness is attractive instead of intimidating. I love that you're fighting so hard against everything trying to control you. I love you, and I hate that I have to love you in secret, and I hate that you're leaving, and I hate that loving you is making your life harder—"

He kissed her. Deep and desperate and full of everything they couldn't say in stolen moments. When they broke apart, they were both crying.

"This is so messed up," Sophia whispered.

"I know."

"What are we doing?"

"Surviving. Together."

"Is that enough?"

"It has to be."

They held each other on his bed, in his hockey shrine of a room, time ticking toward his parents' return. Neither wanting to let go. Neither ready for what came next.

"I leave in eleven days," Ethan said into her hair.

"I know."

"I'll come back."

"I know."

"I'll love you the whole time."

"I know that too."

At 10:30, she had to go. They stood at his front door, not touching because the neighbors might see.

"Eleven days," he said.

"We'll make them count."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She drove home with tears streaming down her face, his I love you echoing in her chest, the countdown beginning.

Eleven days.

Then four months.

Then maybe, if they were lucky, they could stop hiding.

But first, they had to survive the leaving.

December 27th. The day before Ethan left for prep school.

They met one last time in the art studio. Jordan had given them two hours, standing guard, making sure no one would interrupt.

Ethan brought hot chocolate. Sophia brought the notebook he'd given her weeks ago, now half-filled with physics metaphors for feelings she couldn't properly name.

They sat on the paint-stained couch, her legs across his lap, trying to memorize everything.

"Read me something," he said. "From the notebook."

She flipped through pages. "This one's from November: 'Entropy increases in closed systems, but we're not closed. We're open to the universe, creating order from chaos, making patterns from possibility.'"

"I like that one."

"This one's from last week: 'Force equals mass times acceleration, but what's the formula for the force of missing someone? What's the acceleration of absence?'"

"Getting sad now."

"One more. From yesterday: 'Energy can't be created or destroyed. Just transformed. So this isn't ending. It's just changing state.'"

"Like ice to water."

"Like everything to everything else."

They were quiet for a moment.

"I don't want to go," Ethan said.

"I don't want you to go either."

"But I have to."

"I know."

"This isn't goodbye."

"You said that already."

"I need to keep saying it."

Sophia set the notebook aside. "Can we just... not talk about leaving? For a little while?"

"What should we talk about?"

"Anything else. Tell me about something that has nothing to do with hockey or parents or leaving."

"Did you know that the Winnipeg Art Gallery has the world's largest public collection of contemporary Inuit art?"

"Random."

"I've been researching. For when I come back. Places to take you on actual dates. Public dates. Where I can hold your hand and everyone can see."

"Tell me more."

So he did. He talked about museums and restaurants and concerts they'd go to. She talked about summer physics programs and road trips to the lake and teaching him to play badminton. They painted a future that felt possible if they could just get through the next four months.

At 5 PM, Jordan texted that Ethan's parents were looking for him.

"I have to go," Ethan said.

"I know."

They stood. Held each other. Neither moving toward the door.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too."

"I'll text when I can. FaceTime when it's safe."

"I'll be here."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He kissed her one more time. Then again. Then again.

"Ethan. You have to go."

"I know."

But he kissed her again anyway.

Finally, Jordan's knock forced them apart.

"They're calling you," Jordan said through the door. "You need to leave."

Ethan grabbed his coat. Looked at Sophia one more time.

"May," he said. "I'll be back in May."

"I'll be counting the days."

"That's 127 days."

"You counted?"

"Of course I counted."

Then he was gone, and Sophia was alone in the art studio with two cups of cold hot chocolate and a notebook full of metaphors for a feeling that didn't need metaphors anymore.

Love.

Simple. Complicated. Transforming.

December 28th, 6:47 AM.

Sophia woke to her phone buzzing.

E: We're leaving

E: I meant it

E: All of it

E: I love you

She typed back immediately:

S: I love you too

S: I meant it too

S: Every word

E: 127 days

S: 127 days

E: Starting now

S: Starting now

S: Drive safe

E: I'll text when we get there

E: Six hours to Minnesota

E: Longest six hours of my life

S: Still shorter than 127 days

E: True

E: I have to go

E: They're calling

S: Go

S: I'm here when you get there

E: Promise?

S: Promise

E: I love you

S: I love you too

S: Now GO before your parents get suspicious

The message showed as delivered, then read. Then nothing. He was in the car, driving away, but the words had been said. Properly. In person and in text. Real.

Sophia lay in bed and stared at her ceiling and held onto what Ethan had written: Energy can't be created or destroyed. Just transformed.

They weren't ending.

They were transforming.

She had to believe that.

She had to.

Her phone buzzed again.

But it wasn't Ethan.

It was Jordan.

Jordan: Ethan's gone?

S: Just left

Jordan: You okay?

S: Ask me in 127 days

Jordan: Fair

Jordan: Listen, I need to tell you something

Jordan: About his parents

Jordan: What they're doing to him

S: Jordan?

Jordan: It's abuse, Sophia. What they do to him. It has a name.

Jordan: And if it gets worse at prep school

Jordan: If he needs help

Jordan: Promise me you'll help him see that

Jordan: Promise me you'll help him get out if he needs to

S: I promise

Jordan: Good

Jordan: He's lucky to have you

Jordan: Even if his parents can't see it

Sophia wanted to believe that too.

But as December 28th turned into December 29th, as the days passed with only careful texts because his parents were monitoring his phone, as the first week at prep school came and went with one brief, tearful FaceTime call where he looked exhausted and defeated...

Sophia started to wonder if love was enough when you were fighting against people who had all the power.

January 2nd, 11:23 PM

Sophia's phone lit up with a FaceTime call from an unknown number.

She almost didn't answer.

But something made her click accept.

Ethan's face appeared on screen. He was in a dorm room, sitting on a basic bed, wearing a Shattuck-St. Mary's hockey hoodie.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey. Unknown number?"

"Borrowed my roommate's phone. Mine's being monitored."

"Isn't that against the rules?"

"Probably. But I had to see you. Had to tell you I love you and see your face when I said it."

Sophia's heart did complicated things. "I love you too. How is it?"

"It's... intense. The training is insane. The academics are rigorous. Everyone here is good at hockey, which is different from being the best guy on a regular team."

"Are you okay?"

"I miss you. Is that an answer?"

"It's an answer."

They looked at each other through their screens. He was 407 miles away. Six hours by car. A different state. A different life.

"This is temporary, Sophie. One semester. I'll be back in May for senior year."

"121 days to go."

"You're counting."

"Of course I'm counting."

"That's very you."

"Shut up."

"Never. I love that you're counting. I love you."

"I love you too."

"Say it again."

"I love you, Ethan Price."

"Once more."

"Greedy."

"Storing them up. For the bad days."

"I love you. I love you. I love you."

His smile was soft. Grateful. "I'll find a way to call next week."

"I'll be here."

"121 days, Sophie."

"121 days."

"We can do this."

Looking at him—exhausted but determined, 407 miles away but still hers—Sophia believed it.

They could do this.

They had to.

Because the alternative was unthinkable.

"I should go," Ethan said. "Before my roommate comes back."

"Okay."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"121 days."

"120 days and 27 minutes, technically."

He laughed. "I love your brain."

"Just my brain?"

"Everything. I love everything about you."

"Good answer."

"Sophie?"

"Yeah?"

"When I come back, I'm done hiding. I don't care what they threaten. I want everyone to know you're mine and I'm yours."

"That's a big promise."

"It's a promise I'm going to keep."

The door opened behind him—his roommate returning.

"I have to go."

"I know."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

The call ended.

Sophia looked at her phone. Started a new note. Typed:

Day 6 of 127. He loves me. I love him. We're going to make it.

Then she opened her physics textbook, because if she was going to survive the next 121 days, she needed something constant. Something predictable.

Something that wasn't love during impossible circumstances.

But even as she solved practice problems, she kept thinking about phase transitions. Solid to liquid to gas. The same substance, just in different states.

Maybe that's all this was.

A phase transition.

Same love.

Different state.

Temporary.

She had to believe that.

Outside, Winnipeg winter pressed against her window. Minus thirty with the windchill. Everything frozen. Waiting for spring.

Waiting for May.

Waiting for Ethan.

121 days.

But who was counting?

(She was. Every single day. Every single hour. Because that's what you do when you love someone who's been sent away. You count. You wait. You transform.)

End of Chapter 4