ログインBy Friday afternoon, Easton had fully embraced hockey season. Blue and silver banners lined the walkways, students traded hoodies for team jerseys, and almost every conversation I passed ended with speculation about the night’s opener. “Seven o’clock.” “You’ll be there, right?” “I heard Briarwood’s defense is solid this year.” Even the digital displays scattered across campus had abandoned their usual announcements in favor of a single message. HOME OPENER EASTON VS. BRIARWOOD PUCK DROP: 7:00 P.M. The season had officially arrived. The arena was already buzzing by the time I checked in. Mercer Athletics had transformed the media room into a hive of organized chaos where photographers cleaned lenses, videographers tested lighting setups, interns rushed memory cards between departments, and producers called out last-minute changes over the constant hum of conversation. Melissa stood in the middle of it all with a headset on and a clipboard tucked beneath one arm, somehow keepi
By the time Dean pulled up outside my dorm, the excitement from the campaign shoot had settled into the kind of exhaustion that follows a genuinely good day. The makeup was gone, my hair had long since escaped whatever miracle the stylist had managed that morning, and I was more than ready to collapse onto my couch. Even so, neither of us questioned it when he parked and walked me to the entrance. Somewhere over the past week, saying goodbye through an open car window had stopped feeling like enough. I glanced up at the building before looking back at him. “So…” “So.” “You’ve driven me home. It would be rude not to invite you in.” A grin spread across his face. “I was trying very hard not to invite myself.” “Good. Keep that habit.” “I’ll do my best.” The hallway was unusually quiet as we climbed the stairs. Most people were either at dinner or still scattered across campus, leaving only the distant sound of music drifting from somewhere farther down the corridor. I unlocked t
By Wednesday night, the hardest part was over. I’d signed the contract, sent the email, and finally run out of reasons to second-guess myself. Melissa’s reply had arrived almost immediately withcongratulations and a reminder to be at the Mercer Athletics studio by ten the next morning. For once, my mind wasn’t inventing worst-case scenarios. Whatever happened after this would be the result of a decision I’d made for myself, not one someone else had forced on me, and that thought made it surprisingly easy to fall asleep. My phone rang a little after eight the next morning, dragging me out of a dream I’d already forgotten. I answered without opening my eyes, smiling when Dean’s name appeared on the screen. “Good morning.” A quiet laugh met the greeting. “You don’t sound convinced.” “I’ve been awake for about twelve seconds. Give me a chance.” “I’ll call back in another twelve.” “You wouldn’t.” “I probably wouldn’t.” I pushed myself upright and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “S
Tuesday night should have felt exciting. Instead, I found myself sitting at the dining table with the Mercer Athletics contract spread open in front of me, reading the same pages for what had to be the fourth time. Every clause made sense, every figure looked real, and every opportunity on those pages aligned perfectly with the future I’d imagined ever since deciding sports journalism was where I belonged. None of that was making the decision difficult. The problem was the logo printed across the top of every page. Mercer Athletics. That single name carried far more weight than the rest of the contract combined. Ava wandered into the kitchen wearing oversized pajamas, took one look at me and immediately burst out laughing. “You haven’t moved.” “I have.” She eyed the untouched glass of juice beside my elbow. “Rotating the contract doesn’t count.” “It absolutely counts as movement.” Still grinning, she crossed the room, picked up the folder without waiting for permission, an
By Sunday morning, everyone looked like they had been through a week, not a weekend. The cabins emptied amid half-packed bags, misplaced chargers and constant complaints about sore muscles. Ryan, somehow, still had enough energy to narrate his suffering to anyone within earshot.“I’ve reached a conclusion,” he declared while dragging his hockey bag toward the bus. “Coach Reynolds is personally offended by joy.”Blake didn’t even slow down. “You say that after every practice.”“Because he keeps proving me right.”Coach Reynolds happened to walk past at that exact moment. “If you’ve still got enough breath to complain, we clearly didn’t work you hard enough.”Ryan stopped walking and watched him disappear.“…I really should stop setting myself up.”The ride back to Easton felt nothing like the trip to camp. Friday had been loud. People had argued over playlists, traded snacks and shouted across the aisle before the bus had even left campus. Now, the only sounds came from the engine, the
By the time I got back to the cabin, smiling had become a problem. My cheeks actually hurt, and I didn’t notice until Ava looked up from the book resting in her lap, studied my face for a few seconds, then quietly closed it. “Oh no.” I dropped my backpack beside the bed. “What?” She pointed at me. “That.” “What about it?” “You’ve got the look.” “I don’t know what look you’re talking about.” “The one that says you’ve disappeared for over an hour and come back looking ridiculously happy.” “I was gone.” “And now you’re smiling.” “I am.” She folded her arms, trying very hard to look intimidating. “You’re being suspiciously calm.” “I’ve just had a nice evening.” “Mhm.” “You said you weren’t going to interrogate me anymore.” “I’m not.” She shrugged into her hoodie. “I’ll find out eventually. I always do. Right now, Melissa texted everyone. Apparently we’re meeting at the lodge in ten minutes.” “What for?” “No clue.” She reached for the door. “But Ryan’s involved, so I’d lo







