The New Boy

Chapter One — The New Boy

The first thing Aitor Valdez noticed when the bus pulled through the gates was the cold.

Not the kind of cold he was used to.

This was sharper.

It slipped through the cracks of the bus windows and settled against his skin as the enormous stadium came into view.

The Northwood Ice Arena stood at the centre of the town, surrounded by banners, temporary stands, food trucks and signs welcoming schools from across the country.

The championship had finally arrived.

For the next several weeks, this place would be home.

Aitor leaned his head against the window.

His teammates were already talking loudly behind him.

Someone was arguing about who would score the most goals.

Someone else was complaining about the hotel.

Aitor ignored all of it.

His attention remained on the stadium.

He had heard about this tournament for years.

The biggest high-school hockey championship of the season.

Scouts would be watching.

Coaches would be watching.

Every school wanted to leave with the trophy.

And his school wanted it more than anyone.

The bus came to a stop.

The doors opened.

"Alright, boys!" their coach called. "Let's move."

Aitor grabbed his bag and stepped off the bus.

The moment his shoes touched the pavement, several heads turned.

New team.

New school.

New faces.

That was going to happen.

Aitor adjusted the strap of his bag and followed his teammates toward the entrance.

He wasn't nervous.

He didn't get nervous.

At least, that's what he told himself.

Across town, another hockey game was reaching its final minute.

"Thirty seconds!"

Beck Hayes looked at the scoreboard.

4–3.

His team was winning.

Barely.

His lungs burned as he pushed himself across the ice.

The crowd was on its feet.

His teammate passed him the puck.

Beck caught it.

One defender moved toward him.

Then another.

He dodged the first.

Spun around the second.

The crowd erupted.

"GO, BECK!"

He heard his name somewhere in the stands.

He grinned.

There was the goal.

Twenty feet away.

Ten.

Five.

He lifted his stick.

The puck flew.

SLAM.

Into the net.

The buzzer sounded almost immediately afterward.

The stadium exploded.

Beck threw his arms into the air.

His teammates crashed into him from every direction.

"We won!"

"BECK!"

"That was insane!"

Beck laughed as someone grabbed him around the shoulders.

He looked up at the scoreboard.

5–3.

Another win.

Another game.

Another step closer.

He looked toward the stands.

His mother was there.

She was already standing and applauding, her smile impossible to miss.

Beck smiled back.

That smile was different.

Not the cocky one he wore on the ice.

This one was just for her.

An hour later, Beck pushed open the front door of his house.

"I'm home!"

"Kitchen!"

He dropped his hockey bag beside the stairs and walked in.

His mother stood at the counter, still wearing the jacket she'd worn to his game.

"You were incredible."

Beck grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

"I know."

She laughed.

"Of course you do."

He took a drink.

"Five-three."

"I saw."

"Two goals."

"I counted."

"And one assist."

"Beck."

"What?"

"You're allowed to let someone else have the spotlight."

He smiled.

"No."

His mother shook her head, amused.

Then her expression softened.

"You know what today means, right?"

Beck's smile faded slightly.

"The scholarship?"

She nodded.

"Every game matters now."

Beck looked down at his water bottle.

"I know."

There it was.

The thing he tried not to think about too much.

The scholarship.

His future.

College.

Everything depended on how well he played over the next few weeks.

His mother walked over and squeezed his shoulder.

"You'll get it."

Beck looked at her.

"You really think so?"

"I know so."

He smiled.

"Thanks, Mom."

She kissed the top of his head.

"Now go shower. You smell like a hockey rink."

Beck laughed.

"That's offensive."

"That's accurate."

He picked up his bag.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, superstar."

Beck disappeared upstairs.

His mother watched him go.

She knew how badly he wanted that scholarship.

She knew what it meant.

And she knew her son well enough to know that he would never admit how scared he was of losing it.

The following morning, the stadium was already alive.

Teams were arriving.

Coaches were shouting instructions.

Players dragged equipment bags across the pavement.

The championship banners hung from the railings.

Beck walked through the entrance with his headphones on, hockey bag slung over one shoulder.

He wasn't paying attention to anyone.

He was checking the schedule on his phone.

Westbridge High — Practice: 9:00 a.m.

He turned the corner.

And walked straight into someone.

His phone nearly fell from his hand.

"Watch where you're going."

Beck looked up.

A boy stood in front of him.

Black hair.

Dark eyes.

Tall.

Calm.

And wearing a hockey jacket Beck didn't recognize.

Beck pulled one headphone from his ear.

"Excuse me?"

The boy looked at him.

For a second, neither said anything.

Then the boy glanced down at Beck's school crest.

"Westbridge."

Beck looked at his jacket.

St. Aurelia Academy.

A new school.

One of the visiting teams.

Beck had heard about them.

Elite.

Expensive.

Apparently very good.

He looked back at the boy.

"You're new."

The boy's mouth twitched.

"So are you?"

Beck frowned.

"I've been here for three years."

"Then you should probably learn to look where you're going."

Beck stared at him.

There was something about his voice.

Something annoyingly calm.

"What's your name?"

The boy adjusted the strap of his bag.

"Aitor."

Beck waited.

"Aitor what?"

"Valdez."

Beck nodded slowly.

"Right."

Aitor raised an eyebrow.

"Right?"

"I've heard of you."

"Have you?"

"Unfortunately."

Aitor almost smiled.

"That's a shame."

Beck put his headphone back in.

"See you around, Valdez."

He walked past him.

Neither of them looked back.

At least, not immediately.

Aitor watched Beck disappear down the hallway.

Then he glanced at the Westbridge crest again.

Interesting.

Beck continued walking toward the locker rooms.

He told himself he had already forgotten about the new boy.

He hadn't.

And neither of them knew it yet, but the championship had just changed comp