Faking Forever With My Hockey Captain

Zoey’s Pov

If there was one thing everyone in my hometown took more seriously than breathing, it was hockey.

It didn’t matter whether you attended Evergreen High or Ridgeview Academy. The moment winter arrived, classrooms emptied faster, conversations grew louder, and every shop downtown decorated its windows with blue-and-white banners celebrating the upcoming season. 

Even the local bakery sold cookies shaped like hockey sticks, and our history teacher somehow found a way to compare famous battles to championship games. Sometimes I wondered if the whole town would simply stop functioning if a puck disappeared.

As someone who had spent years winning debate competitions instead of scoring goals, I’d long accepted that people like me would never get the same applause. Athletes were greeted with cheers every time they walked through the hallway, while the debate team usually celebrated our victories by eating stale cookies in the library after school. Not that I was bitter. Okay, maybe just a little.

I tightened the ribbon around my ponytail as I stood behind the stage curtain inside the town auditorium, trying to ignore the deafening noise from the audience. 

Students from both Evergreen High and Ridgeview Academy had packed every seat, while teachers, parents, reporters, and local business owners filled the rows behind them. The annual Winter Pep Rally had officially begun.

Every year the event marked the start of hockey season, but this time the organizers had decided to include students from other clubs too, all in the name of “promoting unity.” Apparently debating counted as unity. Lucky me.

“Zoey.”

I turned toward my best friend, Ava Morgan, who hurried over with two paper cups of hot chocolate balanced carefully in her hands.

“I figured you might need this before you accidentally start another school rivalry,” she whispered with a grin.

I accepted the drink and rolled my eyes. “I don’t start rivalries.”

She laughed so hard she nearly spilled both cups. “No, you just finish arguments.”

“I prefer winning them.”

“There it is,” she teased. “That’s the confidence I was waiting for.”

Before I could answer, our debate coach stepped toward us wearing the expression she always wore before competitions. “Remember,” Mrs. Dawson said, adjusting the blazer on my shoulders, “today isn’t about defeating anyone. It’s about representing Evergreen with respect.”

“I know.”

“And no unnecessary sarcasm.”

“I’ll try.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Try harder.”

I smiled innocently, though we both knew sarcasm was practically my second language.

A volunteer appeared beside the curtain. “Zoey Bennett, you’re up next.”

I took one steadying breath before walking toward the brightly lit stage. The applause wasn’t overwhelming, but it was warm enough to settle the nervous flutter in my stomach. I waved politely as I crossed the stage and took my seat behind the table marked Evergreen High.

Across from me sat the representative from Ridgeview Academy. Ryan Walker. Of course it had to be him. Even if I’d somehow managed to avoid hearing his name over the past four years, which would have required living under a rock, his reputation always entered the room before he did. Captain of the Ridgeview Wolves. Top student athlete. Future college recruit. Local newspaper favorite. Judging by the screaming students wearing his jersey in the audience, he was also apparently some kind of celebrity.

Ryan looked completely at ease beneath the stage lights, smiling confidently as people called his name from different sections of the auditorium. He acknowledged them with an easy wave before sitting back in his chair as though speaking in front of hundreds of people was just another Tuesday afternoon.

Our eyes met for the briefest second. He smiled politely. I nodded once. That was the entire interaction.

A microphone squealed softly before the town’s event host stepped forward. “Welcome, everyone, to our annual Winter Pep Rally! Today we’re celebrating the incredible students who make this community proud, both inside and outside the classroom.”

The audience applauded enthusiastically.

“We thought we’d begin with a friendly discussion between two outstanding student leaders.”

Friendly. That word wouldn’t age well.

The host introduced Ryan first, listing every athletic achievement he’d earned since freshman year, and the applause was thunderous. Then she introduced me, mentioning debate championships, academic awards, and student council achievements, and the applause was… respectable. See? Exactly my point.

After a few opening questions about leadership and teamwork, everything remained surprisingly civil. Ryan answered smoothly, speaking about discipline, commitment, and learning to trust his teammates. I spoke about responsibility, communication, and encouraging every student to find something they loved. So far, so good.

Then the host asked one question that changed everything.

“If you had to choose one thing that best represents our town, what would it be?”

Ryan answered first without even hesitating. “Hockey.”

The crowd erupted before he could continue. He laughed as the cheering slowly faded. “Hockey brings people together. Every winter this town forgets its differences because we’re all supporting the same dream. That’s something really special.”

The applause returned even louder.

The microphone was passed to me. I smiled politely. “I disagree.”

The cheering stopped almost immediately.

“I think what represents this town isn’t hockey.” A few students exchanged confused looks. “It’s the students.” Silence spread through the auditorium. “The musicians who spend months preparing concerts no one outside their families attends. The science teams who compete without television cameras following them. The artists painting murals around town. The volunteers helping at shelters every weekend.”

I glanced briefly toward Ryan before continuing. “They all work just as hard, but somehow they’re treated like background characters while athletes become the face of everything.”

A few students from Evergreen clapped.

Ryan leaned slightly toward his microphone. “So you’re saying hockey players don’t deserve recognition?”

I looked directly at him. “I’m saying no one deserves all of it.”

A ripple of laughter passed through the audience. Ryan smiled, though I noticed the competitive spark in his eyes. “Sports give people something to believe in.”

“So does education.”

“Hockey inspires kids.”

“So do teachers.”

“The championship brings the whole town together.”

“For one weekend,” I replied calmly. “The rest of the year we’re divided into people who matter and people who don’t.”

The audience reacted with a mixture of applause, gasps, and murmured conversations.

Ryan folded his arms. “You really think that’s how everyone sees it?”

“I think that’s how they’re taught to see it.”

For the first time, his confident smile disappeared. Neither of us looked away.

The host quickly stepped between us, laughing a little too loudly. “Well… I think we’ve all learned our student leaders are certainly passionate.”

The audience laughed, easing some of the tension, and the discussion ended shortly afterward. But the energy inside the auditorium had completely changed.

As I stepped off the stage, Ava hurried toward me with wide eyes. “You actually argued with Ryan Walker.”

“He argued back.”

“You embarrassed the hockey captain in front of half the town.”

“I answered a question.”

She stared at me for a long second before shaking her head. “I have a feeling today is going to cause problems.”

I glanced back toward the stage, where Ryan was surrounded by teammates, reporters, and cheering students. For just a second, he looked in my direction. Not angry. Not smiling. Just thoughtful.

I turned away before he could catch me looking.

At the time, I thought the debate would be forgotten by tomorrow. I couldn’t have been more wrong.