Chapter 7

The loud, shrill ring of the afternoon bell shattered the quiet peace of the field.

My body flinched on instinct. The sudden noise signaled that lunch was over and thirty minutes of peace had just run out. The tight, familiar anxiety instantly crept back into my chest, reminding me that I had to go back inside that big stone building and pretend to be invisible for four more hours.

"Guess that is our cue," Owen said from the other side of the tree. I heard the rustle of his jacket as he stood up, his heavy sneakers brushing against the dry grass.

I let out a slow breath, gathering my empty wrapper and shoving it back into my paper bag. I pushed myself up against the rough trunk, my knees feeling a little stiff from sitting on the cool ground.

For a second, I hesitated. Part of me wanted to just turn around and walk away without looking back, keeping Owen as a nameless, faceless voice on the other side of a tree trunk. It felt safer that way. If I did not get close to people, people could not turn into another Nathan.

But as I stepped out from behind the broad shadow of the old oak, Owen turned around.

He was tall, wearing an oversized navy blue hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He had soft brown eyes and messy dark hair that fell slightly over his forehead. He did not look like the athletes at Fiat Locke. He did not have that proud, sharp posture or that loud, aggressive energy that made me shrink into my hoodie every time someone walked past me in the hall.

He was just holding a simple canvas backpack over one shoulder, looking at me with a calm, friendly expression.

"You have grass on your hoodie, Niel," he said softly, pointing to his own shoulder to show me where.

My face went hot with embarrassment. "Oh. Thanks." I quickly patted my gray sleeve, brushing off the dry green blades.

"What class do you have next?" Owen asked, stepping onto the dirt path that led back toward the main building. He did not force himself next to me, but he matched my slow, hesitant pace as we walked across the open field.

"Biology," I murmured, keeping my eyes fixed on the grass ahead of us. "In the science wing."

"No way," Owen smiled, his eyes lighting up a little. "I have Biology next, too. Room 204?"

My heart gave a small, nervous thud. "Yeah. Mr. Harrison."

"Awesome. I do not have an assigned seat yet since I just transferred two days ago," Owen said, looking over at me. "Mind if I sit near the back with you?"

A knot tightened in my stomach. The back row was where I hid. It was where I kept my head down so Nathan and his friends would forget I existed during afternoon lectures. But looking at Owen's easy, friendly smile, I couldn't bring myself to say no.

"The back row is pretty quiet," I said carefully, my voice almost getting lost in the wind. "If you do not mind that."

"Quiet sounds great to me," Owen said smoothly. “We are here, far away from the main campus to have a peaceful quiet place, and you are going to asks me if it is okay to seat in the back?” We both laughed at it.

Yeah, he has a point.

We reached the heavy side doors of the main building and stepped into the warm, crowded hallway. I immediately lowered my head, pulling my hoodie down over my eyes and hugging my binder tightly against my chest.

We walked down the hall toward Room 204. But as soon as we stepped through the classroom doorway, my entire world shattered.

"Yo! Owen! Over here, man!"

A loud, boisterous voice shouted from the middle row. I flinched, my eyes darting toward the noise.

Standing around a cluster of desks were three guys wearing dark navy jackets with blue and silver eagle crests stitched on the chest. Fiat's Eagle Locke. The reserve team. The secondary squad of hockey players who spent every single day competing against Michael and Nathan's main team, Golden Locke.

Owen's face lit up with a familiar grin. "Hey! What's up, guys?"

He walked right up to them, slapping hands and bumping shoulders in that exact, practiced way all the athletes did in this school. They were laughing, talking about ice time, drills, and their next game against the main team.

My heart dropped straight into my stomach. Cold, sickening shock rushed through my veins, making my hands shake so violently I almost dropped my history binder.

He was one of them.

Owen wasn't just a quiet, peaceful guy who liked sitting under old trees. He was a hockey player.

Every single warm feeling I had felt under the oak tree evaporated into pure poison. To me, all hockey players were the exact same. They were all part of the same cruel machine that treated people like me like garbage. Nathan, Michael, Golden Locke, Eagle Locke... it didn't matter what team name was on their chest. They all protected each other, and they all ruined lives for fun.

Oh God, I thought, a wave of sheer panic choking my throat. What did I just do?

Eagle Locke was the rival team within our own school. If Nathan or Michael found out I was getting close to players from Eagle Locke, my life would be in much worse shape. Nathan would think I was spreading rumors, or Michael would think I was fraternizing with the enemy team. Nathan's threat echoed in my head like a siren, the image of his phone screen burning behind my eyes. One tap, one post, and my entire life would be destroyed forever.

I backed away instantly, my feet moving on pure survival instinct. I practically ran to the far back corner of the room, throwing myself into my wooden desk and ducking my head as low as it could possibly go.

"Catch you guys after class," I heard Owen say behind me.

Footsteps approached my row. A chair scraped against the floor, and Owen sat down in the desk right next to mine. He set his notebook down, completely unaware that the air between us had just turned to ice.

"Sorry about that," Owen said softly, turning his soft brown eyes toward me. "Those are my buddies from my last school's league. I didn't know they played for Eagle Locke here."

I didn't look at him. I stared straight ahead at the green chalkboard, my jaw clenched so hard my teeth hurt.

"Cool," I said. My voice was short, flat, and completely dead.

Owen paused, sensing the sudden, sharp shift in my energy. "Are you okay, Niel?"

"Fine."

One word. Quick. Cold.

I grabbed my black pen and pressed the metal tip so hard against my notebook page that the paper tore. I kept my shoulders hunched, forming a physical wall between us.

When Mr. Harrison started lecturing about cell structures, Owen tried one more time. He leaned sideways, whispering quietly so the teacher wouldn't hear. "Hey, do you know what page we are on?"

"Forty two," I muttered without turning my head, keeping my eyes locked on my own book.

I didn't say another word for the rest of the hour. I sat there like a statue, my muscles locked tight, my pulse hammering in my ears. Every second spent sitting next to him felt like sitting next to a ticking bomb. I was so angry at myself for letting my guard down, for actually believing, even for twenty minutes, that someone in this school could be nice to me without a catch.

The moment the final bell chimed, signaling the end of the school day, I didn't wait.

I shoved my notebooks into my backpack, zipped it up with a harsh tug, and stood up before the teacher had even finished his sentence.

"Hey, Niel! Wait up—" Owen's voice called out behind me as he reached for his own bag. "Are you going home? Do you want to—"

I didn't let him finish. I pretended I didn't hear a single word coming out of his mouth.

I threw my backpack over my shoulder, lowered my head, and fast walked straight out the classroom door. I shoved my way through the crowded hallway, pushing past students, lockers, and teachers, ignoring the loud chatter around me.

I didn't stop to check my locker. I didn't look back to see if Owen was following me. I pushed through the heavy glass exit doors, burst out into the afternoon air, and practically ran down the concrete steps toward the main gate.

I just wanted to go home. I wanted to hide in my room, lock the door, and pull the blankets over my head.

Because now I know the truth. There was no safe place in Fiat Locke Academy. Not the cafeteria, not the hallways, and definitely not the old oak tree on the field.