Before We Were Rivals

Move.”

I didn’t.

The boy across from me tightened his grip on his stick, brown eyes locked on mine like this was war and not a summer youth camp.

The sun was too bright. The ice was too soft. Kids lined the boards, waiting for their turn in the drill.

The coach blew his whistle. “First one to ten goals wins. Let’s go.”

The boy smirked. “Hope you don’t cry when you lose.”

I pushed off hard. “Hope you can keep up.”

That was the first time I met Blake Turner.

I didn’t know then that he would change my life. I only knew I wanted to beat him.

We were twelve.

Camp North Ridge. Two weeks of early mornings, cold rinks, and big dreams.

I had worked all year to get there. Extra drills. Private lessons my mom could barely afford. I wasn’t just there for fun. I was there to be seen.

Scouts watched this camp.

So when they paired me with him for the one-on-one drill, I saw a problem.

He was fast.

Not just quick on his skates. Quick in his eyes. He watched everything.

I charged first, cutting left. He mirrored me, stick low, body steady.

I shot.

He blocked it with ease.

“Too easy,” he said.

I hated how calm he sounded.

We reset.

He came at me this time, smooth and sharp. I tried to steal the puck, but he slipped past like I wasn’t even there and scored.

One point.

He didn’t cheer. Just looked at me, waiting.

That look lit something inside me.

Fine.

I got serious.

Next round, I faked right and spun left. He reached too soon. I broke free and shot the top shelf.

Goal.

I didn’t smile.

Neither did he.

The world shrank to the space between us.

Kids yelled around us. Parents watched from the stands. The smell of rubber and ice filled the air.

But all I could hear was my own heartbeat.

And his breathing when we got close.

Attraction masked as competition.

I didn’t have words for it then. I just knew that when he brushed past me, my skin felt tight.

We went back and forth until it was nine to nine.

The coach raised his eyebrows. “Last point.”

Blake leaned closer. “Don’t choke.”

“You first.”

The whistle blew.

He rushed me hard. I stepped back, then forward, catching him off guard. I knocked the puck loose.

I had a clear shot.

For a second, I saw it. Winning. Coach nodded. Scouts writing my name down.

Then Blake grabbed my stick with his, just enough to throw me off.

The puck slid wide.

He took it and scored in one clean move.

Ten.

He won.

I stood there, chest heaving.

He skated backward, grinned slowly and proud. “Told you.”

I should have walked away.

Instead, I said, “You hooked my stick.”

He shrugged. “You should’ve held on tighter.”

Infuriating.

The coach clapped his hands. “Good fire. Both of you. That’s what I like to see.”

Both of you.

Not just him.

The sting eased a little.

After practice, I sat alone on the bench, unlacing my skates. My fingers hurt. My pride hurts more.

A shadow fell over me.

“You’re not bad,” Blake said.

I looked up. “Wow. High praise.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. Out of gear now, he looked less like a rival and more like a boy. Messy hair. Freckles across his nose.

“You’re fast,” he added. “Most girls here aren’t.”

“There it is.”

His cheeks turned red. “I didn’t mean”

“I know what you meant.”

Silence fell.

He rocked back on his heels. “You almost had me.”

“Almost doesn’t count.”

He studied me like he was solving a puzzle. “Are you always this intense?”

“Yes.”

He smiled then. Not cocky. Not smug. Just real.

“Good,” he said. “I hate being bored.”

Something in my chest shifted.

First spark.

“Why do you care?” I asked.

“Because I want to play in the league one day.”

“So do I.”

His eyes widened, like the idea surprised him.

“You really think you can?” he asked.

The question wasn’t cruel. Just honest.

I stood up so we were face to face.

“I don’t think,” I said. “I know.”

He held my gaze a second too long.

“Then I guess we’re in each other’s way.”

The words should have felt like a threat.

Instead, they felt like a promise.

The next few days, we kept getting paired together.

Passing drills. Shooting drills. Scrimmage teams.

If I scored, he scored twice.

If he fell, I pushed harder.

Every practice turned into our own private battle.

But something else grew under it.

One afternoon, rain hit the roof of the rink so hard it drowned out the noise inside.

We sat on the floor during a break, backs against the boards.

“You ever get scared?” he asked suddenly.

“Of what?”

“Not making it.”

I glanced at him.

His eyes were on the ice, not me.

“Every day,” I admitted.

He nodded like he expected that.

“My dad says only one percent of us will go pro,” he said. “The rest will quit.”

“Are you quitting?”

“No.”

“Then why worry?”

He looked at me then. “Because I don’t want to be average.”

“You’re not.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

He blinked.

“You either,” he said.

Heat crept up my neck.

We were twelve. We didn’t know about love or heartbreak or how hard life could hit.

We only knew the rink.

And each other.

Emotional trigger.

Years later, I would look back at that moment and realize that was when it began.

Not with a kiss.

Not with a date.

With shared fear.

With two kids daring to dream out loud.

On the last day of camp, they posted the names of the All-Star team.

A crowd gathered around the board.

I pushed through, heart pounding.

There it was.

My name.

Right under his.

Blake Turner.

He let out a breath beside me. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

“For now.”

He held out his hand.

“For now,” he agreed.

I stared at his hand.

Rivals didn’t shake.

But I took it anyway.

His grip was warm. Strong.

Too strong.

“You better not slow me down,” he said.

“Keep up,” I shot back.

We didn’t let go right away.

The coach called us over for a team photo.

We stood side by side, shoulders brushing.

When the camera flashed, he leaned closer and whispered, “Next year, I’m beating you again.”

I turned my head. Our faces were inches apart.

“In your dreams.”

His smile faded into something softer. “Maybe.”

The flash went off.

That picture would sit in a box for years.

Proof that before we were rivals in packed arenas…

Before headlines compared us.

Before interviews asked who was better.

We were just two kids on soft summer ice.

Two hearts beating too fast.

Two futures tied together before we even knew it.

As the camp ended and parents called us to the parking lot, he jogged backward in front of me.

“See you next season,” he said.

“You better hope so.”

“Oh, I do.”

He hesitated, like he wanted to say more.

He didn’t.

Instead, he turned and ran to his car.

I watched him go, something pulling in my chest that I didn’t understand yet.

I thought the story would be simple.

Two talented kids.

One dream.

May

the best one win.

I didn’t know then that one day we wouldn’t just fight over goals.

We would fight over pride.

Over love.

Over who we used to be.

And when we met again years later, standing on opposite sides of the ice, that first spark would still be there.

Waiting.

The question was never who would win.

It was who would fall first.