MALACHAR I ended up at Richmond High. One afternoon months ago, Coach forgot the key with me. I had it duplicated before returning it, and ever since, I would come here past school hours to clear my head. I parked the motorcycle and jumped over the fence, sneaking into the hockey rink. I suited up in the locker room and flipped only the switch of the main area afterwards. Light poured down on the ice. I stayed put by the entrance, taking it all in. When I moved to LA under this disguise two years ago, I was numb. But for the first time in a long while, I was thinking about my future and getting excited. I didn’t have to move my pack around anymore. I didn’t have to hide from the world, or use a different name every couple of years. I could be whatever I wanted to be. And I already had an idea of that. I skated onto the ice and stopped at the centre, knees bent, hands clasped around the end of my stick. At the back of my mind, I heard people scream my name. I imagined
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