War With My Hockey Stepbrother
Nothing about me thinking of Wade Scott was romantic.
Okay, sure. I was thinking of him. I was thinking of how to dodge him until I never had to see him again. Not even his shadow. I was thinking of ways to disappear, somewhere I would never hear his name, never read it, never.
The halls emptied out as five pm hit. Students left. Only athletes stayed behind. And of course, the hockey team was still on the ice, acting like practice was life or death.
We passed the hockey building, and the air shifted. The sound of skates cut through everything. We paused, and I could not stop myself from looking in.