No Longer the Hockey Star’s Plan B

In my past life, just one day before the national evaluation camp that would make or break his career, my hockey-prodigy best friend faked an illness. He was ready to throw away his entire future just to go party in Chicago with a cheerleader.

Thinking I was doing him a favor, I stepped in. I tipped off his coach, saved his career.

Years later, he became a multimillion-dollar superstar. His way of thanking me? Framing me with doctored charity records and sending me to federal prison. He even smiled as he delivered the final, crushing blow: 

"I planned that crash on the icy road, Kassia. Your parents' lives were just the price you had to pay for sticking your nose where it didn't belong."

Now, my eyes snap open to the deafening cheers of our high school hockey arena. 

Sitting right next to me, that same cheerleader is eagerly plotting how to corner him after the game. 

...

The sickening, moldy stench of the federal detention center vanishes.

In its place comes the low hum of the arena's cooling system and the sharp chill blowing off the ice.

I snap my eyes open, gasping for air. My heart, the one I thought had stopped forever, hammers against my ribs so hard they might shatter. Deafening cheers nearly blow the roof off.

Wait, where am I?

"He is so hot," a lazy, arrogant voice murmurs right next to my ear.

I turn my head stiffly. Cheer captain Charlotte Adams leans lazily against one of her girls. With her perfectly winged eyeliner, she stares intently at the ice below, sizing up a prize she already claims as hers.

I follow her gaze. Eric Allen, wearing his number 9 jersey, flies across the ice.

"Any of you know him?" Charlotte twirls the ends of her blonde hair and lowers her voice. "I'm going to catch him outside the locker room later and slip my number in his pocket."

The cheerleaders around her instantly burst into giggles.

"Girl, go get him!"

"Like he could ever say no to you."

Charlotte smirks and shrugs, completely unbothered. "Obviously."

Boom.

A massive jolt shoots up my spine straight to my brain. I know this day. It is the school hockey finals. More importantly, it is the exact moment Eric and Charlotte’s paths cross for the very first time.

I am actually reborn.

"What?"

The word tears out of my tight throat before I can stop it.

I grip the plastic bleacher seat so hard my nails nearly dig into the grooves. Eric's twisted face in the visiting room flashes in my head like a runaway train. I start shaking uncontrollably.

Charlotte and her crew jump at my sudden outburst. They all turn their heads to look at me, their eyes full of disgust, like I am trash on the bottom of their shoes.

"Do you have a problem, nerd?" Charlotte furrows her brows, making zero effort to hide her disgust.

Calm down. Kassia, push it down.

I take a deep breath, force my facial muscles to stop twitching, and fake the calmest smile I can manage. "No problem at all. I just accidentally kicked the seat in front of me. It stung a little."

They give me a suspicious up-and-down look. Once they decide a lab-rat nerd like me poses zero threat, they roll their eyes and snap their attention back to the game.

I look down, staring hard at my faded canvas sneakers. The arena's AC creeps up my ankles. The biting cold feels exactly like that winter night that swallowed me whole in my past life.

Eric and I grew up next door to each other. We used to run on two completely different tracks. I am the school's notorious science freak, captain of the robotics team, maxing out on AP Physics C and Calculus BC. The MIT aerospace engineering logo is taped above my desk as I grind for the ISEF regional qualifiers.

He, on the other hand, is the golden boy. He is the star forward of the school hockey team, plays in the AAA youth league, and is already on USA Hockey's watch list. Everyone knows if he passes the U18 National Team evaluation camp, NCAA Division I programs will practically beg him to join, and a top NHL draft pick is pretty much guaranteed.

Until Charlotte shows up.