Deleting her mother's message should have felt like liberation. Instead, it left Silver feeling exposed and raw, like she'd torn off a bandage before the wound underneath had properly healed. Every subsequent buzz of her phone made her flinch with Pavlovian dread, as if Leona's voice might somehow break through digital barriers and drag her back into the suffocating world of training schedules and comeback expectations.
Which was exactly why, when Americus burst into their Gothic dorm room that Saturday night wielding two sequined dresses like battle flags and shouting "Party night!" with the enthusiasm of someone declaring war on boredom, Silver's first instinct was to burrow under her institutional blanket and emerge sometime around graduation.
"Absolutely not," Silver said with the flat finality usually reserved for refusing root canals.
"Absolutely yes," Americus countered, already holding one of the dresses against Silver's frame with the calculating eye of someone who took fashion coordination very seriously. "Hockey house party. Big end-of-first-week celebration. Everyone who matters will be there."
"Then I definitely shouldn't go."
Americus spun in place, sending loose sequins scattering across their small carpet like glittery snow. "You can't hide in this room forever, roomie. This is Yale University, not a witness protection program."
Riley glanced up from her laptop, where she'd been working on what appeared to be enough philosophy reading to supply a small library. Her expression carried the kind of diplomatic neutrality that suggested she was about to deliver unwelcome wisdom.
"You don't have to go if you really don't want to," she said carefully.
Silver shot her a grateful look. "Thank you. Finally, the voice of reason."
"But," Riley continued, her lips twitching with barely suppressed amusement, "it might actually be good for you to, you know, socialize with people who aren't us. Branch out. Experience normal college things."
Silver groaned and let her head fall back against her pillow hard enough to rattle their shared desk. "Traitors. Both of you."
"Come on," Americus coaxed, abandoning the dress assault in favor of perching on the edge of Silver's bed with the kind of earnest expression that probably convinced people to make terrible decisions on a regular basis. "It's not like you'll be flying solo. I'll be there providing color commentary and social navigation. Riley might even make an appearance if I promise her pizza as tribute. And besides..." Her eyes took on the dangerous gleam that usually preceded her most mischievous revelations. "You know who will definitely be there."
Silver's stomach performed what felt like a badly executed triple jump. "No."
"Yes," Americus sang with obvious delight. "The entire hockey team. Including your very own brooding literature partner who stares at you like you're a particularly fascinating book he can't quite figure out how to read."
Silver tugged her Yale hoodie tighter around her shoulders, as if extra fabric could somehow shield her from the implications of that statement. "That's even more reason to stay here and pretend I don't exist."
But Americus was already moving toward Silver's closet with the determination of someone on a divine mission, rifling through hangers with practiced efficiency. "Don't worry about the details. I'll handle absolutely everything."
The hockey house was impossible to miss, even from three blocks away. Bass-heavy music pulsed from every window, vibrating through the sidewalk and up into Silver's reconstructed knee. Light spilled across the front lawn in patches that illuminated clusters of students clutching red solo cups and shouting conversations over the noise. The distinctive aroma of beer, pizza, and autumn leaves mixed with the sharper scent of someone's cologne created an olfactory assault that screamed "college party" with enough volume to wake neighboring residential colleges.
Americus marched toward the front entrance like she was leading a military campaign, dragging Silver along by the wrist while Riley followed at a more measured pace that suggested she was here primarily in a supervisory capacity.
Inside, the hockey house had been transformed into controlled chaos. The hardwood floors were already sticky with spilled drinks, music blasted from speakers that had probably cost more than Silver's textbooks, and the walls vibrated with shouts and laughter that seemed to come from every direction simultaneously. Yale Hockey jerseys and vintage wooden sticks hung as decoration alongside team photos and a massive Yale flag that dominated one entire wall.
Silver's pulse immediately kicked into the kind of rapid rhythm she usually associated with pre-competition panic attacks. Too many people pressed into too small a space, too many eyes that might recognize her face from old magazine covers, too many conversations she'd have to navigate without revealing anything substantial about herself. The sensory overload felt like being shoved onto competitive ice mid-program without any warm-up or mental preparation.
Americus materialized beside her with a red cup that appeared to contain some kind of toxic waste masquerading as punch. "Here. Relax, blend in, and have what normal people call fun."
Silver accepted the cup and immediately regretted it. The contents smelled like they could strip paint from hockey helmets. "This genuinely smells like battery acid mixed with regret."
"Exactly!" Americus cheered, apparently considering that a ringing endorsement before twirling away into the crowd with her usual dramatic flair.
Riley positioned herself closer to Silver, creating a buffer zone against the party chaos. "Just hold it if you want. Or find some water. No pressure to actually consume anything questionable."
Silver nodded gratefully, clutching the cup like a prop in a play she didn't understand while edging toward the relative safety of the wall. The music pounded through her chest cavity, making coherent thought difficult and breathing feel like conscious work.
She tried to focus on manageable details—the flicker of string lights taped haphazardly along the ceiling, team photos arranged with more enthusiasm than precision, the muffled sounds of what might have been beer pong emanating from the kitchen. Anything to distract from the growing knot of anxiety in her chest that whispered she didn't belong here, had never belonged anywhere like this.
And then, through the crowd of hockey players and their admirers, she saw him.
Eli Hayes stood across the room in his characteristic pose of quiet command, leaning against the back wall with the kind of effortless confidence that suggested he'd never questioned his right to occupy any space he chose. His dark hoodie and relaxed posture made him look approachable, but something in his expression remained watchful, alert, like he was constantly assessing his surroundings for threats or opportunities.
Silver's breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat. Every rational thought in her head screamed that she should look away, should retreat to a different room, should probably leave the party entirely before this interaction could develop into something she couldn't handle.
But she couldn't move.
Because standing directly in front of Eli, close enough to invade his personal space, was a girl Silver didn't recognize.
Tall, brunette, with the kind of natural confidence that suggested she'd never doubted her own attractiveness. She was leaning closer to Eli than strict social convention required, laughing at something he'd apparently said—something Silver couldn't possibly hear over the music and crowd noise.
And then the girl reached out and touched his arm.
Silver's stomach executed what felt like a catastrophically failed landing, complete with the kind of impact that left internal bruises. She watched as Eli didn't pull away from the contact, didn't step back, didn't show any sign that the attention was unwelcome.
Her pulse hammered loud enough to compete with the bass line. She couldn't understand why the sight bothered her so intensely—didn't know what she'd expected, couldn't even articulate why she cared about Eli Hayes's social interactions with attractive strangers.
But watching someone else's hand rest casually on his arm hit with unexpected sharpness, like discovering a bruise she hadn't realized was there.
Silver's grip tightened on her red cup until the plastic began to crack under the pressure.