The words had slipped out with more vehemence than Silver had intended, echoing in their Gothic dorm room like a bell that couldn't be unrung.
No interest in hockey boys.
Americus, predictably, had refused to let the declaration fade into normal conversational history. For the past two days, she'd been conducting what could only be described as a campaign of gentle psychological warfare—humming mysteriously under her breath whenever Eli passed within viewing distance in the dining hall, deploying strategically timed eyebrow wiggles when Silver's gaze lingered too long on the hockey players' usual table, and whispering "hockey boys" like it was some kind of secret code phrase during their shared American Literature seminar.
