Monday morning, 4:45 AM, my alarm goes off and I want to die.
"Turn it off," Ollie groans from across the room.
"I have practice."
"Hockey practice at 5 AM should be illegal."
"Yeah, well, tell that to Coach Williams."
I roll out of bed, throw on workout clothes, and stumble into the hallway where I nearly get tackled by someone running full speed.
"WATCH OUT!"
I hit the wall as the person stops, breathing hard. It's a girl in Northwood women's hockey gear, dark hair in a ponytail, looking like she just ran a marathon.
"Shit, sorry," she says, then squints at me. "Wait. Evan?"
It takes me a second. "Sophie?"
"Yeah! From the party." She grins. "You actually showed up to tryouts. I honestly thought you'd pussy out."
"I almost did."
"But you didn't. And now you're on the team. Which is insane, by the way. I heard you've never played before?"
"Correct."
"And you just... showed up and went pro mode?"
"I don't know what happened. It was weird."
She laughs. "That's the best shit I've heard all week. I'm going for a run before practice, you wanna come?"
"It's 4:45 in the morning."
"So?"
"I have practice at 5."
"So do I. That's why I run before." She starts jogging in place. "Come on, it'll wake you up."
Against my better judgment, I follow her outside. The air is cold as hell and I immediately regret this.
"So why do you run before practice?" I ask, already out of breath.
"Routine," she says, barely winded. "I've been doing it since high school. Plus it clears my head."
"What do you need to clear your head about at 4:45 AM?"
"Life, mostly. School, hockey, the constant existential dread of being a college student." She glances at me. "You know, normal stuff."
We run around campus—well, she runs, I survive—and by the time we get back to the rink, I'm dying but also weirdly more awake.
"Same time tomorrow?" she asks.
"You're insane."
"I'll take that as a yes."
First practice is brutal.
Coach Williams runs us through drills that make the tryouts look like a warmup. Skating suicides, passing drills, defensive positioning, and about seventeen other things I don't understand.
"Ross, you're playing right wing," Coach yells. "That means you're responsible for this zone. Got it?"
"THIS zone!" He points at a spot on the ice that looks like every other spot. "Defense comes back here, offense pushes here. Read the play, support your center."
I nod like I understand. I don't understand.
We run a scrimmage and I'm immediately lost. Everyone's moving so fast and I have no idea where I'm supposed to be. I skate around trying not to mess up, and somehow end up with the puck.
Instinct kicks in. I see an opening, cut to the net, and score.
"THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!" Coach yells. "But Ross, you were supposed to pass to your center!"
"Sorry!"
"Don't apologize for scoring, just learn the system!"
After practice, I'm sitting in the locker room peeling off my gear when someone sits next to me.
"Not bad for your first practice," the guy says. He's built like a truck and has a scar above his eyebrow. "I'm Marcus. Team captain."
"Evan."
"Yeah, I know. Everyone knows." He grins. "You're the mystery freshman who can't skate but also snipes top corner like it's nothing."
"That's me."
"You're gonna be good once you learn the system. Just keep showing up." He stands. "Oh, and heads up—team bonding thing this Friday. Bowling. It's mandatory and also a disaster every year."
"Why's it a disaster?"
"You'll see."
Later that day, I'm in the library trying to catch up on the reading I've been ignoring when someone drops a book on my table.
It's Sophie, carrying about eight textbooks and looking stressed.
"Can I sit here?" she asks. "Everywhere else is full."
"Yeah, sure."
She dumps her stuff and collapses into the chair. "I have three essays due this week and I haven't started any of them."
"What year are you?"
"Sophomore. Biomedical engineering."
"Jesus."
"Yeah." She opens her laptop. "What about you? What's your major?"
"Undecided."
"So you're living the dream."
"More like delaying the inevitable existential crisis."
She laughs. "Fair."
We work in silence for a bit, and it's... nice? Like, not awkward silence, just comfortable. She's furiously typing, occasionally muttering to herself, and I'm pretending to read Econ while actually watching videos of hockey plays on my phone.
"Are you watching hockey right now?" she asks without looking up.
"Maybe."
"While you're supposed to be studying?"
"It's educational. I'm learning."
"You're procrastinating."
"Also true."
She shakes her head but she's smiling. "Okay, study deal. We both work for forty-five minutes, no distractions, then we take a break. Deal?"
"Deal."
I actually get some reading done, which is a miracle. When the forty-five minutes are up, Sophie closes her laptop and stretches.
"Okay, break time. Coffee?"
We head to the campus coffee shop, which is packed with students who look various levels of dead inside. Sophie orders something complicated with extra shots, I get a basic coffee because I'm boring.
"So," she says, sitting down, "how are you adjusting to college so far?"
"It's been three days and I've already joined a hockey team, gotten involved in a campus-wide assassination game, and made friends with people who are definitely bad influences."
"Sounds about right." She takes a sip. "The first few weeks are always insane. It mellows out eventually."
"Does it?"
"No, I lied. It gets worse."
I laugh. "Great."
"But you get used to it." She spins her cup. "So what made you try out for hockey? Like, actually."
"Honestly? I was drunk and you told me to."
"So this is my fault?"
"Completely."
"Okay, well, you're welcome then. Because you're actually good." She leans back. "It's weird though, right? Like you just... knew how to play?"
"Yeah, I don't get it either."
"Maybe you played when you were a kid and blocked it out. Repressed memories or some shit."
"I don't think that's how it works."
"I don't know, man, I'm an engineer, not a psychologist." She checks her phone. "Shit, I have to get to class. But same time tomorrow? Run and then practice?"
"You're really committed to this running thing."
"I'm committed to making you suffer." She stands up. "See you at 4:45, Ross."
She leaves and I realize I'm smiling like an idiot.
That night, there's a knock on our door. Ollie opens it and immediately tries to close it again.
"NOPE."
"Ollie, don't be rude," Sam says, pulling the door back open.
It's Maya, holding her notebook and looking way too pleased with herself.
"Evening, gentlemen. And Sam."
"What do you want?" I ask, suspicious.
"Just checking in on my favorite subjects." She flips through her notebook. "Evan, you've had an interesting few days. Made the hockey team, been hanging out with Sophie Chen—"
"How do you know that?"
"I know everything. It's my thing." She writes something down. "Interesting development. Are we catching feeling?"
"We're friends. We ran together once."
"Twice, actually. You're going again tomorrow."
"Are you stalking me?"
"I prefer the term 'observational research.'" She taps her pen against her notebook. "Anyway, just wanted to remind you that Assassin is still happening and you still haven't tagged me."
"I'm working on it."
"Are you though?" She smiles. "Because I'm working on my target, and let me tell you, it's going great."
"Who's your target?"
"That would be telling." She heads for the door. "Sleep tight, Evan. Watch your back."
After she leaves, Ollie locks the door and wedges a chair under the handle.
"She's terrifying," he says.
"Agreed," Sam adds.
I can't even argue.
Tuesday, 4:45 AM, Sophie's already outside stretching when I stumble out of the dorm.
"You're late," she says.
"It's 4:46."
"Late is late."
We start running and this time I'm slightly less terrible. We talk about random stuff—classes, teammates, how the dining hall food is somehow both too salty and completely flavorless.
"So what made you pick goalkeeper?" I ask.
"I like stopping things." She grins. "Also I'm a control freak and playing goalie is basically being in control of everything."
"That tracks."
"What about you? Why right wing?"
"Coach told me to play right wing."
"So you don't actually have a preference?"
"I don't know enough to have a preference."
She laughs. "Fair. But you're good at it. Like, scary good for someone who's never played."
"Thanks, I think?"
"It's definitely a compliment." We round the corner back toward the rink. "You should come watch one of our games. Women's team plays Thursday."
"Yeah, okay. I'll bring the guys."
"The guys?"
"Jax, Ollie, Sam. My friend group, I guess."
"I want to meet these people who are apparently bad influences."
"You'll regret that."
Practice is better this time. I'm starting to understand the system—when to push, when to fall back, how to read the play. I still mess up constantly, but less than yesterday.
After practice, I'm at my locker when Sophie appears, already changed.
"You looked good out there," she says.
"I fell on my ass twice."
"Yeah, but you got back up. That's what counts." She swings her bag over her shoulder. "Library later?"
"Yeah, sure."
It becomes a routine over the next few days. Morning runs, practice, classes, library study sessions, more practice. Sophie and I end up spending a lot of time together, and it's easy. She's funny, brutally honest, and doesn't take my shit.
Wednesday, we're in the library and she's stress-eating chips while working on a problem set.
"This is impossible," she mutters. "Thermodynamics was invented by someone who hated happiness."
"Can I help?"
"Can you solve partial differential equations?"
"No."
"Then no." She throws a chip at me. "Distract me. Tell me something interesting."
"Uh... I don't know. I'm pretty boring."
"You appeared out of nowhere with mystery hockey skills. You're not boring."
"Okay, fine. Um..." I think about it. "I have no idea what I want to do with my life and it's kind of freaking me out."
She looks up. "Okay, that's actually real. I wasn't expecting that."
"You said tell you something interesting."
"I meant like a fun fact, not an existential crisis." But she closes her laptop. "Why are you freaking out?"
"Because everyone else seems to have their shit figured out. You're doing engineering, Jax knows he wants to work in sports, even Ollie has his weird tech thing. And I'm just... here."
"Evan, you're a freshman. You're supposed to be lost."
"Are you sure?"
"Dude, I'm a sophomore and I still have no idea what I'm doing. I picked engineering because I'm good at math, but that doesn't mean I have a life plan." She leans forward. "Nobody has it figured out. We're all just pretending."
"That's not comforting."
"It's not supposed to be comforting. It's supposed to be true." She smiles. "But hey, you've got time. And in the meantime, you've got hockey. That's something.
"Yeah. That's something."
We go back to studying, but I feel a little better.
Thursday night, I bring Jax, Ollie, and Sam to the women's hockey game. Maya shows up too, uninvited, with her notebook.
"I heard there was an event," she says. "I'm observing."
"You're obsessed," Lena adds, appearing with popcorn.
"I'm dedicated."
The game starts and Sophie's incredible. She's reading plays before they happen, making saves that look impossible, talking to her defense the entire time.
"Yo, she's fucking good," Jax says.
"Yeah," I agree.
"You like her," Maya says, writing something down.
"We're friends."
"That's what you said three days ago. Now you're at her game."
"So? I support my friends."
"Uh huh." She doesn't look convinced.
Northwood wins 4-2 and Sophie gets a shutout in the third period. After the game, she meets us outside the rink, still in her gear.
"You guys came!" She looks genuinely happy.
"You were insane," Jax says. "Those saves in the second period? Chef's kiss."
"Thanks." She's grinning. "Evan, these are the bad influences?"
"That's us," Ollie says proudly.
"I'm Maya. I'm documenting Evan's descent into chaos."
"Library tomorrow?" I ask.
"Can't. I have team stuff. But Saturday? There's that bowling thing for your team, right?"
"Yeah, you should come:"
"I'm not on your team."
"Neither am I, technically. I just show up to practice."
She shakes her head but she's smiling. "Fine. Saturday."
As we walk back, Maya sidles up next to me.
"You're falling for her," she says quietly.
"What? No."
"Yes, you are. I can see it. The way you look at her, the way you talk about her—"
"We've known each other for a week."
"And? Feelings don't have a timeline, Evan." She writes something in her notebook. "This is going to be interesting to watch."
"You're weird."
"I'm perceptive. There's a difference."
That night, lying in bed, I think about what Maya said.
Am I falling for Sophie?
No. That's insane. We're friends. We run together and study together and hang out and—
Okay, maybe I see what Maya's getting at.
But it's too early for that. We barely know each other. And even if I did like her, there's no way she likes me back. She's cool, confident, has her shit together. I'm a mess who stumbled into hockey by accident.
"Evan," Ollie says from across the room.
"Yeah?"
"You're overthinking."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're breathing weird. Just ask yourself: do you want to hang out with her tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
"Then that's all that matters right now. Stop future-tripping."
"When did you become wise?"
"I've always been wise. You just don't listen."
I fall asleep thinking about Saturday, about bowling with the team, about Sophie laughing at something stupid Jax says, about the way she looks when she's concentrating on her homework.
Maybe Maya's right.
Maybe I am falling for her.
But that's a problem for future Evan.
Right now, I'm just going to enjoy having a friend who makes 4:45 AM runs feel less terrible.
Even if that friend is slowly becoming something more.