I tell my pesky, annoying roommate for the hundredth time. She's been at it all night—relentless, like a mosquito that just won't quit.
The Pond—that's where she's trying to drag me to. Ridgewater's not-so-humble hockey palace, where all the players live and apparently throw parties whenever they win. And since yesterday's season opener ended with the Warriors stompingLakeview State 7–4, the campus is already hyped about tonight's rematch.
Everyone's predicting a repeat win. Which means tomorrow—Sunday night—there'll be a party at the Pond. Because apparently, it's tradition: Sunday after a win, the boys celebrate.
Too bad tomorrow is also the day I go home to Naples like I always do, to check on my mom and make sure her recovery's on track.
I was supposed to leave today, but Professor Callahan hijacked my schedule with a last-minute meeting—announcing the final Nutcracker casting and handing out the manuscript so we could start prepping before Monday's table read.
Not to brag (okay, maybe a little), but guess who snagged Clara? Yep. Me. After totally crushing that audition yesterday with Adam. And of course, Adam landed the Nutcracker—because the universe apparently loves symmetry and good casting decisions.
The whole lineup feels like Callahan handpicked it straight out of a casting wish list. Perfect fit, perfect pairing.
So yeah, between the role of a lifetime and having to memorize lines over the weekend, I've got zero time to waste on hockey parties.
I stretch out on my bed, the Nutcracker manuscript spread open across my lap, pencil in hand. Highlighter already bleeding neon streaks across Clara's lines because Type-A-me can't help it.
Across the room, Sam's perched cross-legged on her mattress, facing me, all restless energy like she's physically incapable of letting the subject go.
"Why not? Everyone's going," she whines, bouncing a little where she sits.
"I told you, I need to go home to Naples tomorrow. I need to check in on Mom, you know that."
And then there's the other reason. Zach. Of course he's gonna be there—he's one of the Warriors' star players, fresh off scoring four goals yesterday.
"Oh, come on, Care." She flops dramatically on her bed, legs kicking like a toddler mid-tantrum. "I'm sure Esther's gonna understand if you skip tomorrow. Honestly, she'd probably prefer you go to the party and actually have fun for once." Her grin is so bright it could probably power the dorm lights if the electricity went out.
"I can't, Sam. Besides, Zach's gonna be at the party, and I'm trying to keep our paths as far apart as humanly possible."
After our run-in the other night... God, I still cringe every time I think about it. Me. Crying in front of him. Freaking crying. Ugh.
It still makes my skin crawl, and I haven't stopped scolding myself since.
"You're not going there for Zach. You're going to celebrate the team. Our team. Your school spirit is basically on life support—don't you want to resuscitate it?"
I glare. "School spirit is overrated."
She gasps, clutching her chest like I stabbed her. "How dare you. This is Ridgewater. Hockey is literally the only thing half the campus talks about. Going to the Pond tomorrow isn't about Zach. It's about...camaraderie."
"Camaraderie?" I arch a brow.
"Yes. Camaraderie. Unity. Brotherhood. Sisterhood. Okay, mostly beer-hood. But still."
I snort. "Wow. You should go into politics."
She points a finger at me, eyes gleaming. "You don't even have to stay long! Just show up, wave, clap for a few minutes, grab a soda—then leave. You can even wear your resting bitch face if it makes you feel better."
"Tempting," I deadpan.
Sam groans, throwing her pillow over her face. "You are impossible."
I smirk, flipping a page of the manuscript like I just scored a point in our never-ending roommate battle. "Takes one to know one, Sammy." I pause just long enough for her to peek at me from under the pillow.
"And hey, don't think for a second that means I've forgiven you for lying to me the other night—for using our sacred code."
Sam lowers the pillow, her face half-hidden but her grin totally busted. She looks at me sheepishly, like a kid caught stealing cookies. "Come on, I already apologized," she whines.
"It was only out of pure desperation and the noble duty of helping my poor, pathetic big brother." Sam presses both hands dramatically over her chest, lips pushed into the saddest pout imaginable.
