She laughs, the sound high and disbelieving.
"Plans? With who? Not the nerdy bitch, right?"
The way she says it makes my jaw tighten. I do not know why. I should not care what she calls Mabeline. I have called her worse.
"Fuck no," I say, shoving the words out with more force than necessary. "Why would I have plans with her?"
I push Vanessa away, putting distance between us.
"Go warm up. You have got figure skating practice, do you not?"
She squeals, grabbing my arm one more time.
"It is so nice that you remember!"
I only said it to get her the fuck away from me.
She skates off toward her group, giggling with her friends about God knows what, and I exhale for the first time in sixty seconds.
I slide back toward the team bench, pulling my helmet off and running my gloved hand through my sweaty hair. The cold air feels good against my overheated scalp.
Near the boards, a group of our rookies are clustered together, their voices carrying in the arena acoustics with a clarity they probably do not realize.
"Did you see the new girl come in?" one of them asks, gesturing toward the side of the rink where Mabeline is fiddling with the laces on her skates. "She is apparently smart as fuck."
"Smart how?" another asks.
"Like, actually genius-level. That is Mabeline. You do not know? She legit has a scholarship waiting for her at fucking Harvard. Full ride. They already accepted her."
I stop pretending I am not listening.
Harvard?
"What the fuck is she doing here then?" a third rookie pipes up, voicing the exact question forming in my own head.
"She is an Omega," the first one explains, lowering his voice like he is sharing classified information. "Even Harvard will notlet you enroll unless you have a recognized pack. Government regulations. So they told her to attend here, get her pack status sorted, and her enrollment and scholarship are set and waiting."
She has a Harvard scholarship. Nerdy MaeMae has a full ride to Harvard and she is stuck here because the system requires an Omega to have a pack before they can do anything with their life.
And she did not mention it. Not once. Not when she was listing her rules or kicking me in the balls or telling me to pick up my dirty hockey gear. Not when she was crying over coffee or eating a bagel like it was the best meal she had ever received.
Harvard. And she is living in a closet-sized room with three Alphas who cannot even eat breakfast without fighting.
I notice Cal leaning against the boards nearby, his amber eyes sharp and attentive. He has been listening to every word.
"Is she not Coach Rose's daughter?" another rookie adds. "Theodore Rose? The figure skating guy?"
"Fuck yeah, she is. She is a professional figure skater. Like, prodigy level. Her dad trained her since she was a kid. She was supposed to go international before everything went sideways."
One of them laughs, his tone dripping with the ignorance of someone who has never been humbled by life.
"No fucking way. She looks basic as fuck."
Cal pushes off the boards.
"Watch it, broski."
The warning is quiet but carries the weight of an Alpha who is done being amused. The rookies shift uncomfortably, exchanging glances that communicate a shared understanding that Calvin Graham Knox is not someone you talk back to.
