The point is: I had a plan.
Accept the six-week placement at this fancy new arts-and-sports university for Alphas and Omegas. Buy myself some time. Maybe,should I dare believe in it,rediscover the girl who used tolivefor the ice instead of the hollow-eyed zombie who stares back at me in the mirror every morning, wondering where she went wrong.
Simple, right?
Ha. I clearly enjoy making myself laugh.
The universe took one look at my sensible plan and said,Hold my beer.
I should've known something was wrong when I arrived at the hockey game—part of my 'reconnect with ice sports' initiative—and felt the prickle of hostile eyes on me before I even reached the concession stand.
The arena smelled like popcorn, sweat, and too much Alpha cologne, the crowd still buzzing from the team's brutal victory. I'd planned to buy a hot chocolate, find a quiet corner, and watch the Zamboni smooth the ice while pretending I belonged here.
Instead, Vanessa 'Viper' Voss materialized out of nowhere, flanked by her posse of simpering betas like some kind of mean-girl Voltron.
"Well, well." Her voice dripped synthetic honey, sweet enough to give you cavities and a healthy dose of diabetes. "Fresh meat. Let me guess—transfer student hoping to snag yourself a hockey Alpha?"
She was all sharp angles and sharper smiles, blonde hair shellacked into submission, wearing a custom jersey with CALDER'S QUEEN bedazzled across the back.
Because apparently subtlety was dead and Vanessa had stabbed it with her stiletto heels.
"Actually, I'm here for the ice." I offered a polite smile. "The sport. Not the players."
Her laugh was pure glass shards.
"Oh, that'sadorable." She stepped closer, and I caught her scent—something cloyingly sweet, like artificial strawberries left too long in the sun. Overpowering. Aggressive. The kind of scent that screamedI will mark my territory and you're standing in it. "Let me make this simple for you, Nerdy MaeBell?—"
My blood went cold.
Nerdy MaeBell.
The nickname I'd buried under years of therapy, hair products, and contact lenses. The words that used to follow me down hallways like a curse.
How the hell did she?—
"—stay away from Rafe Calder. He'smine. I'm going to be his prom Omega Queen at the Valentine's Day dance, and I willdestroyanyone who gets in my way."
Okay?
Jeez. Can a girl dare settle into the school program before she wins herself a target on her head for existing?
"Lady, I don't even know who?—"
That's when fifty ounces of blue raspberry slushie hit me square in the chest.
The cold was instant and brutal, soaking through my thin sweater, plastering it to my skin in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. My bra—white since my dark blue bra needed a wash—became see-through on contact, my nipples pebbling against the frozen assault.
The sticky syrup ran down my stomach in icy rivulets, soaking through my jeans, pooling in the waistband of my underwear in a way that made me want to scream or cry or both.
Vanessa's posse erupted in laughter—high, cruel, achingly familiar.
Phones lifted like weapons.
Someone muttered 'Already trending' with visible glee.
And me?
I stood there, dripping and mortified, flashbacks to sixth grade hitting me like a body check—braces glinting under fluorescent lights, frizzy hair escaping its scrunchie, glasses sliding down my nose as I tried to make myself small.
