I want to argue. Want to tell them they’re all wrong, that April and I are genuinely, truly, platonically just friends. But the words stick in my throat like peanut butter.
She does love a good PB and J. Grape on basic days. Raspberry if she’s feeling fancy. Marshmallow Fluff if I want to cheer her up.
I suddenly feel like I’m on center ice in my underwear as everyone stares, waiting for me to defend or deny my position.
However, if I tell them the truth, maybe they’ll stop badgering me. it could work. However, I sense I’m going to regret this and future me will want to punch past me square in the smacker.
But I shake my head and only hear what I say after it’s out of my mouth. “I’ve spent the last ten years in what I like to call the Friend Tundra. Not the friend zone—that implies there’s a border, a line I could theoretically cross. No, the Friend Tundra is a frozen wasteland that comes with the absolute certainty that we’ll only ever be friends.”
Everyone gawps. Some with mouths agape.
But I’m on a roll now. The puck is sliding across the ice withno one to stop it but me. I’m the worst goalie ever. “Sure, I’ve heard heartwarming stories of people going from friends to lovers. My own parents, actually—Dad pursued Mom for three years before she finally agreed to a date. But April and me? Titanic-ed.”
Hayden says, “Do you mean that ship has sailed, sunk, and is currently rusting at the bottom of the ocean?”
I nod solemnly.
Mikey pretends to play a sad violin.
“How can you be so sure?” Liam asks, reading my expression.
Because there is no stopping me now—because these guys are my brothers, we’ve bled together on the ice, and celebrated together off it—I tell them.
“April and I were good friends in high school. We spent a lot of time together. But no sooner was I considering making a move than my best guy friend since way back when we were still in diapers, Whitaker, invoked bro code. Said he wanted to ask April to the prom. I should’ve told him no, should’ve said I was going to ask her myself. But I froze. And then he commented how it probably didn’t matter anyway because she was ‘like a little sister’ to me.”
“And you didn’t correct him,” Pierre says quietly.
“Nope. I latched onto that excuse like a life raft. Later, when he double checked if it was cool to take her as his date, I even stated it for the record. Because here’s the thing—I was already the ‘athletic Mr. Popularity’ guy. Hockey was my whole identity. I saw what dating drama did to other guys on the team, how it messed with their focus, ruined friendships. And April was the most stable, genuine connection I’d ever had. I couldn’t risk losing that.”
“So you friend zoned yourself,” Fletch summarizes.
“Basically. Then after that, it just stuck. Like somewherealong the way, remainingjustfriends became a challenge. A quest to prove it was true and nothing more.”
Lane shakes his head. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You’re not wrong.”
He pats himself on the back.
The guys are all looking at me with varying degrees of pity and amusement when Coach Badaszek’s voice echoes from the hall. “Culpepper, out here, now!”
I frown, toweling off my hair. “Now?”
The guys make a low, “Ooh,” sound as if I’m in trouble.
What did I forget this time?
Certainly not that I have a crush on my best friend, but they don’t need to know the gory details of how wide and deep and strong it is. As much as I love hockey, if April asked me to stop playing, I would.
4
CLARK
After I gather my stuff,I head out to the hall, but Badaszek isn’t there. I pop my head in his office, but Cara, his daughter, assistant, and Pierre’s wife, says, “He’s in the main concourse.”
Does that mean he randomly wanted to holler my name into the locker room? To make me nervous? Test me? Harass me? All are equally possible.
Nevertheless, I trot out to the main concourse in the Ice Palace—Cobbiton’s state-of-the-art hockey facility—and I spot him standing near a booth set up prominently by the entrance to the building. Colorful banners promote the Love at First Wag-Spring Adoption Drive.
