Chapter 38: Out Now, Sheridan!

The chemical stench of fresh red spray paint stung the back of my throat, but I didn’t take a single step backward.

Around me, the steady clicking of phone camera shutters continued.

A couple of freshmen near the front of the crowd were whispering, angling their screens to catch a better angle of the dripping red letters: SLUT and BITCH and the expression on my face.

They were waiting for a breakdown. They were waiting for me to cover my face, burst into tears, and sprint out of the hallway like a humiliated victim.

Instead, I turned my head slowly, locking my gaze onto the guy holding his phone closest to my locker.

"Put the phone away," I said. My voice wasn’t loud, but it was so -sharp that it cut straight through the hallway noise.

The guy blinked, his confident smirk faltering slightly. "Hey, I’m just filming public property..."

"Put your phone away right now," I repeated, taking one slow step toward him, "or I swear to God I will smash the next screen I see. Try me."

THe hallway went completely silent.

The guy’s eyes went wide. He swallowed hard, quickly lowering his phone into his pocket. Two girls behind him hurriedly tucked their phones into their totes, stepping back.

"Well, well. Aren’t we spunky today?"

A smooth, melodious voice echoed from the end of the corridor.

The crowd parted automatically as Vanessa Orwell strutted down the hallway, flanked by two of her usual entourage. She was dressed in a cream-colored coat; her blonde hair was perfectly styled, and her manicured fingers rested casually on her designer handbag.

She stopped right in front of the vandalized locker bay, her blue eyes scanning the dripping red letters with a slow, exaggerated expression of false pity.

"Oh, Nora..." Vanessa sighed, placing a hand over her chest as if deeply pained by the sight. "That’s just terrible. I mean, violent red? Such a vulgar choice of shade."

I didn’t blink.

I kept my arms folded tight against my chest, meeting her gaze with a cold, unbothered stare.

"I did warn you, didn’t I?" Vanessa continued, stepping an inch closer, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper meant for the lingering crowd to hear. "Briar’s athletic community is very... protective of Knox. When a girl from nowhere suddenly tries to climb the social ladder and posts a photo like the one Knox put up on Saturday night, people get passionate. You really shouldn’t have let him post that picture, sweetie."

"Save the performance, Orwell," I cut her off, my voice dripping with pure disdain. "You used cheap spray paint."

Vanessa’s condescending smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," I said, stepping right up into her personal space until I was looking down into her sharp blue eyes. "If you’re going to hire any of your little lackeys to vandalize my locker in broad daylight, at least invest in paint that doesn’t smell like dollar-store solvent. It’s embarrassing."

A collective gasp rippled through the surrounding students. Vanessa’s cheeks flushed a subtle, furious pink under her tailored makeup.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bennett," Vanessa hissed softly, her polite facade cracking around the edges. "I had nothing to do with this."

"Sure you didn’t," I replied coolly. "Now get out of my way."

"Nora!"

Priya’s panicked voice echoed from behind as she came sprinting past the library doors, her backpack bouncing wildly against her spine. She skidded to a halt beside me, her eyes widening in pure horror as she took in the dripping red paint on my locker.

"Oh my God!" Priya gasped, whipping around to glare violently at Vanessa and the remaining spectators. "Who did this?! I will personally hunt down whoever touched this locker and feed their phone to them whole!"

"Vanessa was just leaving," I said, without taking my eyes off the metal door.

Vanessa sniffed, adjusting her coat collar. "Come on, girls. The hallway smells atrocious anyway." She turned on her heel and strutted away, her entourage following closely behind.

The second Vanessa was out of earshot, I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket. My thumb tapped Knox’s contact, and I pressed the phone to my ear.

It rang three times before cutting straight to voicemail: "This is Sheridan. Leave a message."

I slammed my thumb down, hit redial, and pressed it back to my ear.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Voicemail.

"Unbelievable," I muttered under my breath, lowering the phone.

I turned to a guy standing near the drinking fountain, an athlete wearing a Briar track jacket. "Where is Sheridan right now?"

The athlete blinked, startled by the intensity in my eyes. "Uh... ice arena. Captain’s practice started twenty minutes ago."

"Thanks," I said, turning on my heel and heading straight for the exit doors.

"Nora, wait!" Priya shouted, rushing to keep pace with my fast stride down the corridor. She grabbed my arm, trying to slow me down. "Nora, listen to me... you need to calm down first!"

I stopped in front of the glass double doors leading out to the quad, turning to look at her. "I am calm."

Priya scoffed, looking at me like I had grown a second head. "Nora, you look like you’re about to land another puck on his face with the way your eyes look right now! You can’t just storm into the ice arena during captain’s practice!"

"Watch me," I said flatly.

I shoved open the glass doors and marched out into the freezing autumn wind, heading straight across campus toward the massive brick structure of the Briar Ice Arena.

—

The steel doors of the arena groaned as I shoved them open, stepping into the freezing, cavernous space.

The sharp smell of freshly cut ice, damp leather, and aerosol blade polish hit my nose immediately.

From down on the main rink, the deafening sounds of practice echoed through the empty metal bleachers... skates grinding sharply into the ice, pucks slamming violently against the plexiglass boards, and whistles piercing the air.

I didn’t stop at the spectator railing. I didn’t sit in the bleachers.

I marched right down the concrete aisle, past the visiting team bench, heading straight for the home team glass door where the Briar starters were running high-speed five-on-five rush drills.

Coach Brennan was standing near the center ice boards holding a clipboard, while the rest of the team: Jake, Milo, Theo, Bear and a few others were gliding in formation.

And leading the line was Knox Sheridan, gliding across the blue line in his dark captain’s jersey, his helmet visor casting a shadow over his sharp, ruthless jawline.

I reached the home bench door, grabbed the metal latch, and shoved the heavy plexiglass door open with a loud, metallic BANG.

Every single player on the ice froze.

Jake skidded to an abrupt halt, nearly tripping over his own stick. Coach Brennan dropped his whistle, turning his head in disbelief.

Knox glided to a smooth stop five feet from the bench door, his dark eyes narrowing in surprise as he looked at me standing there in my knit scarf and jacket.

"Bennett?" Knox called out in surprise, adjusting his stick. "What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk," I replied almost immediately, my voice ringing out across the entire arena.

Knox’s jaw tightened slightly as he glanced toward Coach Brennan and then back to me. "We’re in the middle of practice..."

"Out. NOW, Sheridan!" I cut him off sharply.