Chapter 2

By Friday morning, the tension around Crestview High was thick enough to cut with a skate blade.

It was game day against Oakridge, our biggest rivals, and the hallways were a chaotic sea of green and gold jerseys.

Despite the hype buzzing around me, my feet carried me on autopilot toward my locker.

My stomach tightened before I could stop it. I was actually hoping there’d be another one. That was probably the weirdest part—how quickly I’d started relying on a piece of paper from a stranger.

I spun the combination dial, popped the latch, and right on cue—a fifth pale yellow square floated down, landing on my gym bag.

I picked it up, unfolding it with a care I usually saved for pristine hockey gear.

Don’t carry the weight of the whole team on your shoulders tonight, Captain. Hockey is a team sport for a reason. Let them help you. Good luck tonight—we’re all behind you.

I swallowed down a knot in my throat, staring at the neat, dark blue ink. Let them help you. Coming off a week where my dad had texted me twice just to grill me on Oakridge’s defensive stats.

I reached into my bag and pulled out my wallet. Hidden in the small leather pocket behind my driver’s license were four other folded yellow squares. I slid the new one in alongside them, letting my fingers rest against the stack for a second.

“If you stare at your locker any harder, Hale, it might lock itself back up.”

I flinched, quickly snapping my wallet shut and tossing it into my bag before spinning around.

Jonah was leaning against the locker next to mine, chewing on a toasted bagel. He squinted at me, his eyes dropping to my hand near my bag before sliding back up to my face.

“What was that?” Jonah asked, mouth full.

“Nothing. Just an AP Econ handout,” I lied, pulling out my binder to cover.

“Right. Because everyone gets super emotional over supply and demand charts.” Jonah snorted, taking another massive bite.

“Whatever, man. Just make sure your head is in the game tonight. Coach said Oakridge brought in a new transfer on their front line.”

“I’ve got it, Doyle. Promise.”

“Good. Because if we lose, my dad’s gonna make me watch game tape all weekend, and Piper promised she’d help me study for my retake on Saturday.” Jonah shuddered. “I can’t survive both.”

Mentioning Piper made my brain jump back to the library on Wednesday—the look on her face, the way her hand had trembled trying to hide that charcoal sketch of me on the bench.

“Speaking of Piper,” I said as we started walking toward homeroom, “is she coming to the game tonight?”

Jonah looked at me like I’d just asked if his sister was secretly an astronaut. “Piper? At a sports event? Man, she only comes if my mom forces her to take photos for her scrapbooks, and she usually sits in the top row of the bleachers with headphones on and a book.” He paused, frowning slightly. “Why do you care?”

“No reason,” I said quickly. “Just asking. She looked pretty stressed out when I bumped into her in the library the other day, that’s all.”

Jonah waved a hand.

“Oh, she’s always stressed. Takes those AP classes way too seriously. Plus, she’s super shy around people she doesn’t know. You probably just startled her.”

Yeah. Startled, I thought. That made sense. A hockey captain suddenly cornering a quiet sophomore in a deserted library aisle would probably terrify anyone who spent eighty percent of her life with her nose in a book.

The roar of the home crowd hit like a physical wall as we skated out onto the ice. Bright white arena lights reflected off the fresh ice, and the air was freezing.

During warmups, as I lined up at center ice for practice drills, my eyes drifted up to the bleachers. The stands were packed with screaming students and parents. My gaze scanned the top rows, past the loud student section, searching for… what?

I didn’t even know who I was looking for. But subconsciously, I wanted them to be here.

By the third period, the game was a brutal, physical grind. We were tied 2-2 with Oakridge, three minutes left on the clock. My lungs burned, my legs felt like lead.

I grabbed a loose puck near our blue line, cutting hard toward the center. Two Oakridge defenders converged on me immediately, closing off my shot. Old habit kicked in—my dad’s voice in my head telling me to take the shot, force it through, take the game into my own hands.

Then, out of nowhere, the words from the note flashed in my mind: Let them help you.

Instead of forcing a contested shot into the goalie’s pads, I checked my shoulder. Jonah was cutting wide on the left wing, wide open.

I snapped a hard pass right onto his tape. Jonah controlled it, wound up, and ripped a slap shot past the Oakridge goalie’s glove side.

Goal.

The arena erupted into absolute bedlam. Horns blared, fans slammed against the glass, and the team swarmed Jonah in the corner.

As Jonah lifted me off my feet in a bear hug, screaming into my helmet, I looked past his shoulder, up into the chaotic crowd.

I wondered if they’d seen that.

It was the very first thing I thought. Not about the score. Not about what my dad would say. Just—did you see? I let them help.

An hour later, the noise had died down. Jonah’s parents were waiting in the quiet concourse near the exit. Standing next to them, swallowed up in an oversized jacket, was Piper.

She wasn’t hiding behind a sweater or shaking. She had her hands in her coat pockets, quietly listening to her mom.

“Great game, Weston!” Jonah’s dad called out, giving me a solid pat on the shoulder as I walked up in my street clothes. “That pass to Jonah in the third was sensational!”

“Thanks, Mr. Doyle,” I said, smiling.

Piper looked up. Her eyes met mine behind her glasses. She didn’t look panicked this time. Her mouth parted slightly, like she was about to say something, before she paused, letting a tiny, almost hidden smile touch the corner of her lips.

“Hey, Piper,” I said, stepping closer. “Thanks for coming out to support us.”

“You… played really well,” she said. “Especially that last pass.”

“Yeah, well. Had to let Jonah take the glory for once,” I joked.

Jonah clapped me on the shoulder. “Alright, Cap, we’re heading to the diner to celebrate. You coming?”

I checked my phone. A new text from my dad: Decent pass at the end, you need to tighten up your puck control on the blue line for next week.

No “congrats on the win.” No “proud of you.”

A familiar weight settled onto my chest, dulling the buzz of the victory. I forced a smile and looked back at Jonah.

“Nah, go ahead without me, man. I’m pretty wiped out. Think I’m just gonna grab my bag from the locker room and head straight home.”

“Suit yourself! See ya Monday!” Jonah called as his family turned toward the doors. Piper lingered half a second, her eyes on my face, before she turned and hurried after them.

I walked back down the quiet concrete hallway to the locker room. It was completely empty now, the smell of damp ice gear hanging heavy in the air.

I crossed to my equipment stall, pulled out my keys, and unlocked the latch. As the metal door swung open, a soft, pale yellow paper drifted down onto my shoe

My breath caught. Another one? How?

I picked it up, my heart hammering against my ribs. The ink was still fresh.

Congrats. I hope you let yourself celebrate tonight, Weston. You earned it. I saw you decline the diner invite.

I stared at the note. They’d seen me turn Jonah down, which meant they’d been close enough to hear the whole conversation.

I stepped out into the quiet corridor again, looking left and right down the empty fluorescent-lit hall. Not a soul in sight.

I leaned my head back against the cold brick wall, staring at the yellow square in my palm. Whoever they were, they were closer than I thought.

I didn’t know what they looked like, or how they kept doing this. But as I slid the paper into my wallet alongside the others, one thought echoed in my head:

Whoever they were… they were slowly becoming my favorite part of every day.