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My stomach surges right when I’m outside the Teal House–the brightly painted, skinny house Twyler and Nadia live in. “Oh shit,” I mutter, glancing around. It’s quiet out, everyone still recovering from the night before. I lurch toward a small bush in the corner of the yard and heave.

Sorry, girls.

Emptying my stomach makes me feel slightly better. I’m sweating, a cold, uncomfortable sensation as the toxins weep out of my skin. Swiping my access card in the arena door, I step inside and let the cool air wash over me, providing a hint of sweet relief.

I made it.

If I played a line, it’s possible I’d be able to just slip in with the others, mixing in with the pads and helmets swarming around the ice, but I’m a goalie–thestartinggoalie. Not only is my uniform different, I practice different, and there’s no fucking way Coach isn’t going to notice. My plan is to suit up, get my ass on the ice, and beg for forgiveness.

I’m not above groveling.

Turning the corner to the locker room, I stop short, confused because everyone is still here. And not even dressed out. They’re all still in sweats, standing around–no–standing in a line.

I wrack my brain trying to remember if something special was scheduled for today.

Jefferson, my third roommate, sees me and shakes his head. “About time you showed up.”

Jeff is on the starting line, a kick ass defender. Not quite as uptight as Captain America over there, but he’s not a slacker, that’s for sure.

“A wake up call would’ve been nice.” I open my locker and shoving my bag inside.

“Dude, we tried to wake you up. Banged on your door for five minutes.”

“Bullshit.” There’s no way I slept through that.

“Reid even went inside.”

Reid is three people down the line. I grab his shoulder and spin him around. “You came in my room?”

“To wake you up!” He holds up his hands. “I swear I didn’t see anything.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The girl. As soon as I saw you weren’t alone I backed out. Figured you didn’t want to be interrupted.” His eyes dart to my throat. “Guess she was too busy leaving a mark.”

Ah, Chantelle strikes again. I rub the spot where I saw the hickey in the mirror.

“Next time, wake me up. Chick or no chick.” I exhale, realizing it’s pointless to be upset at them. I’m the one that fucked up. I nod to the line. “What’s this about anyway?”

Jefferson jerks his chin toward Green’s office and the two guys wearing white lab coats. “The NCAA showed up this morning.”

A sinking feeling fills my gut. “The committee?”

“Random drug tests,” Reid says. “Bryant’s pissed about not getting any notice.”

“They always pull this shit when a team starts doing well,” Jefferson adds.

We’re not just doing well, we’re killing it. Undefeated and on track to finish up what we started last year–winning the Frozen Four.

And I just fucked it up for everyone.

“Rakestraw! Get your ass in here.”

After pissing into a cup and handing over a vial of blood to the drug tester, Coach Bryant does his best to kill us.

You’d never know we’re undefeated.

But that’s the kind of coach Bryant is. That’s why he’s a legend, with more Frozen Four wins than any other coach in the league. When we’re winning that’s when he steps on the gas. Pushes us harder. More time on the ice, reps in the gym, hours watching film. He doesn’t slack off and neither do we.