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“She wears sparkly sneakers,” the girl adds like it’s proof.

“Then she’sdefinitelysmart.”

I guide her back to the other kids and watch as she joins a group trying to form a shaky conga line on skates. It’s chaos. Pure, loud, unfiltered chaos. But kind of… good.

“Hey, Jones!” Parker calls from across the ice. “You racing or just admiring the view?”

Before I can answer, a kid with a buzz cut and a competitive glint in his eye skates up. “I can skate faster than you.”

“Big talk, little man.”

He grins. “Bet I can beat Parker too.”

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” I say, and nudge him toward the center line. “Let’s go. On three.”

We race. I let him win. He knows I let him win. That makes it better.

Afterward, I kneel beside him while he catches his breath.

“You fast because of those skates?” he asks.

“Nope. I’m fast because of my stubbornness and I like to win.”

He laughs like that’s the funniest thing he’s heard all day.

"But I can do it because I practiced a lot, so I can skate fast and not get hurt," I add.

The boy's expression turns thoughtful, his gaze dropping to his skates. "I’m not really good at anything. Not like you guys."

I frown. “Who told you that?”

He shrugs, but the way he keeps his eyes down says enough.

“You know, I wasn’t always good at hockey,” I tell him. “First time I tried to skate backwards, I wiped out so hard, my coach thought I’d dislocated something. Turns out, it was just my pride.”

He chuckles.

“But I kept showing up. Every day. Even when I sucked. That’s the difference, man. It’s not about being perfect. It’s about showing up anyway and keeping at it.”

He glances up, brow furrowed. “My brother’s the good one. He plays all the sports. My mom always says I should be more like him.”

My chest tightens. “Yeah? What doyoulike?”

He shrugs again. “I dunno. Drawing, I guess. My grandma gave me this sketchpad, and I draw stuff from video games. Or like, cool buildings.”

I lean forward. “That’s awesome. You know how many hockey players wish they could draw something other than a stick figure? That’s a skill, not a backup plan.”

He blinks, surprised. “Really?”

“Hell yeah. And don’t let anyone make you feel like you’ve gotta fit their idea of what ‘good’ is. Being different isn’t bad. It’s just brave.”

His mouth tugs into a crooked smile.

“You think I could be brave?”

“You’re out here skating with a bunch of loud kids in the cold. That’s already pretty brave.”

He kicks at the ice with the toe of his skate, processing that.