Page 17 of Like a Power Play (Greenrock University: Icebound #1)

I need to calm down. Breathe. Keep my eye on the prize: surviving this season without pulling out my hair.

But then I see Peyton’s jaw tighten, her posture shifting like she’s waiting for me to back down.

Like she expects me to. Part of me thinks I should let it go, for the sake of my sanity.

But then what? She’ll just keep brushing me off, ignoring my input, making sure no one takes me seriously.

I don’t like failing at things. Frankly, I’m a really sore loser. Board games, hockey games, tests—I refuse to fail at this too.

“You think I wanted to embarrass you?” I say instead, cursing myself for being so stubborn. “I’m just trying to do my job. You’re the captain, sure, but you’re not the only one who knows what’s going on out there.”

Solid apology, Darcy.

I stare at her, lips pressed in a flat line, but she steps forward anyway, closing the space between us.

Close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off her skin, smell the jarring contrast of her sweat and lavender perfume.

Close enough that when she exhales, the warm brush of her breath ghosts over my lips, sending a shiver down my spine that I refuse to acknowledge.

Our chests press together, and the damp heat of her jersey soaks into my sweater, reminding me of that morning.

Of the way we hid, bickering behind the stadium seats.

My breath catches, just for a second, but I don’t move.

Neither does she

“Yeah?” she murmurs finally, voice lower now.

Rougher. “Well, maybe if you paid attention instead of staring at a piece of paper the whole time, you’d know what was actually going on.

” I can feel the enunciation of each word against my lips.

Her mouth curls, and she tilts her head condescendingly.

“You think I’m some rookie who needs a lecture from you? From the person who quit? ”

With that, something inside me sparks, small at first, then blooming into a flame that consumes everything in its path.

The fire is ravenous, flames licking at my chest, rising faster, hotter, until it engulfs every mature thought, charring it to dust. My mouth opens, words forming, but before they can escape, before the fire can leave my tongue, she turns around and storms away.

Fine.

I was already done.

Done with her condescending little mouth. Done with her belief that she’s untouchable. And done trying to prove myself to someone who can’t even see the silver platter their life was handed to them on.

I was totally, completely done.

I ’m all for charity—food banks, animal shelters, hell, I even used to volunteer for a kids’ hockey league. But there’s a line, and the idea that Cleo thinks I’m pitiful enough to need volunteers for friends? Way, way past that line.

“I told you,” she says, flipping through the mess of class notes sprawled across the floor. “I didn’t recruit Bailey to be your friend.”

“No, you just explained in vivid detail how lonely and friendless I am, until she felt so bad she had to take pity on me.” I drop down beside her, peering at her notes. My nose wrinkles. “Is that—”

“A diagram of a human liver?” She sighs, eyes meeting mine with a deadpan look. “Yup.”

I squint at the sketch, which looks like a cross between a slab of meat and a clogged drain. “And that’s—”

“That’s an obstructed bile duct,” she confirms.

I nod, scratching the back of my head as Cleo slides the paper to the side with a sigh. Socks pads over, stepping on every last corner of her notes before curling up on top of them, the papers crinkling beneath his weight.

“Sorry." She smile sheepishly, flicking her gaze from the cat to me. "I wasn’t trying to paint you as some lonely charity case.”

I flash her a brief smile. “Thanks.”

“I’ve just been worried about you,” she continues. “Ever since you moved in, you’ve barely gone anywhere but class and practice. People need people.” She pauses, drawing her gray eyes from my feet to the top of my head. Slowly, on purpose. “Even people who don’t like people.”

I trace the seam of my pants as I listen. I know Cleo’s right. I know that isolating yourself, especially after losing something huge, is the worst thing you can do. But once you’re comfortable in your own silence, the noise of other people can feel deafening. Threatening, even.

“I go out,” I insist, but Cleo just stares at me.

“Going to dinner at your parents’ house doesn’t count as ‘going out’.” She curls her fingers into air quotes.

I frown. “I went to—”

“Doctor’s appointments don’t count either.”

I toss my back against the base of the couch and huff. “Well, if you’re going to put all these stipulations on it,” I mumble, and Cleo lets out a soft laugh.

She sits up, grabbing her phone from her pocket and tapping at the screen. The soft clack of her nails fills the air before she holds it out to show me. It’s a Halloween party flyer, all orange and purple, with little doggie ghosts decorating the sides.

I eye it for a second before looking up at her. “Yeah, I don’t know about that,” I say flatly.

Cleo's eyes narrow, expecting me to surrender. I don't.

“See, I’m more of a Christmas person, so—”

“Oh, come on,” she groans, tossing her phone onto the floor beside us. “Don’t you think it’s time you did something? Like…” She eyes me up and down with that same judgmental look Socks gives me when I say the word “no”. “Anything?”

I sigh again, glancing over at the cat, who’s lounging on the notes like a king on a throne.

Maybe he’s got the right idea. Cats don’t need friends.

If they don’t get along with other cats, people just call them independent and feed them kitty Chex Mix while they bask in the sun.

They don’t get dragged to parties or told that they “need other cats.”

“Come on. My friends will love you.” Cleo grins. “And I’ll do the dishes for a week.”

She sings the last few words like we ever have dishes to clean, and I can’t help but smile, even though I don’t want to.

Maybe Cleo’s right. It would be nice to go somewhere besides my parents’ house once a week.

It would be nice to actually have fun. But I’m not sure if that’s even possible anymore.

Every memory of being happy, especially with other people, just feels. .. tainted now.

I chew the inside of my cheek, wrestling with the decision. Cleo slips her hand into mine, her fingers warmer, even through my gloves. She squeezes gently.

“I won’t make you,” she says, quieter now. “But I think it’d be good for you.”

My stomach twists, an ache throbbing at the base of my throat. The voices in my head remind me of what happened last time I had friends—the way it all fell apart. But when I look at Cleo, all I see is her. And, for the first time in a long while, I want to believe it could be different.

I tilt my head against hers, letting my eyes fall shut for a second. “I don’t have anything to wear.”