Page 34 of Like a Power Play (Greenrock University: Icebound #1)
Eighteen
Peyton
FINAL CHAT FR THIS TIME
brADY
Just through everyone should know the cafeteria has KOLACHES this morning
SIMS BUT NOT THE GAME
Huh?
YERSIE
wtf is a kolache
HAMMIE
***
brADY
We ate them last year at camp in Texas? You don't remember?
YERSIE
Not in the slightest.
brADY
I'm wounded.
CAPTAIN CLARKE
Kolache sounds like a made up word.
CAY
All words are made up.
ROSE
A kolache is a Czech pastry, but really common in Texas because Czech people immigrated there in the 1800's. And, also, y'know, Americans love stealing ideas. Sometimes it has sweet filling but in TX it's usually sausage.
CAPTAIN CLARKE
Isn't that just pigs in a blanket?
ROSE
In TX? Essentially.
brADY
It is NOT pigs in a blanket
Z
**photo attachment **
looks like pigs in a blanket
brADY
I swear it's different. You just haven't tried it yet. And the one I had was completely surrounded by the puff pastry, not just half-ass wrapped like that.
CAPTAIN CLARKE
So it's like calzone?
brADY
IT'S NOT A CALZONE!
“ Y ou know, just because I told you, doesn’t mean we’re friends,” Darcy says, eyeing me skeptically.
I shovel a spoonful of scrambled eggs into my mouth. “God I hope not.” I grin. Darcy’s frown deepens. “But like Coach said, where I go, you go.”
“Not on a hike,” she argues. “And why are you using a spoon?”
My gaze drops to the metal utensil, and I look back up at her, quirking a brow.
“Because a spoon is a completely normal thing to eat eggs with?” Darcy’s eyes lock with mine, and she shakes her head slowly.
I take another bite, flashing a cocky grin.
“What, do they only serve eggs with pitchforks in hell?”
She rolls her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitch against her will. I’ll take it. Hell, even just her sitting beside me this morning is a goddamn miracle.
“You’re obnoxious,” she chides. Then she picks up her fork and makes eye contact as she stabs it into a piece of cantaloupe. “And I am not going on that hike.”
I catch a flurry of orange—the color of her gloves this morning—as she brings her fork to her mouth. My stomach tightens.
“Are you… feeling okay today?” I ask, lowering my voice. Darcy’s eyes flit around the cafeteria, then back to me. She leans in just barely.
“I’m fine, I just hate hiking,” she answers pointedly. “Can’t we do something else?”
“Like what?” I ask. She shrugs.
“I’m in the middle of a very angsty billionaire romance novel that I’ve been dying to finish so—”
“You read?” My brows shoot up, and the moment the words tumble out, I realize what a stupid question it is. Not just for the question itself, but for the fact that a paperback book was among the many belongings in her pocketed pants. But before I get the chance to correct it, Darcy retorts.
“If you need me to teach you, all you have to do is ask.”
I roll my eyes, forcing an intentionally fake laugh. “Funny,” I pause. “You know, I didn’t take you for the romance type.”
Her eyes narrow just a little as she lowers her fork. That damn smirk creeps onto her face, making my chest tighten in a way I refuse to acknowledge. “What? Cold-hearted bitches don’t get a happily-ever-after?”
My grin widens. “I guess you’ll let me know.”
She huffs a brief laugh before looking back to her plate, and when her breath brushes against my cheek, I think of last night.
I’m the person who usually notices things.
The one who questions. The one who pries.
Not just out of curiosity, though I’ll admit, my nosiness has led to some pretty entertaining moments.
But mainly out of habit. My brother was never the best at talking about things.
He might be three years older than me, but I’ve always been the one to initiate those conversations.
Even when he’s the one in the wrong, I always have to push first. A little nudge here, a pressing question there, until he finally gives me a glimpse.
He’s one of the smartest people I know, but getting him to open up is like trying to get Bubbles to eat green beans.
Darcy’s the same, though she definitely has her own way of prying back.
I can imagine how hard it must have been for her to open up last night.
And as much as I want to sit and dissect every word, every past conversation, to figure out how I could have known earlier, I know that’s not what she wants.
She just wants to be seen as herself. Not as someone with, what was it called?
Rigamarole Arthritis?
Whatever.
The point is, she doesn’t want people to treat her differently because of it.
I saw the disappointment in her eyes when she told me, like I’d reacted exactly how she thought I would.
I hate that I did that, but I can’t change the past. All I can do now is make sure that from here on out, I treat Darcy exactly the same as I always have.
Which suddenly propels me into the realization that I’ve been way too nice letting her bail on this.
I cock a brow, resting a hand on my hip. “We leave in ten minutes.”
Darcy scowls. “No thanks.”
“Oops, sorry,” I say, feigning an innocent tone. “Did I make it sound like you had a choice?”
Her scowl deepens. “Who are you to say I don’t?”
I hesitate just long enough to fabricate a white lie. “Your mom said we have to.”
If I squint my eyes and tilt my head a little bit, I could argue that I read between Coach Cole’s lines of saying we have to stick together, and didn’t completely pull this out of my ass.
But Darcy doesn’t need to know that. She groans loudly, clearly irritated, and sinks into her seat.
After breakfast, we head back to the cabin to get ready. Well, I was already ready, but Darcy needed to change out of her pajamas. Of course, the cabin is only one room, so I’m stuck on the doorstep again until she’s finished getting dressed.
What a shame.
“It’s only three miles, which kind of sucks, but there’s supposed to be hammocks at the top,” I call out through the screened door.
Her silence drags on for a few beats before responding. “Sounds like hell.”
“And the view is supposed to be amazing,” I continue, ignoring her pessimism. She comes back, tenfold.
“Not really my thing.”
“Plus, Mr. Bubbles always gets the zoomies when we hike, and it’s really fun to watch his jowls jiggle.”
As if she’s appeared out of thin air, Darcy’s voice sounds right behind me.
“Okay, that’s cute.”
I spin around fast, taking in the sight of her.
She’s wearing an army green jacket, a matching beanie snug over her now neatly brushed hair, heather gray gloves, and gray joggers that hang off her long legs, a row of pockets bulging at the sides.
The sight etches a coy smile in the groove of my lips.
“What’d you pack this time?” I gesture at the pockets. She rolls her eyes, probably a calculated plan in hopes I don’t catch the fact that she’s smiling while she does it. A failed plan.
“Some snacks, pain meds, water, first aid stuff for your cut, and duct tape.”
I frown, confused. “Duct tape? For what?”
She grins. “Just in case you don’t shut up.”
I clasp a hand over my heart, feigning a wince.
She laughs, shaking her head. I like the little rays that form around her eyes when she does that.
I reach for the doorknob, but just before I turn it, a hand presses to my shoulder. I glance back, meeting her gaze.
“You’re not gonna tell anyone, right?” she asks. Those emerald eyes are wide, looking down at me worriedly. I’m almost offended that she feels the need to ask me. But then again, we haven’t exactly been on the best of terms.
I pause for a second, then let a coy smile etch into my lips. “Tell anyone what?”
A pink tint flushes Darcy’s cheeks as a smile breaks across her face, and I turn back to the door, pulling it open.
M y bedroom is next to Harlowe’s, and still, I have never heard so much moaning in my life.
Half of the twenty-two-player team is grumbling as we hike up the trail, but Bailey is the main culprit, letting out a series of long, dramatic sighs every time the flat ground turns into an uphill.
It appears I’m not the only one who dragged their “buddy” along.
Even Mr. Bubbles is getting fed up with the noise, trotting ahead to sniff the jerky in Coach’s pocket.
She swats him away at first, but when he presses his wet nose to her side again, I watch as she rips a piece of jerky in half and tosses it to him.
“For someone who can spend hours on the ice without a complaint,” Harlowe starts, digging her spiked shoes into the dirt.
I like hiking, but I can admit Harlowe takes it to a whole other level.
I enjoy it casually—wandering the woods, getting lost, listening to the animals.
At my own pace, you know? But Harlowe treats it like a second sport.
She wears ridiculous shoes, packs enough snacks to survive a week of isolation, and sports those damn spikes even though there’s no ice anywhere. “You’re really whiny about hiking.”
Bailey scowls, trudging along the path in tight jeans, a velvety pink sweatshirt, and brand-new white sneakers. If I were her, I wouldn’t be thrilled either.
“Don’t pretend hockey is the same as this.” She gestures to the path like it’s personally offended her. Then she looks over her shoulder, calling out, “Right, Darcy?”
I glance back, catching Darcy’s confused stare. Her brows furrow, and she tilts her head. “Huh?”
“Isn’t hiking completely incomparable to hockey?”
I nudge Bailey’s ribcage with my elbow, and she winces, whipping around with a scowl. “What the hell?”
I shake my head, giving her a disapproving look. “Don’t do that.”
She rubs her rib dramatically. “Do what?”
“ Don’t bring it up,” I mutter, shooting her a serious look. Bailey pauses, then shrugs ingenuously.
“I didn’t mean it like that, ” she says, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. “We were just talking the other day about how we despise nature.”