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Kyle knew Cary, alright.

Cary supplied all the juice for the hockey team.

The girls weren’t exaggerating about his looks. The hockey team literally called him The Blonde God behind his back. He was the kind of good-looking that made your balls shrivel. But he was also fucking mental.

The boys would vote once a month on the worst performing team member, and whoever it is was had to meet Cary for pickup. He made them all nervous, a strange look in his eye, like he was just as likely to put a pen through your eyeball for making eye contact as he was to break your kneecaps for not making enough eye contact.

Sometimes Kyle wondered if the juice was just a placebo, and the real reason they were playing so well all year was because none of them wanted to be voted the worst performer and have to talk to Cary.

Laney was a pretty girl, but she was Cary's sister.

Kyle wasn't suicidal.