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Caleb

“ W elcome to Camrose U, we’re happy to have you,” Maddox says dryly, smirking. My best friend holds me by the shoulders and looks at me from head to toe, studying me. He acts like we didn’t just see each other over summer break, and it makes me snort. We live on the same street, and he was over at my house a lot, mostly making sure I was on top of everything I needed for my transfer here.

I make a show of giving him a once-over as well. Maddox has a bit of a baby face, and along with his thick lashes and plump lips, he gets called a pretty boy a lot. Which he hates.

He’s got a heavy-looking shoulder bag that probably has tons of books in it, and I already know he’s going to make me carry it. I’m guessing he has a tutor session because he told me to meet him out at the quad this afternoon. He wouldn’t be outside otherwise.

It’s a huge relief to see him today, though. While we always hang out every time I’m in town, it’s nice that we’re studying in one place again, just like back in high school. Him being here is probably one of the few plus sides Camrose has.

Maddox asks, “How does it feel, playing for the Rams?”

“Like I’m on the losing team.”

“Caleb,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You literally just got here yesterday. Have you even been to practice?”

“This afternoon’s the first, and that doesn’t matter. They haven’t made it to the finals in years.”

“You’re the one who transferred here.”

“Yeah, because I wanted to move back to Buffalo.”

“Then suck it up! Besides, your uncle’s the coach. Should you be trash-talking his— your —team like that?”

I make a noncommittal sound. “The team’s improved a lot since he signed on as coach, but not enough. Some of the guys are brilliant, but they’ve got no cohesion, and they need more aggressive forwards.”

“They’re so lucky to have you then.”

I don’t miss the sarcasm, but I nod anyway. “Exactly.”

“Yes, you’re such a powerful, skilled hockey player and you’re definitely going to help bring the team to regionals this year. Help me out here, my very strong best friend.” His tone’s dry as he casually gives me his bag, and I scowl at its weight. “Your practice isn’t for another hour, right? Help me carry this. I’m meeting someone for a quick tutor session.”

Called it.

“Fine,” I grumble, hiking his bag over my shoulder and following his lead.

He tells me about his new teaching assistant job and how he had to take less tutees this sem because of it, and I listen, impressed. Maddox has always been smart as shit. He’s in his fourth year of college like me, but while I’ll be hightailing it out of here after this year, he’s going to stick around to get a graduate degree. He wants to be a math professor one day, and while I’ve never understood his fascination with numbers and teaching, but it makes him happy, so good for him.

We end up under the shadow of an enormous tree. His tutee is a girl whose name I immediately forget, and they spread their books on a blanket and get right to it. While they’re studying, I lie on my back and scroll through my phone, looking through part-time job postings. Back in Michigan, I worked part time as a barista, and I only hope I can find something similar here.

Camrose was willing to give a transfer student like me a scholarship thanks to my outstanding grades and stats, and most likely because of my uncle’s influence, but I still need pocket money for everything else. Like food and water.

Asking Mom to help me is out of the question. She didn’t even want me to move back to Buffalo in the first place, but I don’t regret it at all. Even if I had to give up a spot in a team that was last year’s conference champions, I’d still do it again in a heartbeat.

I want to live near my family… I need to. Even if I’m staying on campus so that it’s easier to juggle class and hockey, being much closer to them is a tremendous relief. If there’s another emergency, I’m only a half-hour drive away.

There.

I come across a job posting for a coffee shop that’s right outside campus. It’s called Stella Café and they’re looking for a part-timer.

“Madd,” I say. “You familiar with Stella Café?”

Maddox, who’s leaning back and people-watching while his tutee works on something on her own, glances at me. “Yeah. It’s about a ten-minute walk from here. Why?”

“They’ve got an opening for a part-time job.”

“I have a friend who’s a barista. Want me to ask if they can get you an interview?”

“Shit, that’d be perfect. Please.”

He takes his phone out of his bag, and I watch him, only to be distracted by a familiar voice.

Getting up on my elbows, I look in the direction and find my new roommate, Nick Sandoval, talking to two women.

I can’t help but grimace at their body language—the women keep giggling and touching his arm, and Nick doesn’t pull away even if he seems slightly indifferent to their flirting.

And he’s wearing that annoyingly fake smile of his.

Okay, so I might have lied to Nick when I said I couldn’t remember his name or his face. Of course I remembered him.

My uncle has mentioned him many times, and I remember him from the handful of times we’ve played against each other. He’s an amazing player, and I know . He’s effortlessly skilled, and he lets nothing get to him, as if nothing bothers him.

It’s as if he doesn’t even realize there are other people on the damn rink. He just does his thing, wearing that infuriating smile of his the whole time.

That stupid, goddamn smile. It pisses me off, especially when he directed it at me that one time his team was up by three points. I told him to wipe that smile off or I’d knock it off for him.

When he introduced himself yesterday, I pretended not to know him. You know, just to fuck with him. It was also funny how he stared at my piercings as if he’s never seen any before, and I was wondering if I should call him out for it.

Then he smiled . Again. Irritating smug asshole. So, I dropped the act and told him exactly how much I hate that smile of his.

“Caleb?” Maddox asks. “Why are you staring at Nick Sandoval like you want to punch him?”

“You know who he is?”

The girl he’s tutoring snorts, and I glare at her. She says, “Everyone knows who Nick Sandoval is.”

“He’s my new roommate.”

“Really? How do you like him?” Maddox’s eyes widen. “He’s cool, right? He’s incredibly nice, smart, and…”

“And what?”

“He’s easy to look at.”

“You’re into jocks now?”

He scoffs. “No, but I’m not blind. Nick’s hot.”

“Eh.”

He is, but I can’t let Maddox think I know that. I’d never hear the end of it.

It sucks that Nick’s one of those people that gets on my nerves without even trying because, honestly, Maddox is right when he says Nick’s hot. Even if he has the most nonexistent personality ever.

I immediately noticed him the first time I faced him at a game about three years ago. I remember memorizing the name of his jersey and instantly thinking he looked good—with his dark hair and eyes and deep voice. He’s got that classic boy next door, and I can see the appeal, though now that I know better, there’s something about him that doesn’t sit right with me.

The two girls get into another fit of giggles at something Nick says. He then shakes his head, and they seem disappointed. Nodding at him, the two girls give a slight wave and walk off.

As soon as Nick turns away from them, his smile slips by a fraction, and he walks in our direction. He’s probably already heading to the rink for practice.

Ugh. I lie back down on the blanket and put my arm over my eyes, hopeful he doesn’t spot us.

“Hi, Maddox, Jean,” I hear Nick say, and I mentally groan.

Maddox and his tutee—Jean, apparently—greet him back. He doesn’t call out to me, so I assume he doesn’t recognize me with my arm over my face, or he thinks I’m asleep and doesn’t want to wake me, so I continue to pretend we don’t exist in each other’s lives.

“Heard you’re Caleb’s new roommate,” Maddox says.

Aaand thanks, Madd.

“Yeah. You know each other?” Nick sounds surprised. My best friend, the traitor, probably points at me because Nick follows up with, “Oh, that’s… sorry, Caleb, didn’t recognize you.”

“Hey, Nick,” I grunt, putting my arm away from my face to give him a long, hard stare.

The corner of his mouth twitches, and he digs his hands deep in his pockets. He hesitates for a second, then clears his throat. “I’m heading to practice. Want a ride?”

Maddox turns to me with a knowing stare and waggles his eyebrows, and I resist the urge to kick him.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I mutter. “I have a car.”

Nick’s shoulders are stiff. Again, he hesitates, shifting between his feet. He says, “Yeah, but we can carpool.”

I squint at how awkward he’s standing. It’s such a huge contrast to how casual he looked when talking to the two girls, and it’s as if he’s forcing himself to be friendly with me.

Which makes no sense to me. There’s no reason for him to reach out to me like this, and it’s creeping me the hell out.

“Nah,” I tell him. “I’ll see you at practice.”

His shoulders slacken, as if that was the answer he was hoping for. Weirdo. Why even ask, then?

“All right, see you there. Bye, Maddox, Jean.”

“Bye,” Jean says, and I’m pretty sure she’s swooning.

“See you around, Nick,” Maddox says, and Nick flashes us a smile before turning away.

I put my arm over my eyes again before Maddox can ask me what that was about, because even I can’t even explain why Nick gets on my nerves.