OFF LIMIT FOR THE HOCKEY CAPTAIN

It wasn't my fault. He was standing exactly where I needed to walk, the way he always was, like the universe had personally arranged for our paths to collide outside the locker rooms every single day. Sleeves pushed up to his elbows. That lazy half-smile already waiting for me before I'd said a word.

"Move," I said.

He didn't. "Hayes. You're welcome to walk around me."

"There's no room to walk around you. You're built like a door."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Don't."

He laughed, low and easy, the kind of laugh that made freshman girls forget how to use their own feet. I'd watched it happen. Twice. I was not going to be the third.

"You're in a mood," he said.

"I'm always in a mood around you."

"I know." His smile widened. "It's my favorite thing about you."

I rolled my eyes and pushed past him, close enough to catch the smell of him, laundry detergent and cold rink air, like the whole hockey team had it stitched into their skin. I hated that I noticed. I hated that I noticed anything about Dylan Kingston at all.

I had one rule when it came to Dylan Kingston. Don't look twice. I broke it before eight in the morning, and I hadn't even had coffee yet.

By the time I got to the gym, my brother was already lacing up his skates by the bench, jaw tight in the way that meant something had gone wrong before the day even started.

"What happened?" I said, dropping my bag beside his.

"Kingston happened," Ryan said. "Coach posted line changes. Guess who's captain again."

I didn't have to guess. It was always Dylan. It had been Dylan since freshman year, and it had been Dylan every year since, no matter how many extra hours Ryan put in, no matter how many mornings he dragged himself out of bed before sunrise to run drills alone.

"I'm sorry," I said, because there wasn't anything else that wouldn't sound hollow.

"It's fine." His voice said it wasn't. "It's always fine. Kingston gets everything he wants. Captaincy, the girls, whatever's left over after that." He looked at me sideways, something sharper creeping into his face. "Speaking of which. Stay away from him, Gin."

"I'm not anywhere near him."

"You were talking to him in the hallway. Maddy told me."

"Maddy needs to mind her business."

"I mean it," Ryan said. "Guys like him don't want anything real. Don't be an exception."

I didn't answer, because agreeing felt like admitting I needed the warning, and I did not need the warning. I'd known exactly what Dylan Kingston was since ninth grade, when I watched him make out with a girl behind the gym and then hold hands with someone else at the same lunch table two days later. I didn't need my brother telling me not to fall for a guy who treated girls like a scoreboard. I already knew the score.

I found Maddy by the vending machines before first period, deep into a bag of pretzels she had zero intention of sharing.

"Your brother is annoying," she said without looking up. "He texted me at seven a.m. to tell me to stop talking to you about Dylan Kingston like I'm the problem here."

"You kind of are the problem. You told him I was talking to Dylan."

"I told him you were standing near Dylan. There's a difference. Also, I wasn't going to lie to Ryan. He always knows."

"There's nothing to lie about. Dylan blocks hallways. It's basically a hobby of his."

Maddy raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, and held out the pretzel bag like a peace offering. "Cheer tryouts are Thursday," she said, mouth full. "Still doing it?"

The question landed heavier than she probably meant it to. I'd wanted a spot on the Cedarfield squad since middle school, had spent every home game imagining myself down on the floor instead of stuck in the stands, pom poms in hand, part of something instead of just watching it happen to other people. The problem was who ran that floor.

"Stephanie's the captain," I said. "She's not letting me anywhere near those tryouts."

"Stephanie doesn't own tryouts."

"Stephanie owns everything at this school. In case you hadn't noticed."

Maddy didn't argue, because it was mostly true. Stephanie Colton walked through Cedarfield like she'd been issued a crown at birth, Amber and Vanessa trailing a step behind her, laughing on cue, glaring at anyone who looked at her sideways. And Stephanie had a very long memory for anyone she considered competition. Real or imagined.

I hadn't done anything to earn a place on that list. Not yet.

I didn't know it was about to change before the day was over.

I didn't think about it again until after homeroom, when I turned the corner by the trophy case and walked straight into him. Not near him. Into him, my shoulder colliding with his chest hard enough that my books scattered across the floor.

"Careful," Dylan said, crouching to grab my notebook before I could.

"You're the one who doesn't move."

"I moved plenty this time. You weren't looking where you were going." He held the notebook out, but he didn't let go when I grabbed it. He just looked at me, that same beat-too-long stare from this morning, except there was nothing lazy about it now. Nothing performed.

"What," I said.

"Nothing." He finally let go. "I just figured something out."

"Figured what out?

He smiled, and it wasn't the smile he gave everyone else in the hallway, the one built for an audience. This one was smaller. Sharper. Like it belonged to a secret he hadn't decided whether to keep.

"You'll find out," he said, and walked away before I could ask what that meant, leaving me standing there with my books against my chest and my pulse doing something traitorous, because whatever Dylan Kingston had just figured out, I had the sinking feeling it involved me.

And knowing him, it was already too late to stop it.