04. Attitude.

I can't believe I did that.

I faced all of them—like some wannabe badass—as if not even one of those guys could snap me like a twig or, I don't know, dropkick me to Mars.

And I was rude. So rude. I mean, I'm not usually sunshine and rainbows or anything, but I'm not... mean. Not that mean. Well, sometimes I am—okay, fine, a lot of the time. But that's not the point!

What the hell was I thinking? That hockey team is like half the school. And I'm not even being dramatic! My dad literally said this whole town revolves around hockey.

They're the hockey team.

I groaned, flopping back onto my bed like the world's most miserable drama queen.

Fuck my life.

And no I have to go to fucking school, a new school might I add. Why did I even want to come here? I've could've stayed in the city with Aunt Clair, but no, I had too much pride to swallow.

Forcing myself to shower and change into the sickening school uniform.

I grabbed the uniform from the hanger, holding it up with a grimace. White blouse, navy blazer, plaid skirt—the whole thing screamed cookie-cutter. Not really my vibe, but I didn't have much choice.

Sliding on the blouse, I fumbled with the buttons for a minute. The stiff fabric made me feel like I was being suffocated, but I managed to get it on without losing my cool. Next was the skirt. It fell just above my knees, and I couldn't help but snort. Not happening.

I pulled it on, yanked it up, and rolled the waistband a few times until it sat higher on my thighs. Perfect. No way was I walking around looking like a nun.

Then came the tie. I stared at the thing like it had personally offended me. I draped it over my neck and tried to knot it, but after twisting it three different ways, I gave up and left it hanging loose and undone. Who even has time for this?

I grabbed the blazer, shrugging it on reluctantly. The gold crest caught my eye—hockey sticks and a laurel. Of course. This town and its obsession. Rolling my eyes, I adjusted the sleeves and grabbed a pair of black tights from my bag, sliding them on.

School shoes were next on the list. Or they would've been if I'd bothered. Instead, I laced up my trusty black Converse, scuffed from years of use but way more comfortable than some stiff loafers.

I glanced at myself in the mirror. The rolled-up skirt, the undone tie, the sneakers instead of regulation shoes—it was enough to bend the rules without getting detention. Cool, but not trying too hard.

"Good enough," I muttered, before brushing my matted hair from where I'd slept, seeing as I didn't bother to wash it when I showered.

Tiring it back so it sat as a half up, half down style. Using my a black claw clip to hold it back and in place.

Soon enough I was heading back downstairs, seeing everyone already stood ready to go, I felt nervous once again, I didn't want to be rude again, that or I had no energy to be.

"Here Kid." Chris handed me packaged waffle, one of the once's full of chemicals and sugar, I knew he meant well seeing we was in a rush, but I didn't eat breakfast often anyways, so it wasn't that necessary.

"Come on Chris!" A boy called out from outside the house, seeing as the team had started filing outside.

"Gotta get that training started old man!" Another called out.

Chris waited for me to leave before he closed the house up behind us, again left with the abnormally tall boys.

••••••••

Homeroom. What the fuck is that, you ask? Well, let me tell you. It's half an hour of sitting in a classroom doing whatever—work, study, stare at the ceiling—while pretending this is a productive use of time. I don't get it. Why not just start school later? Then I wouldn't have to rush or wake up at the crack of dawn.

Not that it matters. I'm new. It's not like I'm walking in here with friends to waste time with. So here I am, sitting by myself, spiraling into a full-on internal monologue. Talking to myself in my brain like a total idiot.

"Hey, Calliope!"

A voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I spin around in my chair, and there he is—one of the hockey guys from earlier.

"You're the one who asked me about Chris," I say, pointing at him. His face lights up, all smiley and proud like he just won something.

"Yeah, that's me! I'm Luke. Nice meeting you again."

His cheery tone is... surprisingly disarming. The tension I didn't even realize I was holding starts to ease. He's got that golden retriever energy that makes the air feel lighter. Like this guy might actually be safe to talk to.

"Why do you all call him by his first name? You know he's a teacher, right?" I ask, narrowing my eyes slightly. Might as well poke the bear and see how he reacts.

Luke doesn't miss a beat. "Because we've known him forever. Respect goes both ways. Why should we call him Mr. Holloway when he calls us whatever he feels like?"

I blink, caught off guard by how much sense that actually makes.

"Huh," I say, a small smile tugging at my lips despite myself. "Fair enough."

He makes sense, respect does go both ways and right fucking now Luke has my respect.

"Callie." My mouths moves to fast for my brain once again, like a curse I've suffered with the entirety of my life.

"What?" He questions, his brow raising in confusion at my statement.

"I mean-" I cough clearing my through nervously as I realise how stupid I probably look right now "you can call me Callie, or Cal, it's easier." I shrug.

Trying not to laugh at the sight of him all giddy and excited.

••••••••

Lunch swung around faster than I expected, and I had no clue where to go. The canteen was an obvious choice—if I wanted to be stared at and judged while sitting alone. No thanks.

"You're new." A girls high pitch voice said, a tall leggy blonde storming up in front of me, don't know what I did wrong this time.

I nodded, now having to crane my neck to look at the girl only inches from me.

She wore an angry expression on her face as she crossed her arms glaring her blue eyes at me, like a fucking Barbie.

"So..." I encouraged her to continue, clearly not impressing the girl any further.

"I'm Lucians girlfriend!" She stated, if she was a cartoon I was positive steam would be coming out of her ears.

I raised a brow at her, genuinely confused, "and Lucian is?" I questioned, still not understanding why this girl had a problem.

"The hot brunette you decided to flirt with this morning!" She screamed, once again she saw my confusion or she thought I was being ignorant.

"LUKE!" She screamed, I laughed in her face, knowing I didn't want anything to do with the hockey team.

I side stepped the girl and walked away, not knowing where I was going to go but knowing getting shouted at in a random hallway wasn't something I wanted a part of.

I decided to find my locker, dump my books, and grab my training bag. By "training bag," I meant my skates, leggings, top, and hoodie.

Today, I was going to skate.

It had been forever since I'd felt the ice beneath me, and I was dying for an escape. I didn't have my usual equipment, my routine, or my mom watching from the stands. But I had a rink and skates. That was enough.

The thought alone had me practically sprinting down the hallway, desperate to leave. I took a sharp left turn—right into a brick wall.

Except it wasn't a brick wall.

It was Blondie.

I stumbled back, clutching my nose where I'd hit his chest. My fingers flew to my side as soon as I realized how ridiculous I looked. He bent down slightly, his blue eyes narrowing with concern as he studied me.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice surprisingly soft.

"Fine," I mumbled, pulling myself together. "I was just going to my locker."

I pointed to it, hoping he'd let me pass. He did, stepping aside with a nod, and I all but ran to the metal door, fumbling with the combination. The moment it clicked open, I shoved my books inside and grabbed my bag. My skates felt heavier than usual, like they knew I wasn't supposed to leave yet.

"What's the rush?"

His voice startled me, and I whipped around. Blondie hadn't left. He was standing there, arms crossed, watching me like I was some kind of puzzle.

I debated ignoring him, but something about his presence made that impossible. Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I slammed the locker shut with more force than necessary.

"I want to leave," I snapped. "That's the fucking rush."

His brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his annoyingly perfect face. "In the middle of school?"

I rolled my eyes. "What? Don't tell me Mr. Hockey himself is a goody two-shoes."

His lips twitched, like he was fighting back a smirk, but he didn't bite. Instead, he started following me, his heavy footsteps echoing behind mine as I headed for the exit.

••••••••

A/N: CHAPTER 4 DONE!!

Words: 1619