Page 7 of Boots & Scars

"Isn't this a hockey school?" I asked, my eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Did that change since I attended? Why am I teaching kids how to fucking skate?"

"Not all students who attend are players," Walker said, his tone matter-of-fact. "You know that. You'll be provided housing and food. And you'll stay away from any illicit relationships?—"

"I'm not interested in kids," I said, cutting him off.

Walker gave me a pointed look. "These kids are eighteen. Legal. But just because it's legal doesn't mean it's appropriate. Hear me?"

Out of everything he was worried about, it was that? "Come on, Walker," I said, incredulous. "Even you know none of thoselittle girls would want me. You've been staring at my face since I walked in here. You think anyone wants to wake up to this?"

Walker said nothing, his silence more damning than any words he could've mustered.

"You worried about the puck sluts?" I asked with a smirk creeping across my lips. "Well, you aren't wrong. They will sleep with anything in the NHL, won't they? Trust me, I've had my fair share of them. I don't need to piss in my pool."

Walker's eyes hardened but he remained silent.

"So what's it going to be?" I pressed.

He finally leaned back in his chair and sighed deeply as if weighing his next words carefully.

"Do your job right," he said slowly, enunciating each word as though speaking to a particularly dense child, "and maybe—just maybe—you'll earn back some respect."

I gripped the armrests of the chair, my knuckles turning white. "You think I give a shit about respect?" I asked, my voice dripping with disdain.

Walker leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. "Yeah, Sinclaire, I do. Whether I like you or not doesn't mean you're not part of society. You're an asshole. And after what you did to Matthews? Hell, you're a monster. But that doesn't mean you have to stay that way. You have to put effort into it, though. You can't just bitch and moan about how unjust the world is and expect that everyone is going to coddle you. You actually have to man up and do something about it."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Oh, I know it's not unjust," I said, my tone laced with sarcasm. "It's fucking fair. Every good deed gets a consequence just like every bad one gets a pass, am I right? That's the way the world works. Look at me. I beat a player almost to death, and there's a chance I could go back to the NHL. Fair, right?" I scoffed, shaking my head. "This whole world is a fucking joke."

I stood up abruptly; the chair scraping against the floor.

"Sinclaire," Walker said, his voice stern. "The quarter is almost over. I'm having the students next quarter come in now and get accustomed to the ice so by the time classes start after break, they'll be as comfortable as they can. It won't be new to them." He fixed me with a hard stare. "Don't be an asshole."

I met his gaze, my jaw set. "I make no promises, Walker. I'm going to call it as I see."

"Tomorrow, three in the afternoon," Walker said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You better be there."

Without responding, I turned on my heel and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind me. The sound echoed through the hallway, a punctuation mark on the tense conversation that I was glad was fucking over.

3

Everly

The library felt like a second home that Monday. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting warm patches on the wooden tables. Holly and I sat across from each other, surrounded by stacks of books and scattered notes.

"Everly, did you get the answer to number seven?" Holly's eyes darted between her textbook and me, her brow furrowed in concentration.

I flipped through my notebook, fingers tracing the penciled lines. "Yeah, it’s about the Boston Tea Party. The answer's they disguised themselves as Mohawk Indians."

She scribbled it down quickly, then sighed, leaning back in her chair. “I can't believe finals are today. My brain feels like mush. And then with Psych tomorrow…” She shook her head.

I chuckled softly, tapping my pen against the table. "Tell me about it. I’ve never studied this much in my life."

Holly’s eyes softened as she looked at me. "You're doing great for someone who’s never been to a real school."

"Home school is real school," I said automatically, feeling a warm rush of pride mixed with nerves. "But thanks."

We fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds were pages turning and pencils scratching paper. Around us, other students were buried in their own studies, some with headphones on, others whispering to one another.

Holly suddenly broke the silence again. "So what made you decide to go to college after being homeschooled?"

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