I try to define myself by a few select things.

And I push for clarity in these things. For me, it's always been hockey, maintaining decent grades, and family—making sure my mom and sister are happy. These are undeniably the three biggest facets of my life. And as much as people might think they know me, they don't. And I'm perfectly fine with that, because they don't need to know me. The real me, at least. They just need to know enough to like me.

And they do. They love me. I'm acutely aware of this when my teammates send variations of handshakes and side-hugs my way as a form of greeting. I'm captain of the ice hockey team again this year, but that doesn't come as much of a surprise. I was captain last year, stealing the title from the senior starters when I was just a junior.

Coach has been gearing us up for the game on Friday, and practice is brutal. I'd be lying if I said that I'm not breaking a sweat. Brody Knight, one of my best friends on the team, is already heaving in his gear beside me. I pause to reach for my water bottle, before squeezing water through the cage covering my sweat-drenched face.

Brody and I are both on the same line, and as Eastview's best forwards, we work well together. Zach Chandler is one of the defensemen. He's held the position for years. It used to be a pain in the ass before, when he didn't know how to stop on the ice. Now he's one of the strongest players on the team, and like Brody, he's also one of my best friends.

"Holy shit," Brody groans. "I'm done."

He leans over, still out of breath, but Coach's harsh voice sends us reeling back to our starting points. "Knight, Reed, get back in there!"

Swapping wary glances, Brody and I skate back to our positions. Coach barks on about how Harvey's taking his turns too sharp, and how Miller's taking his too lazy. We've run this drill five times already, and it's grueling, but it's Coach's favorite for conditioning. Miller gets an assist and I manage a clean shot, the goal flaring. I shoot him a grin, and he mirrors me as we take our places again.

After a few more rounds, Coach tells us to pick up the stray pucks and dump them near the crease. Finding a puck, I can't resist the temptation and take a fast slap shot right onto the crossbar, bouncing the puck off it and into the net. The light goes off, emitting a red glow onto the ice. It catches Coach's attention.

"Reed," he yells across the ice. "Do you need a hearing aid, boy? I said collect the pucks, not take a shot! What has gotten into you kids over the summer?"

Ducking my head with a chagrined smirk, I start gathering them up. I look up at Daniels, who's standing near the blue line where Coach wants the pucks stacked up.

"Yo, Daniels," I say, and his head turns toward me. "Do me a solid?"

He gives me a nod and sets his stick down, ready to receive. Taking one from the pucks scattered around me, I slap it across the ice, watching it skid onto Daniels's stick. He quickly taps it to the right next to the rest.

Popping his head up, he taps his stick on the ice, telling me he's ready for the next one. It becomes a quick pattern, and sharp sounds of stick on puck resonate throughout the arena. When I'm done, I skate to the other side, my stick dragging on the ice.

I close in on Brody and Zach arguing. Zach's talking animatedly and Brody's giving him an "Are you serious?" look. Apparently, they'd both been texting the same girl over the summer.

"You two!" Coach barks. "What are you gossiping about?"

"Nothing," Brody mutters dryly, shooting Chandler a death glare. I stifle a laugh. They'll be over it by tomorrow, but right now, it's fucking hilarious. They deserve it. They're hardly innocent, and I can bet my ass they'd both been texting more than just one girl, anyway.

"Brody doesn't like sharing," Zach murmurs.

"Sharing?" Brody's face flushes, then his voice lowers to a whisper. "You were proposing a threeso—"

"Forget I asked!" Coach says, and his jaw is tight as he shakes his head. "Just get back to practice. Now."

We move toward the rest of the team, lining up behind the others while the two continue to bicker.

Completing the drill alongside Miller, I slide the puck to him. My stick extends in front of me, waiting to receive it. Miller pushes the puck back to me, but it's way too wide of where I'm standing. My reflexes kick in, and twisting my body, I stretch out, moving toward it.

"Sorry!" Miller shoots from the other side.

I offer a slight nod in acknowledgment. Gliding across the ice, I reach the crease, waiting for Coach's instruction.

"Left," he shouts.

Registering his words, I rotate my skates, spinning to the left, where I face Miller, who's now my opponent. He tries to intercept my shot and I wait for him to come close enough.

Spotting his stick near the puck, I pull back, pushing the puck through the gap between his legs before he can recover. Skating around him, I reclaim the puck then slap it into the net too fast for our goaltender, Hemmings, to stop it.

Finishing the drill, I head back to the start. Miller heads over to apologize to me again.

"Don't worry about it," I say. "Remember to follow through with your shot so that it moves in the direction you want."

Back at the line, Harvey glances at me. "Can we swap for a few minutes?"

I nod curtly, and practice resumes soon after. I have the puck within seconds, and Zach's stick juts in my way, trying to gain possession. Grinning, I draw back, gliding to my left.

"Beat that, Chandler," I yell over my shoulder.

"Fuck off, weed."

He skates at a pretty impressive speed toward me and tries to push me over with his elbow while I try to shove him off me. The rest of the team watches the spectacle, laughing at us. Brody glances over with a small smile, wondering how the hell we're friends. Soon his expression changes, his eyes widen and his mouth opens.

Before he can say anything, Zach and I crash into the wall. Lying on the ice, I pull off my helmet and shake my head, shoving my knee into Zach's stomach. Getting back up, I look at him, and he just sends me a wide grin.

"This is definitely gonna bruise," I murmur, holding my arm and stretching it. "You asshole."

"Payback's a bitch, sunshine." He grins, shrugging. "Go ask the school nurse for some ice. Heard she's hot."

I laugh. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"More like what's not wrong with him," Brody mutters as we skate back to join the others.

Coach strings us along for another ten minutes, but I figure the old man has a soft spot for us, because five minutes later, he calls off practice. Not before delivering a few words of wisdom, though.

"I'm sure you ladies are well aware that we need to kick-start this season with a bang," he says. "Some of you need this for your college applications. Me? I'm just here to make sure the school doesn't drop the funding for this hockey team. Basically"—he narrows his eyes at every single one of us—"I'm ensuring that I keep my job. So, I want you all primed and prepped for Friday, because we are going to win."

The school's not going to drop the funding for this team. Looking just at the past few years, we've been the best team in Eastview's hockey history. Last year, we got to the semifinals of the state championships. I'd like to say that it was solely because of me, but that's not entirely true. We really do have some of the most talented players in the high school league, and a lot of our players, including me, have pretty great chances of getting scouted by colleges across the country.

We all intone bored variations of "Yes, Coach," before we're finally dismissed, and I make a beeline for the locker room, wanting nothing more than a shower so I can get home. As I enter, it doesn't smell half as bad as it should with more than two dozen sweat-covered hockey players swarming around. Eastview's got a state of the art facility—we have our own ice rink for Christ's sake—and the locker rooms have a great ventilation system.

Peeling off my gear, I step into the shower, the warm water soothing my muscles as it runs. Afterward, I pull my sneakers out of my duffel, and I'm halfway through pulling on some sweats and a T-shirt when someone shrieks from the shower stall in front of me. "What the hell!"

Standing, I walk over. A shadowy figure is visible through the opaque glass door of the stall. Just as another shriek echoes through the room, I raise my hand to knock on the door.

"Is everything all right in there?" I ask as the other guys surround the shower and crowd around me, concern evident on their faces.

The door swings open and a seminaked Harvey runs out, his face red.

"Harv . . ." I say slowly. "You need to calm down. What's wrong?"

"Someone's underwear is in there!" he yells, and I follow his finger to a dark-grey lump on the floor of the stall.

A mortified Harvey stares into the stall in disgust, his hand tightly gripping the towel covering the lower half of his body, as he frantically urges someone to get it out so that he can take a shower. I start laughing hysterically, and the rest of the team joins me as Harvey shoots me a glare.

"Okay," I tell Harvey. "We'll get it out, man. Just relax."

The team shake their heads, refusing to touch it.

"It can't be that bad," I say wearily.

We all flick our gazes to the left, glancing down at the elephant in the room, which in this case happens to be a grey lump on the tiled floor.

Harvey makes a pained sound. "Can someone please get it out? I'm freezing my ass off. My nipples are gonna fall off. I'm not going to have any nipples." He pauses. "Don't we need our nipples for, like . . . something?"

Zach is the first to break the silence after Harvey's nipple soliloquy. "There's no way in hell I'm touching that thing. Rock paper scissors. Loser picks up. Deal?"

We all agree. "Deal."

After a series of matches, the last round is between Harvey and me. Miller stands between us as Harvey glances at me. Chandler pulls out his phone and flips it around to record us.

"Rock, paper, scissors," Miller starts. "Shoot."

I whip out a rock, my eyes flicking to the hand in front of me. Harvey's hand does some sort of spasm where he changes his scissors to a paper. He smiles up at me cheekily.

"Go pick it up, Reed."

I roll my eyes. "You cheated."

Harvey's features contort. "Aw, man! Do I seriously have to do it? Damn. I thought I could get away with it."

A sulking Harvey trudges over to the shower, slowly edging toward the lump on the ground. He holds his breath, walking closer and closer. Bending down, he pokes his hand forward to pick it up.

"Shit!" he yelps, running away. "I can't do it."

Harvey looks at the ground and then at a pair of lumo-yellow sneakers on the benches. Before anyone can protest, he runs, picks one up, and hops right back into the shower. He inches forward, jabbing the grey underwear with the shoe.

Daniels yells from the side when he realizes. "You used my damn shoe?"

Harvey doesn't pay attention, and chucks the underwear to the other side of the change room. Right where the juniors change. He stands as he looks around at us, proud of his achievement. "That wasn't so bad."

Daniels rushes forward, ready to attack him. "Yeah, because you used my goddamn shoe!"

"Hey! Don't come any closer!" Harvey tries to protect himself using the shoe as a weapon and throwing it at Daniels before running into his shower.

Zach sprints over to me, excitement written all over his face. "I can't believe I got all of this on video!"

I chuckle at him before slipping on my sneakers and packing up my stuff. Brody and Zach look at his phone and eventually land back on the texting-same-girl situation. Brody starts lamenting over the fact that he got two-timed. "Man, I can't believe it."

"It's fine, bro." Zach grins. "We're good?"

"Yeah, man," Brody says, a barely there smile lighting up his gaze. "We're good."

As I wait for them to finish up, my mind drifts to the girl who bumped into me earlier. I was in the library to get some game tape and even got yelled at by some pissed off lady in the process.

After the girl walked into me, I was prepared to help her with the books and leave, but something about the way she made all of two seconds of eye contact with me compelled me to stay a little longer. I'll admit, seeing the flush creep up her neck when I teased her was oddly satisfying. Little Red.

I can't believe I'm doing it when I turn to the two idiots I call my best friends—no doubt they'll blow this out of proportion. But it's not like I have anyone else to ask anyway. Between the two of them, at least one should have some inkling about her.

"I need intel," I say as I face them, fully aware of how stalker-ish I sound. "On a girl."

They swap amused glances before they turn back to me.

"What's her name?" Brody asks.

A smile finds its way to my face as I realize I still don't know her name. ". . . I don't know."

"C'mon, weed," Zach says, shaking his head. "You've got to give us more to work with."

The image of her flashes in my mind. It's a damn shame I haven't noticed her around before, because her features are striking—warm skin, high cheekbones, honey eyes—all framed by shoulder-length chocolate-colored hair. I clear my throat, and I'm sure as hell not offering up that description to the two. "Short, brunet?"

Zach features contort. "That doesn't really narrow it down."

"Why do you care so much about her anyway?" Brody asks.

"Bumped into her the other day." I shrug it off nonchalantly. "Just curious why I haven't seen her around, is all."

"Oooooh," Zach teases. "Are you in lurve? Is our weedy in lurve?"

"Fuck off," I say, whipping him with my towel hard enough for it to sting. Chandler just laughs it off as I shove the towel into my duffel before slinging it over my shoulder. I offer the two behind me a two-fingered wave as I exit the locker rooms.

The quicker I can get home, the quicker I can get done with the shit ton of homework I have and finally get some downtime. My sister's been begging me to watch this Frozen movie with her, but she always seems to get me at the worst time, so I've been turning her down far too often for my liking. Maybe I can actually do what I promised and watch the damn movie with her.