The week before midterms, Sam, Veronica, and I study together. The only exam I have to worry about is math; French and History have both been really easy this semester. We work in the kitchen when Mom makes dinner or we go to AJ's when she doesn't, comparing notes under the bright fluorescent lighting. Well, more like Sam gives us his old notes.

On the Sunday morning before exam week starts, Mom's eyes go wide when she reads the newspaper.

"Sam's on the front page!" she says, leaning over the counter in her bathrobe and stirring a mug of coffee.

Veronica and I look up from the table. "Why?" I ask.

"Oh my goodness," Mom says, flipping the page. "He won a scholarship. A huge scholarship."

"Let me see," Veronica says, and Mom hands her the paper. She crunches her cereal loudly as her eyes scan through the fine print. "Something science-y. Well, we all knew he was smart. That's no surprise."

I grab the paper from her hands and look at it for myself. There's a blurry photo of Sam on the front, shaking hands with the principal and holding a plaque. Even in grainy picture, I can tell he's blushing, and his smile is wide and genuine.

My eyes find the words University of Toronto. I frown. "Does that mean he's going to Toronto for school?"

"We can ask him later, I suppose," says Mom, scratching her hair and stretching. "Is he coming over for dinner?"

"I think we're going to AJ's for dinner for last minute cramming," says Veronica, turning to me. "Right?"

"Yeah, sure," I say. The wind howls outside the window and Mom shivers in her thin robe and old pajamas.

"Well, tell him I said congratulations," says Mom. "He is one smart kid."

"We'll tell him, Mom," says Veronica. As Mom shuffles out of the kitchen and down the hallway, Veronica's eyes slide over to mine. "What?"

"Nothing," I say. "He just didn't tell us about this."

"So?"

"I don't know."

Veronica rolls her eyes like I'm being stupid. 

~

After a physical therapy appointment for my ankle, I head over to AJ's to meet Veronica and Sam. I push through the glass front door, the bell jingling, and kick snow off my boots.

It's busier in here than normal, the background noise of clanking silverware and quiet conversation filling the air. I slide into a cracked leather booth and pull off my gloves and hat.

"Hey, Cameron." AJ appears at the table with a small notebook in hand. "The usual?"

"Yeah, thanks," I say. "And for Sam and Veronica, too. They should be here soon."

As he walks away, I pull my textbook out of my backpack, trying to organize my old math tests and quizzes. I bite my lip as I scan through the equations. I don't know any of this shit. I can't afford to fail this exam, though.

There's a voice on the other side of the diner that makes me look over my shoulder.

"Claire, don't," says Matthew Gonzalez. He's standing by the booth in the back, running a frustrated hand through his short hair.

"Don't tell me what to do, Matt," says a pretty girl with brown hair in a bun. Her words are sharp and I swear that he winces a bit.

I'm honestly too in shock to do anything. I never, ever see Matthew outside of the rink, even though his Catholic school is only five minutes away from mine. I don't mean to stare, but I am.

"Babe, can we just talk about it?" He tucks his hands into his pockets and rocks nervously on his toes. If he didn't hate me, I would feel a bit sorry for the guy.

"I have to go," snaps Claire. Matthew's eyes follow her out of the diner, a defeated look on his face. That's when he catches my eye and his frown turns into a scowl.

"Beckett," he says icily, walking up to me. "Are you spying on me?"

"What? No! I'm just here to -"

"Just stop," says Matthew. His dark eyes are ablaze with sudden anger. "You're always screwing with my life."

"Me screwing with your life? You're the one that puts my hockey career in jeopardy."

"You do that to yourself. You get everything you ask for, and you still mess things up."

I realize I'm standing on my feet, and my hands are clenched at my side. "You think my life is so easy?"

"Yeah, I do. You don't work for anything."

"Just because I'm not arguing with my girlfriend doesn't mean I don't work for things, Gonzalez."

"Right, like you've had a girlfriend."

For some reason, my breath hitches a little. "That doesn't - I mean -"

He sneers. "You're just a pussy that uses hockey to hide the fact that you're a loner with no -"

I don't realize I've swung at him until after it happens. He reacts quickly, throwing a punch right back, and I hear someone gasp dramatically at a nearby table. I don't care. I want to hurt him. And that's scary, a little. My fingers tingle like they do before a game.

"Boys! Boys, stop it!" AJ is wedging himself in between us. "That's enough!"

I taste blood. My lip is busted.

"Fuck you, Beckett," snaps Gonzalez, and he marches out of the diner into the snow. He brushes past Sam as Sam walks through the door, his blue eyes wide and his hands tucked in his coat pockets

I look at the ground. AJ is shouting at me in French, his native tongue, but it's too fast for me to understand. "I'm sorry," I hear myself mumble, and push my way to the bathroom in the back.

The bathroom is dim and empty, the tap dripping quietly. Sam pushes through the door behind me. He's wearing his favorite green sweatshirt. "What happened?"

"Nothing," I say, looking into the mirror. It's dirty and cracked, and the dark emerald tiles that coat the bathroom walls look to be about fifty years old.

"Your lip," says Sam.

"I know."

In the mirror, I catch a glimpse of his face. It's sad, and I look away. God, I hate that face.

"I didn't mean to fight him," I say. "I mean, I didn't want to. He started it." But that's not true. I started it. Why would I do that?

Sam wets a paper towel and presses it against my lip.

"Ow."

"You're so stupid."

"I know," I say.

He sighs. I could count the faint freckles on his nose. "You're going to ruin your own NHL career."

"I know."

"What'd he say?"

"Nothing."

"You don't like to fight," Sam says, like speaking the words could make them true.

"Okay."

He pulls away, the paper towel spotted with red.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Why are you apologizing to me?" Sam throws the paper towel away and leans against the wall. Is he mad?

But I do want to apologize to him. I'm sorry that he saw. And I'm sorry that I'm always hurting him. But I don't say any of those things.

"We saw you in the paper this morning," I say.

"Oh, that." His cheeks turn pink.

"So you're going to Toronto?"

"Probably not. I just won't use the scholarship."

"Why?"

"I think I want to be closer."

"Sam."

"What?"

"You should use it. It would be stupid not to."

Sam swings open the bathroom door, the murmur of people chatting washing in through the doorway. "Well, you do stupid things, I do stupid things, can we just study math now?" He walks out.

I think he is mad. I follow him. But he's right. I do stupid things when I'm angry. And I don't know why I feel this way.

A/N I had no direction for this chapter when I started writing, these characters really write themselves haha. Vote if you liked and comment your thoughts!! I honestly love writing this story and am already dreading for when it's over. :(