Page 1 of Rush

prologue

. . .

Sam, age 9

Being the new kid is the worst. I don’t understand why Mom had to move us here. The only thing she says anytime I ask is that it was best for Allie, my two-year-old sister. So far, she seems fine with the move. I guess her crib is better. Mom doesn’t cry every night either when she thinks I’m sleeping and can’t hear her. Maybe our move to Crimson Bay will be a good thing. I just have to make a few friends on the ice and I’ll feel better. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Except there are exactly three other girls on the ice besides me and the rest are all boys. At this level, the town isn’t big enough for a girls’ league on its own, so they combine everyone and make up three different teams. Somehow I ended up on the team where the only other girl can barely skate. My eyes roam over her while she holds her hands out at her sides.

“Are you sure you’re going to make it to the other end?” I ask, feeling skeptical.

The girl’s skates shift back and forth on the ice, like she's running in place, rather than gliding. “Ah, yeah. I think so. It's just really hard.”

I take in her plastic pink skates, the fuchsia pink socks, her light pink jersey and her white helmet. My eyes are sore from how bright she looks before her skates slide out from under her, and she lands on her butt. “Oww.”

“Maybe you should sit on the bench for a few minutes,” I offer with a small shrug of my shoulders.

“I think that's a good idea.” She manages to get on her skates again before slowly stepping her way off to the side. I watch her hobble over the step and sit on the bench. A man appears above her, leaning over the plexiglass, clearly asking if she's okay. She points to the ice and her back. His eyes are filled with concern and he hands her a water bottle over the glass. The scene makes my heart hurt. I don’t remember much of my dad anymore. He died when I was a year older than Allie. My first memories of being on the ice are filled with him, but his voice sounds different now in my memories. Sometimes I wish he was here to take me to practices, so Mom didn’t have to rush around all the time.

One of the coaches blows a whistle, and I skate over to where he’s having everyone come together. While he talks about the next drill, I scan the group of kids, a few of them are staring at me too. I’m new here, moved in after the school year already started, so I’m sure I stick out. Another girl with pink laces gives me a big smile. At least she isn’t dressed head to toe in the color. She looks like we could be friends because I am also not a girl who loves the color pink everywhere. Red is my favorite color. The other girl has a long dark braid, and her eyes are more assessing. I give her a small smile and she gives me one too before her attention is pulled away by the dark-haired boy standing next to her.

The coaches dismiss us back to our groups and I skate over to the blue line, getting behind the kids in front of me. I watch the first few take off, doing the drill, and I get ready for when I’m up next.

“I’m pretty fast,” the boy next to me, my partner for this drill, says. “I always win. Don’t feel bad if you can’t catch me.”

My eyes narrow on him and my cheeks heat. “We’ll see.”

We both bend at the waist, ready to push off and tear down the ice. The whistle blows, and we take off. My skates glide until I’m practically running across the ice. The wind slips under my neck guard and my hair blows behind me. And I’m winning. My stick crosses the red line way ahead of the boy, my body following. So much for always winning. I look over at him to find him scowling. “Better luck next time.”

I jump into the next line and the kid in front of me turns, his cheeks puffed out with laughter. “He’s so mad.”

“Bet.” Another boy, now next to me, turns and smiles. “He even got beat by a girl.”

“You skate really fast,” the kid in front of me says, and I feel my cheeks turning red.

“I practice a lot,” I tell him, my shoulders shrugging.

“What’s your name? Are you new here?” the kid in front of me asks.

I nod my head lightly. “Yeah, my mom just got a new job here. I’m Sam. What's yours?”

“I’m Braysen,” he answers and looks over to the other kid. “And that’s Luca.”

The other boy waves one of his gloved hands then says, “Well, don’t worry about Travers. He’s not that good; he just likes to show off.”

I glance over at the boy I beat and see that he’s keeping turned away from us. He even moved up in line, so we aren’t paired together again. What a baby. I’m about to voice my opinion out loud when there’s a noise from the bench area.

“Kane, you’re late!” Braysen yells, looking over my shoulder. I glance back.

The boy who just arrived looks a little older than both of us. He slips his helmet on, thick dark hair flipping out underneath, before grabbing his stick and hitting the ice. I notice as he skates over to us that he’s easily a head taller than me and the others around us, and I’m one of the tallest girls in my grade. He stops right in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at his face. Dark brown eyes are looking right at me. He has very faint freckles across his nose. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t sneer, just watches me.

“Yo, Jameson, it's time for the next drill, you’re in my way.” Luca tries to shove him, but the kid shoves him back, all while staring at me.

“I’m racing her,” the kid says, and Luca falls back in line. “Ready?”

He turns to look at me, right as the whistle blows.

Jameson, age 10

She’s new. And she beat Calvyn Travers through the drill, which means she probably skates just as fast as I do. My eyes run over her skates, which look about as beat up as mine, and I can’t help but smile.