Page 113 of That's Too Pucking Bad

He steps back from Maya, grabbing his bag. “Anyway, I’ve gotta jet. Practice starts in fifteen. Later, babe.” He kisses Maya one more time before jogging off, throwing me a quick wave.

I watch him go, debating whether I should ask him about Zane. Something’s gnawing at me, but I hold my tongue. No way I’m airing my business to Caleb.

Maya nudges me. “What’s with the face?”

“Nothing,” I lie. “You wanna hit the library? I need to study.”

She groans. “Study? Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Come on, it’ll be fun,” I say, grabbing her arm.

“Lies! All lies,” she mutters, but she follows me anyway.

The library is quiet, almost empty. We find a table near the back and dump our stuff.

“So,” Maya says, pulling out her laptop, “where’s that bracelet Zane gave you? The Van Cleef one?”

“In my room,” I say, flipping through my notes.

She raises an eyebrow. “You’re not wearing it? That thing cost, like, a fortune.”

“It doesn’t go with everything,” I mumble, pretending to read.

“Uh-huh,” she says, smirking. “Or maybe you don’t want to flaunt it because you think he’s mad at you?”

I freeze, my hand tightening around my pen.

“What makes you say that?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s written all over your face. You’ve been weird all day.”

“I’m not weird,” I snap.

“Okay,” she says, holding her hands up. “Touchy.”

I force myself to breathe, flipping a page in my notebook just to keep my hands busy. We try to study, but it’s useless. Maya keeps talking, mostly about hockey.

“You know the next game’s going to be huge, right?” she says, spinning her pen between her fingers. “Scouts are going to be there. Caleb’s freaking out about it.”

I nod, not really listening.

“What about Zane?” she asks. “Is he ready?”

“I guess,” I say, my stomach twisting.

She leans in, lowering her voice. “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been zoning out all day.”

“Yeah,” I lie.

But I’m not. Something’s wrong, and I can’t shake it. Zane’s silence feels heavy, like a warning I don’t know how to read.

I glance at my watch for the fifth time. It’s been over an hour since practice ended. It’s not like Zane to make me wait this long. Maybe he’s just busy with all the game stuff.

But still. This is getting old.

I pull out my phone and scroll mindlessly through Instagram, ignoring the way my stomach twists. I’m not waiting here for nothing. He’s not going to blow me off again.

Finally, I spot him walking across the parking lot, earbuds in, his hockey bag slung over one shoulder. He looks like he’s in his own little world, focused on nothing but whatever’s on his mind. As he gets closer, I push off the car, crossing my arms over my chest.

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