Page 28 of Exes That Puck
Emma and Tori catch up to us, and we walk linked arm-in-arm. I feel present in my body, grounded in this moment instead of floating somewhere else entirely.
We pass the hockey rink on our way to the dining hall. The cold bite of air that escapes when someone opens the door carries the familiar scent of ice and equipment and something indefinablyhim. My steps falter for just a second.
Then I keep walking.
Back in my dorm room, Payton’s playlist shuffles while we study. Three songs in, the opening notes of “our song” fill the air. The one Zeke and I used to play on repeat during our good days. The one that soundtracked late-night drives and lazy Sunday mornings.
I reach over and skip it without missing a beat. No spiral. No tears. Just a song I don’t want to hear right now.
Progress.
Study group meets in the library’s quiet section, and somehow I’ve become the person others come to for help with psychologyconcepts. A freshman named Marcus struggles with the difference between negative reinforcement and punishment.
“Think of it this way,” I explain, drawing a simple chart. “Negative reinforcement removes something bad to increase behavior. Like taking away chores when grades improve. Punishment adds something bad to decrease behavior.”
“Ohhh,” he says, the lightbulb moment clear on his face. “That makes so much sense.”
Helping him understand steadies something in me. Reminds me that I’m good at this, that my brain works in ways that matter.
Later, alone in my room, my phone pings with a DM from Lola.
Lola: You good?
Kara: Better.
She leaves it at that. No follow-up questions, no pushing for details. Lola, who saw how deep the Zeke thing went, who understood the particular brand of drowning I was doing. Her restraint feels like respect.
Payton bursts through the door with an armful of colorful flyers. “Winter mixer planning committee needs volunteers. Want to help me meet someone boring and stable?”
I laugh, surprising myself by meaning it. “Boring sounds amazing right now.”
“Right? Like, give me a guy who texts back at reasonable intervals and doesn’t have trust issues.”
“The bar is literally on the floor,” I agree, and we both crack up.
That night, muscle memory almost makes me scroll to Instagram. I catch myself hovering over Zeke’s team page. The little preview showing a photo of him in his gear, hair messy under his helmet. My thumb hovers over his profile picture.
Then I back-button out and open my essay instead. Write two clean paragraphs about speech styles that actually make sense. Another small victory.
I pull out a sticky note and mark Day 41 in tiny handwriting, tucking it inside my textbook like a secret scorecard. Some battles are fought in public. Others happen in the space between wanting something and choosing something better.
Thanksgiving break passes in a blur of normalcy. FaceTime calls with Mom where I actually look and feel happy. A Black Friday shift at Barnes & Noble that’s hectic but fun. Hot cocoa with the girls while we complain about our families and plan Christmas shopping.
I do not text him. Not even when loneliness hits hardest at 2 AM, not even when I see a meme I know would make him laugh. The urge comes and goes like weather, intense but temporary.
Day 62 arrives without fanfare.
I’m walking across campus when a glossy flyer on the kiosk catches my eye, flapping in the December wind.WINTER CLASSIC CHARITY GAME – JANUARY 14th.The hockey team’s photo dominates the design, and I can see Zeke in the back row, that familiar half-smile I used to trace with my fingertips.
My heart does a little skip, then settles. I pull out my phone and snap a photo of the flyer before I can think too hard about why.
Then I pocket my phone and keep walking.
Some progress isn’t linear. Some victories come with footnotes. But I’m walking forward, and that has to count for something.
10
The key turns with a satisfying click, and the bookstore lights flicker to warm life around me. Early morning shifts have become my favorite for the quiet stretch before customers arrive, when the store belongs entirely to me. The smell of books and coffee from the in-store café mingles in the air, creating something that feels like sanctuary.
