Revolve

Revolve

One

Dylan

"You failed your drug test."

Fuck.

With my phone pressed to my ear, I drop my head against the steering wheel, feeling the cold leather imprint on my forehead as I fight the urge to bang it until I forget everything that's gone wrong since I set foot on campus yesterday.

Dalton University is officially back in session. Well, classes may begin in a few days, but hockey has definitely started. Unlike coaches at other schools, Coach Kilner insists on getting all the introductions out of the way early, determined not to waste any precious practice time. I imagine he wakes each morning in a cold sweat, obsessively checking if he still holds the record for the most consecutive Frozen Four wins.

So, hearing those life-altering words over the phone at six in the morning from Vik Chopra, a junior studying premed, jolts me enough to make my hangover fade. A hangover I shouldn't have in the first place.

Vik, who volunteers at Dalton University Hospital, is the first to know all things health-related in college sports. He was one of the pledges for Kappa Sigma Zeta last year, and I helped get him into our fraternity. So, this call is an IOU if I've ever seen one.

The party from a week ago right before our preseason drug tests was sweaty bodies, booze, and clouds of marijuana smoke. The typical college party-though the ragers I've thrown have been much wilder-but I remember nothing except two girls, a brunette and pink-haired one, who really wanted me to see their bedroom. It was great, I mean it always is if I'm involved, and we didn't get any sleep that night. It's why I woke up in the middle of the afternoon, with the sun in my face and rope marks on my wrist.

My memory dips in and out, but I think it's better if I don't recall exactly how wasted I got, and if I indulged in way more than just whiskey and beer. Clearly, I fucking did.

What I do remember-vividly-is the conversation I had with my parents right before I left the house. I hung up on them mid-conversation, and that's when Tyler Sampson, our alternate captain, texted me about the party. If I hadn't been so irritated by the call, I would have had some fucking sense to turn down his invite. My first sign that this fall semester was off to a rough start should have been the fact that I willingly went to a Yale party.

"Is there anything you can do?" I ask.

In other words: Bury it.

It's a lot to ask of Vik, considering he's here on scholarship and is our frat's philanthropy chair. The guy organizes fundraisers and supervises frat parties from the good of his heart. He's the kind of guy you leave your drink with, and I'm the kind of guy that will drink your drink. He's a damn saint. His sister, on the other hand . . . well, let's just say she's the reason I'm in the parking lot of the Iona House dormitory at six in the morning. But I don't tell him that.

"You know I'd do anything for you, D," Vik says with a heavy sigh. "But even an inconclusive test would raise flags. Either way, the sports director and your coach would get an email about it." A series of keyboard clicks sounds. "I can keep your results private for now and see what I can do."

"Appreciate it, man. Text me with any updates." I drop my phone into the center console of my car. If this gets out, I'm screwed. Getting drafted to New York last month won't have meant shit since I haven't signed a contract. Nothing like a failed drug test to throttle you back to reality.

The sun is still rising when I pull away from Iona House. Last night, Mehar, Vik's sister who's on the diving team, invited me to her team's preseason party. She told me I reminded her of Nicolas Vasquez, a soccer player she's obsessed with. I didn't mind one bit when she asked me to come back to her dorm. Though, as it turned out, it wasn't Nicolas's name on her lips when her hands roamed over my body and her legs wrapped around my waist.

When I step inside the hockey house-my off-campus refuge because I refuse to stay at the frat house-I find Kian face down on the living room floor. He's got a textbook open on the coffee table and a bowl of soggy shredded wheat.

Kian Ishida and I have been friends since second grade. Back when I still thought he was the quiet new kid, fresh off a move from Japan to Connecticut to live with his aunt. Since then, we've gotten detention more times than I can count, and barely made it into Dalton.

Yesterday, we promised this was our last party and we wouldn't fuck around this semester. Our last semester was brutal because Coach Kilner tortured us all season when Yale trashed our campus after we invited them to a party. So, even though Kian was belting out karaoke classics on the countertops of a party last night, he still dragged his hungover ass out of bed this morning to catch up on his reading for the upcoming semester.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I'm having floor time." His words are muffled into the Persian rug.

"That rug is filthy." It was here before we moved into the house, and the parties we've had since then did not help whatever is living in that thing.

"So am I," he responds. Then suddenly he jerks upright, fumbling to grab his phone. "Did I miss my study group?" He sighs loudly when he realizes it's still early.

In the kitchen, I rummage through the fridge, already knowing it's a graveyard of questionable leftovers. Half-finished bottles of condiments, milk, a stale loaf of bread, and some orange juice.

Kian walks into the kitchen. "Why are you up so early? Practice isn't until this afternoon. But Sebastian and Cole are already at the rink; they're not taking any chances to piss off Kilner."

That explains why our other two housemates and newly turned seniors are nowhere to be found. It's the first semester back where the house feels empty since Aiden Crawford, our previous captain, and Eli Westbrook, our defender, went off to the big show. If Kian and I hadn't spent the last four years slacking off, expecting to get drafted early, we'd be with them. Instead, we're stuck finishing this last semester because we delayed free agency just in case the draft didn't go our way. Luckily, it did, but we're still here completing our degrees before we're called up next year.

"I just got home." I drain a half-empty carton of orange juice. I'd be an idiot to give Kian an inkling that I might have just blown up my entire life and the team. The guy gets a little obsessive over fixing things for people, and that's the last thing I need right now.

"Were you with Crystal? You two were pretty close last night."

I don't recall a single thing aside from waking up with someone who most definitely wasn't named Crystal. Though, I am getting vivid flashes of Kian ripping off his shirt because it lit on fire, and then everyone jumping into the pool. That explains why I'm wearing a T-shirt that isn't mine. I probably jumped in the pool too.

"You good?" he asks when I don't answer.

He's watching me like a hawk, waiting for me to say something that would explain the reason I came home so early. After Vik's text that said to call him, I slipped out of Iona and into my car.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Just checking." He shrugs. "By the way, this came for you." Kian hands me a white envelope, and the moment I see the pretentious Donovan family crest, I nearly crush it in my fist.

"Thanks," I mutter.

"Looks super fancy. What is it?"

My jaw tightens as I think of the video call last week with both my parents smiling wide-my mom's weak one and my dad's plastic one-pressed together so tight on the screen like they were trying to fool themselves. They'd gone on about starting over, about making the family what it used to be, like nothing had happened. I hung up before they could finish.

How could my mom just sit there and forget all the sleepless nights, the days she wouldn't eat, how I had to feed her and my little sister, Ada, on the days she couldn't even look at her?

"Not important." I head to my room before he asks a million more questions. I toss the envelope on my desk, and it lands behind the picture frame of Ada and me at our last pairs skating competition. We used to love that time together, until we realized our mom was the only one showing up to those competitions.

I head straight for the shower, eager to shed last night's beer-stained and marijuana-scented clothes. My room isn't anything special, but my shower is my sanctuary. When Aiden's grandparents bought him this house freshman year, he didn't hesitate to offer us all a place to stay, completely rent-free, even though I insisted on paying rent countless times. I'm grateful, especially since, technically, I'm an active member of Kappa Sigma Zeta.

It wasn't my plan to get so hammered during rush week that I accidentally pledged and got accepted on the spot. Kian, on the other hand, tried to pledge, but didn't get in. I didn't hear the end of that for weeks.

As I duck under the shower, the water soaks my hair, and the soap suds slide down my body. The pounding in my head from Vik's news, my parents' invitation, and last night's reckless drinking dissolves with each swirl of water down the drain. This is the one place I can breathe and pretend like I have my shit together; no one's ever been in here with me, and that's how I like it.

By the time I'm dressed, Kian's knocking. "Practice got moved up!" he yells. "I'll be in the car."


The sharp sound of Coach’s whistle spears through my hangover. “Did that look like a Division I team to any of you? For fuck’s sake, the peewees played better than you today.”

"To be fair, the peewees are pretty damn good," I say.

"You gotta cut us some slack, Coach. We just came back from summer break. You know how it is." Kian winks and skates to Kilner to give his stomach a playful punch.

Coach might be slower on his feet these days, but he'd easily take any of us in a one-on-one game. He ignores the poke and thankfully doesn't break our right-winger's hand.

"You've got your work cut out for you, so next practice I want you to come in like you weren't fucking around all summer. Your new captain will make sure of that, right, Dylan?"

Huh? "Don't you mean Sampson?"

Tyler Sampson, our alternate captain now that Aiden's gone, shakes his head. Despite spending nearly every day this summer with Sampson, our conversations rarely ventured beyond drunken exploits. It was simple. We got shit-faced, then did it all over again.

"I'm stepping down as captain," he says, and everyone goes still. "With pre-law I don't have much time, so I can't be the captain this team needs. And our vote makes you captain."

Vote? When the fuck did we vote?

"If you missed the vote, you forfeited your right to a democracy," Coach says.

Kian skates backward, bumping into me. "Remember Aiden's birthday party the other semester? You weren't at practice the next day, and that's when we had the vote."

The reminder of that night tightens my gut. It was in February, when my mom called me crying about my dad. How he was never home, and how she was done with all of it.

I turn to see the guys staring at me like this is normal, and then it hits me that most of these idiots are in frats. In my attempt to be more involved with the team and my frat, I took a few of them under my wing. They practiced with me on my solo sessions, but I hadn't meant for this. I've become their fucking messiah.

"Welcome your new captain, Dylan Donovan."

The hoots and hollers echo across the rink, and I haven't even processed this shit. Captain? Fuck no.

"Coach, you can't be serious."

"I don't control the vote. It's what your teammates wanted. And considering you'll be off to New York next year, you'll want to learn some leadership and discipline for once."

Yeah, definitely going to be sick. His words are a pin to an already deflated balloon.

"Don't I get a choice?"

"It's time to step up, Donovan. No more messing around."

I have to tell him about the drug test. I have to say something, but a part of me holds out hope that Vik will come through, and I'll be clear of this mess.

"New lines will be posted by next practice. You're dismissed," Kilner finishes.

In the locker room, the guys chant, "Double D!" until I'm ready to lose it. I strip off my gear, my frustration bubbling over as I stare at my jersey. Once upon a time, I could see a C stitched on it. But that dream faded the moment I was labeled as reckless and impulsively physical by every commentator and referee.

Kian approaches me with a sheepish smile. "I voted for you as a joke."

"Yeah, well, your fucking joke is my reality."

He sinks onto the bench beside my locker. "It's one semester. It can't be that bad."

When I can't take it, I head to Kilner's office, brushing past the guys who congratulate me on their way out. But just as I'm about to burst through the door, I pause.

Kilner's disappointed face is worse than anything else I've endured. And I can't tell him why this captain thing is a bad idea. Not until I can get a handle on this drug test thing.

I step back from his door just as Kian bumps into my shoulder, pulling me back to reality, where no one knows how much I've fucked up. Not yet.

Kian glances up from his phone. "I know we're on our best behavior," he whispers, "but Beta Phi is throwing a party tonight."

I shouldn't, not with everything on the line, but fuck it, that's a problem for tomorrow.

"I'm in," I say.

Two

Sierra

My head hits the ice, and I hear the crack of my skull before my vision darkens.