k a r r i s

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I normally hated skipping school, but due to the humiliating and heart wrenching incident that happened last night, there was no way I was going to face Ashton and his hockey team cronies. I didn't have to fake sick, because when my mother opened up the door this morning to check up on me, all it took were the tears profusely spilling from my eyes to send her into mama bear mode. She didn't have to ask why, or pester me into confessing why I was such a wreck that Friday morning, because all I was able to utter was "hockey" and my mother came to her own conclusions.

It was all over the newspapers.

How Willowridge was about to embark on their first hockey match of the season without reigning star Gabe Villanueva. There wasn't a local new station on air that didn't broadcast the big game, and in mentioning the game meant mentioning my brother's unfortunate, tragic murder. Oh how my chest hurt just thinking about it, and for a moment I thought I was going to have another heart attack.

"Of course I'm not making her go," mom spoke as I slowly approached the kitchen, "it's the first game without her brother. She's too upset and all anyone wants to talk about is her brother. It's all too much."

My mom held her cellphone against her ear with one hand while the other shuffled through some paperwork. The rubber sole of my house slipper squeaked against the kitchen tile and immediately my mother's gaze lifted from the files on the countertop to her down-trodden daughter. I was a hot mess, there was no denying that. Puffy eyes, messy hair, and I was pretty sure there's left over snot on my cozy bathrobe.

"I'll talk to you later, Karris just got up," mom quickly announced into the receiver, "yes, yea, I will. That'd be great. Okay. Love you too."

"Dad?" I simply asked, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

Mom nodded, "yes. He wishes you well and is bringing home pizza for dinner."

"You're letting me eat pizza?" I raised a brow. This woman hadn't let me eat anything remotely greasy since my stint in the hospital.

"You've been doing great eating well, your urine samples are coming out clean, and the hot yoga has been improving your health," mom commended with a smile. "A few slices of pizza, just this once, won't hurt. Have Berkley to come by for a sleepover, I'll just tell your dad to grab more pizza. That girl can really eat. Where does it all go?"

"Burning calories on the dance floor," I offered with a shrug.

"How are you feeling? Still upset?" Mom asked, even though it didn't take rocket science to figure out that I was clearly, most definitely still upset.

"Yea," I haphazardly answered. "Let me just eat my feelings."

My mother didn't know how to respond to that, probably because she didn't know what I was saying. So instead of verbally explaining myself, I stood up, walking across the kitchen to the refrigerator and opening up the freezer portion. I pulled out a carton of organic dark chocolate ice cream, the only kind of frozen confection my mom would let me eat, and sat it down on the counter. Grabbing a large spoon from the drawer, I lifted the lid of the dessert and stuck the utensil inside.

"Honey," mom began, crossing her arms above her chest, "you're upset, I know, and that's alright," she continued and I knew a so-called uplifting lecture was imminent.

I just stared at her with a vacant expression. I wasn't going to stop her endeavors of dishing out a pep-talk, I just wasn't into listening. I think my mom knew that and instead of continuing on, she sighed in defeat.

"Just, use a bib, okay?"

Thankfully she didn't barricade my ambitions of ice cream to my yearning palate. On any other day, she'd personally measure out the exact serving size just to make sure I was getting enough pleasure, but not too much. Maybe that's what blue balls felt like?

Just as I was about to take one, huge glorious bite, the doorbell rang. I shrugged it off and proceeded to shove the sweet delicacy in my mouth, while my mother walked away to tend to the door. I honestly thought it was just the UPS man dropping off a package that either my mom ordered from Sephora or my dad from some comic book store. But as I indulged on the expensive, organic ice cream, I heard a few voices that quickly captured my attention.

"Please Mrs. Villanueva? Do you think we could just pop in for two minutes?"

"We'll be quick, I promise!"

"We gotta talk to Karris, it's really important!"

With a groan, I threw the spoon in my hand back into the carton of ice cream before trudging through the foyer where my mom stood by the entrance. The door and her body were blockading the people standing on the porch, but as I approached closer and closer, did I catch glimpse of a head of purple hair.

"Mom?" I whispered. She turned her head over her shoulder and sighed.

"You have visitors from school," mom announced, "some of the boys from the hockey team. Do you want to speak to them?"

"The hockey team?" I questioned. I let out an unamused chuckle. "Hell no!"

With that, I spun curtly on my heel with the intentions to march back into the kitchen, grab my leftover ice cream and watch Netflix for the rest of the day. But to my dismay, that wasn't going to happen. The hockey team was persistent in their ways in winning the championship title, and that drive only filtered through their everyday life.

"Karris! Please! Give us five minutes," that voice belonged to Calum. He seemed hurt, but then again he could be faking it.

"Please Coach, five minutes," that was Luke, and I almost froze at the mention of him calling me Coach. My mom had yet to know that the last few weeks I had been on the ice rink instead of the Science club.

To keep them from saying anymore words that could make my mother suspicious, I succumbed. I turned back around, and stomped toward the door in a huff. I looked at my mother and nodded, her cue to walk away. I walked out onto the porch and closed the door. With my arms crossed, and an angry glare painted on my face, I looked at the three tall boys standing before me.

"Whoa," Michael breathed upon seeing my unsightly presence. Normally, I wouldn't be caught dead look like crap in front of these guys, but I couldn't look any more embarrassing than I did yesterday.

"What do you guys want?" I cooly questioned. "Here to throw another bucket of condiment on my face?"

All three boys nervously looked at each other, gesturing for whom should speak first.

"We brought you a gift basket," Luke brandished out a plastic bucket filled to the top with snacks my mother would thoroughly disapprove of.

"We also want to apologize for our behavior," Calum spoke, taking a step forward in my direction.

It was because of him did I want to cry the most. Out of all the boys on the team, Calum was the one I trusted the most. The one I shared a bond with before tryouts; the one who used to have the balls to defend me when Ashton went out of line. And regardless of the stupid schoolgirl crush I had on him, I was without a doubt mad at him the most.

"We shouldn't have let Ashton crawl under our skins so easily but--"

"--but you did!" I interrupted Michael with a snarl. "You're your own person Clifford."

"You don't get it Karris," Luke began with a pathetic sigh, "we're a brotherhood and this is more than just hockey to us. We're a family and families stick together."

"Luke, don't feed that bullshit to me," I sneered through gritted teeth. Anger was building inside of me with no control and I was point five seconds away from crying. Not because I was saddened by all my issues, but because of how angry I was. "There was a time when you called me Coach. And by doing that you accepted me into the Willowridge hockey family."

"We do accept you. And you are family to us," Michael quickly chimed in. "But Ashton-"

"Did Ashton threaten your spot on the team?" I interrupted him again. "Is that why you all are scared to stand up to him? Why you're so willing to succumb to his immature games?"

"He told us that to prove we were on the team, we had to treat you exactly the same," Luke explained, a pang of guilt hitting him, "hazing process included."

"That was not silly hazing!" I scolded angrily, "that was harassment and I should report you and you can all say goodbye to your entire hockey season!"

"You wouldn't do that," Calum suddenly spoke, his voice soft and laced with woe, "would you?"

"My brother would be so disappointed in you all," I whimpered, and just as I had guessed, hot beads tricked down my cheeks. "He did not die just to leave his beloved team to participate in ruthless, humiliating abuse! You should all be ashamed in yourselves."

"We are Karris! And I'm sorry!" Calum shrieked, his own voice cracking just as much as mine did, "we didn't want to be a part of it but Ashton forced us."

"Ashton didn't force you to do anything! He didn't physically take your hand to throw BBQ sauce on my head. He didn't cast some stupid spell on you to lock me in the supply closet where toxic fumes could've killed me!" I was screaming, raging with anger and hurt, that it was unbearable for me to keep it inside. "You could've walked away. You could've said no. That was all you Calum and I can never ever forgive you!"

My words lacerated them like tiny daggers across their hearts and I almost felt bad. But I felt worst, and there wasn't a bone in my body that could ever see those boys as friends again. I was full-on crying at that point, after it had already taken me hours to stop beforehand.

"Good luck on your game tonight," I muttered before turning around and opening the front door.

I didn't give the boys another chance to speak as I ran inside and slammed the door in their faces. My mother peeked her head from around the corner, concern dripping from her face. I knew she wanted to ask, but I was in no mood. So I ran up the stairs, through the hallway and into my room. Making sure to securely lock the door, I jumped into the comforts of my own bed. Wrapping myself up in the cozy blanket, I cried myself into a much needed slumber.

✖

"Karris..."

It was sing-song voice of my name that slowly woke me up. That, and the strong smell of greasy, cheesy pizza. Flipping over in my covers, I groggily opened my eyes. The side table lamp casted a warm glow in my room, and the dark blue sky seeping through the cracks of my blinds informed me that it was close to 8PM.

"Your mom had doubts about bringing up a box of pizza up to a locked room, but I know my best friend pretty damn well... Aaand I also know that you keep the key to your room in the Hello Kitty cup at the top shelf of your medicine cabinet in the bathroom," Berkley grinned from ear to ear as she sat cross legged at the end of my bed. She held a steaming box of pizza on her lap, and of course, a slice was already missing.

"It's missing a slice," my voice cracked.

"I got hungry on the way up the stairs," Berkley shrugged, throwing her hands up in defense. "What's wrong Karebear? Your mom mentioned that the douchebag hockey team came by to visit earlier... no wonder they were missing during lunch period."

"They tried to apologize," I told her, causing Berkley to scoff at my statement.

"You didn't forgive them, did you?" Berkley raised a brow, and as she waited for my answer, she cringed at the possible outcome.

"No, I did not," I proudly declared.

"Good," she smiled. "And I didn't think so either."

"Why do you say that?" I cocked my head to the side, puzzled from her statement.

"Because Willowridge is totally losing against Victorville," Berkley gushed, "your dad is watching the game downstairs and Willowridge-"

I didn't let Berkley finish. Instead, I found myself jumping out of bed and hurdling myself out of the room. Running down the stairs, I could hear the hockey match playing on the living room television screen. And as my best friend stated, my dad was in fact watching the game.

"Karebear!" Dad exclaimed, holding his arms out with a smile. "Are you okay sweetheart? Do you want me to change the channel?"

"No, I wanna watch!" I practically screamed, but towards the end, my words came out in an awkward slurry, prompting my father to gaze at me with an odd expression on his face. Ignoring him, I plopped down on the couch next to him and glued my eyes onto the screen.

Berkley was right.

Willowridge was indeed losing, and losing terribly. It was already 30 seconds till the end of second period and Victorville was up by 4 points. My eyes darted from player to player, noticing number 07, Luke Hemmings, speed across the rink. His normally rapid demeanor was impeded for some reason as number 32 from Victorville, the slowest on the team, was neck and neck with the blonde-haired hockey player. It wasn't long till number 32 stole the puck from Luke and raced down the rink in the opposite direction.

The camera closed in on team captain, number 15, douchepants of the year, Ashton Irwin who had a scowl on his face so deadly, there was no anti-venom that could cure victims of his wrath. The buzzer rang, ending the second period. I watched as the Willowridge team came in for a group huddle around Coach Benson, who had a perpetual expression of heated constipation on his normally pale face.

"Yikes, they're getting killed out there," Berkley commented, handing the box of pizza in my direction, "pizza?"

I took the box and lifted the lid, gazing at it, I looked up at Berkley and noted, "there are five slices missing."

"I got hungry on the trip down the stairs," Berkley justified, and in the same manner as before, threw her hands up in defense.

I shook my head in disapproval, even though this was totally like Berkley to eat so much, leaving the rest of us to wonder where it all went. Moving forward from Berkley's magical stomach, the hockey game continued into third period. Willowridge was trying I could tell, but they were missing a spark. It was the same kind of spark I often witnessed during practice and it was that spark that guaranteed their win against Victorville.

It was like tradition.

Every year Willowridge would start their season against Victorville, and every year they would easily crush their opponent. But this hockey season however, wasn't off to the greatest start. Because by the end of the third period, Victorville had once again scored, causing them to win and Willowridge to shamefully skate off the ice. Local reporters wasted no time in trying to grab statements from the losing team, especially from the team captain.

"We tried our best out there," Ashton declared calmly, though I could tell that the cameras were the only reason why he wasn't cursing out his team. "But I guess our best wasn't good enough. Congratulations to Victorville, it was tough match, and I can only hope we use this loss as a learning experience for the next game."

"As Gabriel Villanueva's predecessor, how does it feel to have lost what should've been a Willowridge victory?" one woman reporter asked. I shuddered at the sound of my brother's name.

"It sucks but we're going to work harder next time. I came into this season wanting to win the Championship title and I intend on doing so-- we're winning it for Gabe," Ashton spoke so eloquently, so kindly about my brother that it was so hard to imagine him as the same boy who so often belittled me, and locked me in a toxic cabinet.

I watched the screen as Ashton walked away from the reporters and towards the tunnel into the locker room. His team followed suit, but before all of them could disappear off screen, a few reporters grabbed ahold of other players-- one of which was none other than number 13, Calum Hood.

"What are you going to do differently to ensure a victory in game two?" a male reporter questioned, shoving a microphone in Calum's face.

"It's not what we're going to do differently, it's what we're going to do the same," Calum answered.

"Can you expand on that?" the reported pressed.

Calum's lips were near the mic, but his eyes continued to look straight into the camera lens. It was this maneuver that made it seem as if he were staring straight at me. I cowered at the thought, but kept my eyes on the screen in absolute curiosity.

"The last seasons were always with a Villanueva," Calum began, "and this time we're sticking with the plan. We'll have our Villanueva again."

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