I wake up to an aggressive morning light and the realization that Maddie’s bed looks like it was made by someone with military ambitions and trust issues. Hospital corners sharp enough to perform surgery.

Not a wrinkle suggesting human occupation.

Like she erased herself from the room while I slept.

Last night replays in fragments that feel borrowed from someone else’s fever dream.

Maddie’s hands doing things that should require permits. Her mouth forming words that rewired my nervous system. The sounds I made that probably violated several noise ordinances and my own understanding of vocal range.

I stare at the ceiling waiting for any of this to make sense. The stain that looked like Wyoming yesterday now resembles a map of my sexual confusion spreading across multiple states.

This is different. This is Maddie. This is a girl.

These facts refuse to compute with my previous twenty years of assuming I understood basic orientation mechanics.

Practice arrives like a scheduled disaster. My body goes through warm-up motions while my brain plays a continuous loop of Maddie’s fingers and their unauthorized activities.

My triple axel attempts look like a giraffe discovering gravity exists and taking it personally.

“Harper, what was that supposed to be?” Coach’s frown could curdle milk. “Your form looks like you’re fighting invisible bees. Very concerning athletic deterioration happening here.”

“Sorry, Coach. Just tired from last night’s festivities. Very intense pasta consumption took its toll.”

The lie tastes like marinara sauce mixed with a sexual identity crisis.

Halfway through practice, Coach gathers everyone at center ice.

“Based on showcase performances and overall team dynamics, Maddie will continue as team captain for the season. Her leadership has proven consistent and effective. Let’s have appropriate enthusiasm, people.”

Polite applause ripples through the team like obligation dressed in mittens. I clap along, catch Maddie’s eye across the rink. She’s maintaining that carefully neutral expression that suggests she’s running complex emotional algorithms.

The relief underneath flickers like a faulty bulb in a horror movie basement. I nod once, acknowledging her victory in this particular hunger game.

The rest of practice becomes an exercise in ocular discipline, but my eyes keep drifting to Maddie’s hands like they’re magnetized.

Those fingers that did archaeological excavation on my nervous system. Currently gripping her water bottle with casual competence that shouldn’t register as pornographic but apparently my brain missed that memo.

“You okay?” Ava materializes beside me during cooldown stretches. “You seem distracted by existential concerns or possibly food poisoning. Your focus is giving ‘contemplating the void’ energy.”

“Just tired. Late night doing homework about consumer psychology and how humans make terrible decisions repeatedly.”

Not technically a lie. Last night definitely involved questionable decision-making and consumption of something.

After practice, I linger in the locker room, taking my sweet-ass time unlacing my skates and peeling off my sweaty clothes. I tell myself it’s because I’m sore and tired, but really, I’m just avoiding going back to the dorm and facing Maddie.

The locker room empties out, the other girls chattering and laughing as they head off to enjoy their normal, heterosexual lives.

Soon, it’s just me and the sound of the showers running.

I grab my towel and pad into the showers, the tile cool against my bare feet. I tilt my head back under the spray, letting the water sluice over my face and down my body, washing away the sweat and shame.

I’m just reaching for the shampoo when I hear the unmistakable sound of flip-flops slapping against tile. I freeze, my heart lodging somewhere in the vicinity of my throat.

I turn slowly, my arms crossing instinctively over my chest. Maddie is standing there in all her naked, glistening glory, smirking at me like the cat who ate the canary.

The really gay, sexually confused canary.

Don’t look at her tits, don’t look at her tits, do NOT look at her—

“Taking a shower, obviously.” She rolls her eyes, reaching past me for her loofah. Her arm brushes my bare skin and I nearly jump out of my skin. “I know I rocked your world last night, but I didn’t realize I fucked the last of your brain cells out too.”

“Shut up,” I hiss, glancing around furtively like the locker room walls might have grown ears overnight. “And keep your voice down. Do you want the whole team to hear you?”

The silence stretches between us like taffy made of awkwardness and unprocessed gay panic.

“Why are you being so weird? It’s not like you’ve got anything I haven’t seen before.” She pauses, her gaze raking over me in a way that makes my cheeks flush. “Or touched before, for that matter.”

“Maybe I need time to process the fact that I’ve never done that before.” My voice cracks like puberty’s having a reunion tour. “With a girl.”

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal.” She shrugs with practiced nonchalance. “Girls experiment in college all the time. It’s basically a requirement, like meal plans and questionable fashion choices. Doesn’t count the same way as actual attraction.”

There’s an edge to her voice that I can’t quite decipher, but it stings all the same. Like what happened between us was just another box to check off on the “college experience” bingo card.

“Do you really believe that load of rationalization you’re currently selling?”

When she won’t answer, I turn away to squeeze shampoo into my palm and silence falls between us, broken only by the patter of water against the tiles.

I focus on scrubbing my hair, trying to ignore the prickling awareness of Maddie’s naked body just inches from mine.

She’s right, it doesn’t have to be a big deal. So what if we slept together? It’s not like I’m actually into girls. Into her.

I’m just…confused. Curious. That’s all.

“So,” Maddie says after a moment, her tone falsely bright. “How are things going with Chris? Has he made a move yet, or is he still stuck in the ‘pining from afar’ stage?”

Her thumb traces the line of my collarbone, setting off sparks in its wake.

“Or you want this just as much as I do. Should I call health services or continue this exploration?”

“Definitely don’t stop the examination.”

Oh my god, was that my voice? I sound like a phone sex operator with laryngitis.

Maddie laughs softly, her breath hot against my ear. “Mm, you like that idea? Me exploring every inch of this gorgeous body, gathering data on exactly how to make you fall apart?”

She presses closer, the slick slide of her skin against mine making me dizzy.

“You’re rewriting my whole definition of preferences with where you’re putting your hands right now.” I grip her hips for balance, for sanity, for something to anchor me. “It’s like I’m having an identity crisis, but sexy.”

“Maybe your identity just needed an update,” Maddie suggests, her fingers drifting dangerously close to the curve of my breast. “Like you were working off an outdated blueprint before.”

“So this is happening,” I manage, equal parts question and revelation. “Even though we swore last night was a one-time fluke.”

“Guess we suck at keeping promises.” She angles her head, her mouth hovering a breath from mine. “We’re just making this up as we go, aren’t we? Complete breakdown of rules and logic the second we get near each other.”

Then she’s kissing me and my brain stops functioning entirely, all my doubts and questions drowned out by the rush of pure sensation. Her tongue teases the seam of my lips and I open for her automatically, letting her lick into my mouth, tasting me deep.

I whimper, actually fucking whimper, my hands clutching at her to pull her impossibly closer.

She feels so good, so right.

Her body molding to mine like we were made to fit together.

When she finally pulls back, we’re both panting, chests heaving like we just sprinted a mile. Maddie rests her forehead against mine, her eyes closed as she tries to catch her breath.

“So this is still just an experiment, right?” I whisper, terrified of her answer. “Just some college experimentation. Doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Right. Of course.” Her voice is hoarse, scraped raw with want. “Totally casual. Practically scientific.”

The lie sits heavy on my tongue as I swallow it down, bitter with all the things I’m not ready to admit.

This is so much more than nothing. This is everything.

But I can’t say that, can’t put a name to the desperate heat between us. So instead I kiss her again, losing myself in the slide of her mouth, the press of her body.