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?”

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