"Can we leave now?" Madison asked for the umpteenth time, pouting to get her point across.

The theater was empty, and most of the room was left unlit, leaving the rows of red chairs as nothing more than silhouettes. Madison and I stayed on the stage, where the spotlight represented a singular source of light. Sheets of paper were spread out across the hardwood flooring. I sprawled across this mess, scribbling furiously between pages, crossing out lines or inserting words into existing sentences. Madison sat off to the side, occupying herself with memes and random cat videos.

"Five more minutes," I replied absently. My attention was on the manuscript on the ground. This school play would be put on in front of everyone at the end of the year. No pressure.

Madison sighed, her perfectly shaped brows seeming to slump. If that was possible. Madison's picture perfect figure, from her luscious blonde hair to the movie star red lips and enviable slim waist, never seemed to be anything less than impeccable.

"Same answer as last time. That was thirty minutes ago."

Apparently, time also flew when people weren't having fun. "I'm sorry, Madison, but I have to finish this first draft tonight. The final version is due just before Christmas."

"Can you do it tomorrow?"

"No. Sorry."

Madison frowned but didn't push the issue. She knew how important the play was, at least to me. I had been dreaming about this opportunity since freshman year and now that it was finally a reality, I wasn't going to squander it for anything.

That being said, I didn't want to be selfish and make my best friend waste time watching ink dry. "If you want, you can leave first. You don't need to stay with me."

"It's fine." Madison waved off my offer. "I've been to every one of their games. I just want to take you to one."

I rolled my eyes. "You know I don't watch hockey."

"Neither do I. The only reason I go to the games is because Nick is playing." There was once a time when Nick O'Connor annoyed Madison to no end, but now they were a couple who had spent the last three years virtually attached to each other. I didn't know which version I liked better.

"Well, I don't have a Nick so there's no reason for me to go."

"I might have taken the best looking player on the team, but there are a lot of options for you to choose from. Most of the players on the team are single."

"I wonder why," I muttered. It was a genuine comment and not a bitter remark. I assumed their availability signaled some sort of character flaw. After all, only defective products remained on the store shelves.

Madison groaned in protest. "Do I have to remind you that you're also single, Ms. Beckett?"

Not really, since I knew I was a defective product. My flaws were abundant. If I wrote every single one of them down, I would have a grocery list on my hand.

That wasn't something I wanted to discuss though, so I changed the topic. "Alright, I think I'm done for now. Do you want to head over to the game?"

"Let me think about it." Madison feigned thought as she picked up her belongings. "Let's go."

***

We walked through the hallways, which were understandably deserted late in the evening. The only sound that kept us company came courtesy of Madison's heels, which clicked with every step. The endless row of grey lockers added to the desolate image, but we didn't mind the quietness. Our friendship had long since exceeded the need for constant conversation.

When we arrived at the arena, the scoreboard indicated that the game was well underway. The teams were tied at two, and several minutes remained on the digital clock. These numbers meant little to me, except that it wouldn't take long until we were able to leave.

Even from a young age, sports and I didn't mix. My father, like the other five and a half million Minnesotans, was a die-hard hockey fan. He would turn on the television and cheer for the Wild whenever they played. We went to a few games, as he tried to share that interest with me. It didn't work. Eventually, my parents split up and sports became a non-factor when I stayed with my mother, who shared my indifference towards the topic.

This was my first hockey game in years. Aside from the fact that I never had a passion for sports, Oakcrest's arena was not the most flattering building in the city. Affectionately dubbed The Smoke Zone by the students, the nickname aptly described the conditions of the place. Smokers often hung out behind the bleachers, leaving behind the ever lingering smell of cigarettes. Cigarette butts and other trash could often be found under the seats.

Cigarettes weren't the only problem. The building itself was old and it showed. Years of usage resulted in slowly peeling wall paint. Minneapolis' humid weather also took its toll, with heavy rainfall leaving water stains on the ceilings. Everything about this arena felt uncomfortable.

We found a seat in the top row of the bleachers behind one of the nets. Madison sat to my left and I set the manuscript down to my right. Our section was mostly empty, with a handful of girls near the bottom and two middle aged men in tracksuits in the middle. Most of the spectators sat behind the benches, where they could take photos with the players and talk to friends they knew on the team.

The game was fast paced and I quickly lost track of the action. Having watched hockey in the past, I knew what the puck was, but I didn't know where the puck was. It was tossed around at such a high speed that it became invisible to me, and the only thing I saw was twelve people skating around in circles.

Not understanding what was happening, I lost the motivation to pay attention and began people watching. What intrigued me most was the pair of men in tracksuits a few rows down from our spot. They definitely weren't students, and they didn't seem like parents.

I might not have the strongest fashion sense, but I knew that tracksuits weren't very popular in high school, so these two men felt a little out of place. Perhaps they were some odd relative of some player.

One of them, a middle aged man with graying hair, began to speak. "You see that Dawson kid? He has excellent speed and agility. Very shifty on his skates."

"What impresses me most is his hockey IQ. Very smart with the puck. Sees the game well. You can teach someone to skate faster; you can't teach them to play smarter."

The usage of sports jargon left me feeling even more confused than before. All I knew was that these two men were knowledgeable about the sport and that there's someone named Dawson who was excellent at hockey.

I nudged Madison, who was busy taking pictures of an unsuspecting Nick. "Hey, Madison, who's Dawson?"

"Who?"

"Dawson. You know, the really good hockey player?"

Madison thought for a moment, then frowned when she came to a conclusion. "Caleb Dawson?"

"Sure?"

"He's one of the Chargers." She shook her head in disgust. "Nick's linemate, actually. I hate that guy."

Now this was interesting gossip. That kind of stuff hardly ever piqued my interest, but this was coming from my best friend, so I felt a sense of curiosity tingling my nerves. "What's his problem?"

"What's not? Showboating. Bragging. Taunting. This guy thinks he's the best thing to grace this planet since Kylie's lip kit."

"Sounds like you have a grudge against this guy. Did you and him . . . ?"

Madison appeared horrified at the thought of my implication. "Absolutely not. I can't stand being around this guy, much less being with him. His ego inflates faster than an air mattress."

"Then why the hate?"

"It's his attitude! That I'm-better-than-everyone, insufferable, egotistical, pompous . . ."

"I think I get the message."

Madison exhaled, putting on the brakes to her rant. "Above all, I hate how he overshadows Nick. On any other team, Nick would be the undisputed star, but here at Oakcrest, he has to play second fiddle to the egomaniac. Not because he's less talented, but because Nick doesn't play with the same level of flair as Caleb."

I understood what Madison meant. In part because that was exactly how I felt about myself. It was hard to generate any attention as an introvert. I rarely spoke to people aside from my mother and Madison, and as a result, the others at school labeled me as a wallflower.

It wasn't like I wanted celebrity status. Extended attention put pressure on me and made me nervous. I would be more than satisfied to receive proper recognition on my work. Nothing more. This upcoming school play would be my chance to exhibit my talents.

Clapping and cheering brought my attention back to the game. It seemed like our team had scored a goal. The red lights were flashing and our players, in their easily identifiable green and yellow jersey, stood up and repeatedly whacked their sticks against the boards like they were wielding the judge's gavel.

Before I had time to process what was happening, a fight broke out between their goaltender and one of our players. I couldn't tell who it was from distance, but I did spot the number ten on the back of his jersey.

Madison pointed to the ice. "That's Caleb."

I watched as the two parties punched each other with unrelenting savagery. The crowd cheered on enthusiastically and students pulled out their phones to film the fight. For their part, the fighters seemed to feed off of the energy. Each fist was thrown with an intent to injure. A few landed and the fighters wobbled like Russian dolls, staggering but refusing to fall down.

There weren't many people who shared my views, but I thought athletes were some of the worst people in school. They were lazy, arrogant and manipulated the system through their reputation. Even though they were undeserving, athletes had an easier path to success simply because they could pass a ball or score a goal.

A part of the blame went back to the student body. It was thanks to their undying worship of these people that such bias existed at school. There wasn't even a good reason to idolize these athletes. I mean, this was the type of primal behavior that people were celebrating. Had the fight taken place anywhere other than the arena, Principal Brooks would have suspended both participants on the spot. Instead, each punch was met with waves of applause. I felt sick to my stomach.

At last, one last punch caused the opposing fighter to fall. Caleb skated away, basking in the cheers of the crowd, as the other person remained face first to the ice. Nobody seemed to care. Everyone was busy celebrating the victory of their beloved hero.

Caleb was escorted off the ice and disappeared into the darkness behind the bench. The officials helped the other person up and likewise took him off the ice. What followed was a period of confusion as things were sorted out and a new goaltender stepped on to the ice. For some reason, loud crashing noises echoed throughout the arena, as though things were breaking. Given the state of the Smoke Zone, I wouldn't have been surprised if the building collapsed on top of us.

The two men spoke up once again. "Well, that was unnecessary."

"It's no secret that Dawson needs to work on maturity. His recklessness can do him more harm than good," the gray haired man noted.

I couldn't figure out who these two men were. They were definitely here for Caleb - their chatter was completely oriented around him - but they didn't seem like relatives. Not many family members addressed each other on a surname basis. Something didn't make sense.

Madison tapped me on the shoulder. "Let's go. The game is almost over. There's going to be a rush of people leaving at the end of the game, and I don't want to wait in line. Nick will meet us at my car, and drive us to Sonic because I'm really craving a burger right now."

We picked up our belongings and walked towards the exit. Suddenly, one of the side doors burst open with a tremendous amount of force. The unexpected commotion startled me and I dropped my manuscript, the pages flying everywhere like leaves in the fall. Madison swore under her breath, also caught off guard by this sudden interruption.

From behind the doors emerged a blonde boy. His hair was tousled, but there was a method to the madness, as though it was set poorly to appear natural. That was the bulk of my criticism. Even for someone as critical - or as I prefer to say, evaluative - as myself, it was hard to pick out any more distinct flaws in his appearance. The boy was basically perfect.

Even from afar, I noticed that he had alluring blue eyes. Not the usual light blue variety, but a rich shade of sapphire. There was something mesmerizing and mystical about those eyes.

Moving on from his eyes, the rest of this boy's appearance could be described in two words: well defined. With a jawline sharp enough to cause paper cuts and muscles barely concealed by his worn tee, I could see why so many girls worshiped athletes religiously. This guy was almost a reincarnation of Michelangelo's David.

All this information did little to help me figure out the stranger's identity, but there was one thing that acted as a straight giveaway. His smile. It was more of a grin, really, but the corners of his lips quirked up sharply in a way that radiated confidence. The kind of confidence that bordered cockiness. An I'm-better-than-everyone, insufferable, egotistical, pompous kind of cockiness.

Caleb Dawson.

I didn't know what to expect from him, so I just stood there and stared at him. A smile continued to linger on his face, and for a second, I thought maybe he wasn't so bad. Caleb held my gaze for a minute, perhaps waiting for me to do something, then put on his headphones and walked away when he realized I was content being an awkward mute. A less than ideal first impression, no doubt, but that was typical of me. My interpersonal skills left a lot to be desired.

As Caleb walked away, Madison hurried over and tapped me on the shoulder, releasing me from the trance-like state that I was in. Madison's brows were furrowed, and I thought she was mad at me, when I noticed that she was pointing to the manuscript on the ground.

"Look what he did!" Madison basically shrieked.

My eyes followed Madison's index finger down to the ground, where my precious writing was scattered all over the stained floor. Some of the unidentified liquids on the floor had tainted the pages, but there was another, much more visible marking on my work.

A giant footprint.

Judging by Madison's comment, I assumed that the footprint belonged to Caleb. It was quite a large footprint. The mark took up an entire page, blurring all the words underneath it. I tried to salvage the mess, but most of the page was now illegible. Since everything was written just prior to this incident, I didn't even have the time to transfer my work on to a computer. That meant I had to start again from scratch.

Maybe he wasn't so bad.

Yeah, right.

***

I was irritated by the incident, but I kept my lips sealed. Madison, on the other hand, couldn't stop recounting the whole sequence to Nick. I didn't even know if it could be classified as recounting. There were equal parts truth and personal opinions about Caleb in Madison's narrative, which began from the drive to Sonic all the way and continued even after we received our food.

"I swear, you will not find anyone more self centered than Caleb Dawson," Madison announced as she munched on a fry. "He thinks the universe revolves around him, like it's Caleb-centric or something."

Madison continued to talk while Nick worked away at his fries. Contrary to Madison's earlier statement, Nick didn't have a very standout appearance. His chocolate brown hair and matching eyes were equally inconspicuous, and his height was a respectable, however moderate, five foot nine. Nick had the Good Guy face, but nothing that really garnered special attention. All in all, Nick was presentable but not remarkable.

"Are you even listening to me?"

Madison nudged Nick, who was busy removing a pickle from his burger. That was one of the few things about Nick that annoyed Madison. He tuned her out every now and then. To be honest, I didn't blame him. Madison could be difficult to deal with sometimes.

"I am listening. I've been listening for the past thirty minutes."

Nick went back to his pickle extraction and Madison took that as a cue to end her rant. We ate in silence for a few minutes. My mind wandered about several topics, from restoring my manuscript to the reason it was ruined in the first place, Caleb Dawson.

The latter intrigued me most. Why did he step on my manuscript? I didn't have a grudge on him, and he probably didn't even know me. Was it because of Madison? Did he even know what happened?

Before I could evaluate each alternative and settle on an answer, Madison abruptly stood up and made a dramatic exit for the bathroom. I glanced at Nick, who simply shrugged and took another bite out of his burger.

"She's probably annoyed at me for tuning out," Nick explained after a moment.

"Wasn't that a couple minutes ago?"

"She had to decide whether she wanted to drop the issue or get angry at me."

I nodded, but that made no sense to me. Must have been a couple thing.

"It's fine," Nick assured me. "A trip for ice cream will do the trick."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate it." Madison was a notorious sweet tooth with a soft spot for ice cream.

"Well, enough about Madison. Let's talk about you."

"Me?"

"What do you think about Caleb?"

I didn't think Nick wanted to hear my actual response to that question, so I made up a quick lie on the spot. "He's alright."

"He's actually very similar to Madison. They seem difficult to deal with at first, but once you get to know them, they're a real sweetheart. I love both of them."

"Uh-huh," I mumbled, not sure where Nick was heading with this conversation.

"I know that your first impression of Caleb probably isn't very good, considering what happened, but I don't want that to define the guy. He's a great friend of mine, a real stand up guy, and I want you to get to know him better."

"Why me?"

"I just have this gut instinct that you two will get along. Caleb has been through some rough patches and not a lot of people actually get through to him. I think you'll be a different story."

"I'm not so sure."

"I know Madison has probably said a lot of bad things about Caleb. I know where she's coming from. She cares about me, and sometimes that messes with her decision making process. Don't let Madison's views define yours. I think you'll come to realize that Caleb isn't as bad as Madison claims."

I didn't respond, and Nick took that as a cue to proceed. "How about this? I'm heading to the movies with Madison this Saturday. It would be nice to have both you and Caleb there. Think of it as a reconciliation. Another try at a first impression."

Nick took my hesitation as a sign of consideration. "If you come, I'll type out your entire manuscript and print all the copies you need free of charge," Nick added.

I must admit, that was an enticing offer. My writing needed to be transferred to the computer, and I wasn't the most adept person when it came to technology. Furthermore, a movie sounded innocent enough. It couldn't hurt to know this guy a little better.

Maybe Nick was right. Maybe we would bond and become best friends. It didn't seem likely, but Madison and I were worlds apart when we met. Nick did say that Caleb was similar to Madison.

"Fine," I relented. "What kind of movie?"

"Whatever you want." A smile bloomed on Nick's face. "I promise you won't regret this decision."