Chapter 4 #2
"Physics," she said miserably. "Biomechanics, actually. I’m trying to redesign my jump entry. My coach says I need more power, but my dad says I need better technique. I’m trying to calculate the optimal launch angle for a Triple Axel based on my height and weight, but I keep getting different numbers, and if I don't figure it out, I’m going to fall at Regionals, and if I fall at Regionals, my dad will stop paying for my training, and then… "
She took a deep breath. "And then I’m nothing."
I stared at her.
The vulnerability was shocking. I had seen her as the enemy—the privileged princess who had everything handed to her. I hadn't realized her pedestal was a prison.
She was just as trapped as I was.
And then, a word she said clicked in my brain.
"Wait," I said. I reached out and tapped the book in her lap. "Biomechanics?"
She nodded, sniffing again. "It’s the study of—"
"I know what it is," I interrupted. "I’m taking the class. Professor Vance."
Zoe looked at me, surprised. "You are?"
"Yes." I sat back on my heels, running a hand through my hair. "And I’m failing it."
Zoe blinked. "You? But… you're a hockey player. Physics is literally your job. Force, velocity, impact."
"Doing it is easy," I muttered, looking away. "Explaining it with Greek letters is the hard part. I look at the equations and they just… swim. I can't make them make sense."
"It’s just math, Rory," she said, her voice regaining a bit of its academic confidence.
She opened the book, pointing to a diagram of a lever arm.
"See? Torque equals force times distance. It’s like…
when you check someone. If you hit them with your shoulder tucked, the lever arm is shorter, more stability.
If you extend your arm, less stability, more reach. "
I looked at the diagram.
When Vance explained it, it was gibberish. When Zoe said it, visualizing a body check… it clicked.
"So… to increase rotation speed," I murmured, pointing at her jump diagram, "you don't need to jump higher. You need to pull your mass in tighter to the axis of rotation. Conservation of angular momentum."
"Exactly!" Zoe’s eyes lit up. "Like a figure skater pulling her arms in. But I can't figure out how tight. Or how much force I need at the takeoff to generate the lift."
I looked at her arms. They were slender. Toned, yes, but slender.
"You don't have the explosive power in your quads," I said bluntly.
She bristled. "Excuse me?"
"I’ve watched you skate," I said. "You have grace. You have technique. But you don't have power. You're initiating the jump from your ankles, not your hips. You need to squat deeper. You need to explode."
She frowned. "My coach says big muscles are ugly. He wants 'long lines'."
"Your coach is an idiot who cares about aesthetics," I growled. "Gravity doesn't care about pretty lines. Gravity cares about force. You want to land a triple? You need to squat heavy."
We stared at each other.
The silence stretched, but it wasn't heavy anymore. It was charged with something else. Possibility.
I looked at the textbook. Then I looked at her small, fragile body that needed to be stronger.
"I need to pass that class," I said slowly. "My scholarship depends on it. If I fail, I’m out."
"I need to land that jump," she whispered. "My future depends on it. If I fail, I’m done."
The idea formed in the air between us.
"I can teach you the math," Zoe said. Her voice was tentative. "I got an A in Calc. I can explain the equations in a way that relates to hockey."
"And I can train you," I said. "Off-ice. In the gym. I can build your posterior chain. I can teach you how to generate force so violent gravity has no choice but to let go of you."
"You'd have to keep it a secret," she said quickly. "My dad… if he knew I was lifting heavy? Or spending time with you?"
"We're neighbors," I shrugged, gesturing to the broken door. "Who’s going to know what happens inside these walls?"
Zoe chewed on her lower lip. She looked at me—at the monster who had kicked down her door and held her while she cried.
"A trade," she said. "Brains for brawn."
"Tutoring for training," I corrected.
She held out her hand. It was small, sticky with smoothie, and shaking slightly.
"Deal?"
I looked at her hand.
If I took it, I was sealing my fate. I was agreeing to spend hours alone with her. In the gym. At the kitchen table. The scent of her would be everywhere. The temptation would be constant.
But I needed to pass. And looking at her tear-stained face… I realized I needed her to fly, too. I didn't want to see her fall.
I reached out. I engulfed her hand in mine.
The electric shock was instant. It zinged up my arm, settling in my chest.
"Deal," I rasped.
I didn't let go immediately. I used my thumb to wipe a smudge of green from her knuckle.
"Go take a shower, Zoe," I said softly. "I’ll clean up the glass."
"You don't have to—"
"I broke the door. I clean the mess. Go."
She nodded, scrambling to her feet. She paused at the hallway entrance, looking back at me.
"Rory?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," I muttered, picking up a shard of glass. "Wait until leg day."
She smiled. A genuine, small smile that reached her violet eyes.
Then she disappeared down the hall.
I knelt there on the sticky floor, listening to the shower turn on, listening to the hum of her life.
We had a deal. We were allies now.
But as I looked at the drying smoothie on my hand, imagining the countless hours of torture ahead, I knew one thing for certain.
This was the stupidest thing I had ever done. And I couldn't wait to start.