Chapter Text
Chapter one - The Introduction
The lecture hall was sizzling, and all fifteen of my classmates looked like they were seconds away from melting.
But none of them seemed to care. They were too focused on our film professor as he explained the year-long project that would define our semester.
Every time I sat in this classroom, pride swelled in my chest. Even now, I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around the fact that I had been accepted into one of the most prestigious film programs in the country.
Briar University had spent more than a decade building a reputation for having the strongest industry connections, the most advanced equipment, and professors who were respected professionals in the field. For any aspiring filmmaker, there was no better place to be.
When I was first offered the opportunity to join the program, it felt unreal. It was the beginning of my junior year of high school when Briar’s film coordinator contacted my parents and the drama department in my school.
He had seen a short film I created that had won our state competition.
The film was an interpretation of Cardigan by Taylor Swift, and to this day, i´m still extremely proud of the piece even when it´s a bit cornier that i would like to admit. The coordinator told me he wanted to meet me in person and encouraged me to apply to Briar’s program because it would, in his words, “fit me perfectly.”
One thing led to another, and somehow, against all odds, I was accepted. Even better, I received a scholarship that covered all of my academic ans housing expenses. While it seemed to good to be true, I was still only a junior in high school, which meant I had two entire years of school left to complete.
The scholarship however, required me to enroll immediately. So I had two choices: walk away from the opportunity of a lifetime with no guarantee it would ever come again, or graduate a year early and move across the country at seventeen. As you’ve probably already guessed, I chose the second option.
“What’s the one thing you’re most passionate about besides movies?” my professor asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked around the room.
“I don’t want you to overthink it. Go with your gut. Whatever came to mind first, write it down.” I didn’t have to think for even a second. My hand moved across the blank sheet of paper, and I wrote a single word.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, you’ve just found the topic for your project this year.”
My eyes lit up. No way. I stared down at the word I’d written: musicals, and my heart began to race. The possibility of spending an entire year creating a film about something I loved so deeply felt almost too good to be true.
“Before you get ahead of yourselves,” my professor added, a knowing smile tugging at his lips, “you won’t be working on your own topic.”
Wait. What?
“I want all of you to place your papers in this bowl. Then, each of you will draw someone else’s passion. If you pick your own, you’ll simply draw again.”
I sighed quietly. It had been too perfect to last. Still, how bad could it be? We were all film majors after all, people who loved creativity and art. Surely our interests couldn’t be that different. When it was finally my turn to draw, my pulse quickened. This wasn’t just a random classroom exercise. I would be spending an entire year working on this project, and the result would play a major role in determining my grade.
I reached into the bowl and pulled out a small slip of paper which was loosely folded.
I unfolded it and the moment I saw the word, my eyes widened.
No way, that couldn’t be right - there had to be some kind of mistake.
“Kenzie, would you like to tell us what you got?” my professor asked, smiling in my direction.
No. No, I absolutely would not. “Of course,” I said, forcing a smile.
I glanced down at the word again, hoping it had somehow changed in the last three seconds. It hadn’t.
“I got…” I paused, the two words feeling foreign on my tongue.
“Ice hockey.”
After the class ended and my classmates got into small groups to discuss their projects, my professor pulled me aside.
“Are you going to be okay with that topic?” he asked once the lecture hall had mostly emptied.
I nodded. The truth was, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about hockey. In fact, I could think of a hundred subjects I would’ve preferred to spend the next year filming. But if I wanted to grow as a filmmaker, I needed to step outside my comfort zone.
“Yes,” I said, forcing a smile. “It’s definitely going to be a challenge, but I have a good feeling about it.”
That was a lie.
"Good." he said, clearly pleased.
"Because I know that this isn't the kind of usual fictional storytelling you like to do. Of course it´s up to you how you choose to portray this passion but if I may offer a piece of advice:" He leaned back against his desk and folded his arms. “We happen to have one of the best college hockey teams in the country. You might as well make use of that.”
Oh god please no. “So…” I said carefully, trying and failing to hide my skepticism. “You’re suggesting some kind of documentary about the men’s ice hockey team?”
“Well, look at Netflix,” he said enthusiastically. “Formula 1: Drive to Survive has been one of their biggest successes. Imagine creating something where the audience can actually feel hockey through the screen.
I stared at him.
"With all due respect, sir, I don't think the team or the coach would be particularly excited about me wandering around with a camera and digging into the details of their lives. Convincing them to participate in something like that would be nearly impossible.”
A small smile tucked on his lips. "Well Kenzie that's not something you need to worry about, it's already been taken care of."
I frowned. How the hell had he managed to contact the head coach and the athletic department and get green lit on a whole ass documentary about the hockey team? He couldn't possibly have known that someone would choose ice hockey as their passion, right?
Unless- Oh no.
My stomach dropped.
“Professor,” I said slowly, “if you don’t mind me asking… whose passion did I pick?” “Why would you want to know?” he asked, his smile widening.
Oh my fucking god, no no no that would make everything ten times worse.
“Oh my God,” I breathed. “I got your passion, didn’t I?” He chuckled. “I always knew you were a smart kid.”
He gathered his papers and handed me a small slip with the practice schedule and rink address. “Now go,” he said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “They have practice this evening. Seems like the perfect time to introduce yourself.”
It was around five in the afternoon when I stepped into the Briar University Ice Arena.
The first thing that hit me was the cold.
Well, what had I expected? It was an ice rink.
I tightened my grip on the straps of my backpack and tried to ignore the nervous knot twisting in my stomach.
My professor had assured me that he’d already spoken to the coach and that he was aware I’d be stopping by to introduce myself and pitch the concept for the documentary.
What he failed to mention was that I would have exactly six hours to come up with a outline for a documentary about a sport I knew nothing about.
As a result, I was running on two cans of Red Bull, three iced coffees, and a ton amount of self-doubt.
I hated every second of this.
I was anxious enough to throw up right there on the freshly cleaned floor, but I knew it would already be difficult enough to get a group of elite college athletes to take me seriously. The last thing I needed was to show up looking terrified.
So I put on my brave face.
As I walked through the rink, fidgeting with my fingers and biting the inside of my cheek, I spotted a tall guy with broad shoulders and brown hair.
He looked like a hockey player.
To be completely honest, I hadn’t paid much attention to Briar University men's hockey team during my first year at Briar, so I had no idea what to expect.
“Hey! You!” I called out, louder than intended because he was wearing headphones, actual wired headphones, which felt strangely old-fashioned.
He turned around.
“Me?”
And that was when I got my first proper look at him.
Oh, Oh no.
From behind, he had looked like a typical athlete.
From the front, he looked like he’d stepped straight out of some impossibly unrealistic Calvin Klein ad.
“Yes,” I said, forcing myself to remain professional. “Uh… are you a hockey guy?”
He laughed, and the sound echoed warmly through the nearly empty rink.
“Well,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting, “I think you could call me that.”
I let out a quiet breath of relief.
Thank God.
“Great.” I shifted my backpack higher on my shoulder. “I need to speak to your coach. Any chance you could show me where he is?”
He glanced toward the ice. “What do you need him for? Practice starts in a few minutes, and visitors usually aren’t allowed during training.”
“I’m not a vsitor,” I interrupted.
He frowned.
“You’re not?”
Was I?
The question sent a new wave of uncertainty through me, and I immediately hated how easily I was second-guessing myself.
“No,” I said more firmly. “I need him to sign some paperwork.”
“What paperwork?”
I blinked.
God, could someone be any nosier?
"Could you just tell me where to find him, please?” I asked, trying to keep the impatience out of my voice.
“Yeah.” He pulled one earbud out, “I’m heading to the locker room anyway, so you can just follow me. Coach is usually in there talking to some of the younger guys before practice.”
I nodded and offered what I hoped was a convincing thank-you smile.
Social interactions with strangers had never exactly been my strongest suit.
We walked down a set of concrete stairs and through a long tunnel. The walls were covered with framed photos of past Briar University men's hockey team rosters, championship banners, and action shots of players frozen mid-celebration.
We stopped in front of a large door with the Briar logo painted across the center.
The Hockey guy turned to me with a grin.
“Wait here. Im just going to make sure no one’s naked.”
My eyes widened.
Right.
That was something I had somehow failed to consider.
He slipped through the door and disappeared inside.
A few seconds later, he reappeared.
“Everything’s safe,” he said, pushing the door open a little wider. “Coach isn’t here yet, though, so you can either wait out here or come in, because-”
“Logan, man, you know puck bunnies are banned from practice!”
The voice came from inside the locker room, followed by a tall blond guy stepping into view.
He took one look at me and flashed a grin.
“But,” he added, winking shamelessly, “if you’re willing to share, maybe we can make an exception.”
“Dean, she’s not a-” The Hockey guy, apparently Logan, started.
Too late.
I was already fuming.
I stepped forward, tightening my grip on my backpack straps.
“What the fuck did you just call me?”
"He didn’t mean it like-” Logan started.
“No, I know exactly what he meant,” I muttered, my voice tight with anger.
My face was burning. This had been a terrible idea.
It was completely delusional to think I could walk into a locker room full of college athletes and expect them to take me seriously. None of them were going to listen to me. How was I supposed to make a documentary when the protagonists didn’t respect me from the moment I arrived?
I was already mentally drafting the email I would send my professor, something polite but desperate, begging him to assign me literally any other topic - when a deep voice echoed down the hallway.
“Oh, I see you’ve already met Kenzie.”
The team’s coach appeared at the entrance to the locker room, dressed in a Briar quarter-zip and carrying a clipboard. He looked at me with a warm smile.
“It’s Kenzie, right?”
I blinked, forced a tight smile and nodded, still gritting my teeth as I shot a glare in Dean’s direction.
“Yes,” I said.
The coach clapped his hands together.
“Well, Kenzie, would you like to introduce yourself to the team?” he asked. “I’m sure they’ll be very interested to hear why you’re here.”
My stomach dropped.
Every single player in the room turned to look at me. At least twenty pairs of eyes fixed directly on me.
I tightened my grip on my backpack straps and took a slow breath.
This was going to be my life for the next year and it was going to be an absolute disaster.
Great.
Fuck me.
This was going to be a very long semester..