Falling Offside

Cassidy

The packing tape made a sharp, screeching sound that echoed off the hardwood floor of my bedroom. I smoothed down the top of the cardboard box, black Sharpie in hand, and wrote BEDROOM / BOOKS & DECOR across the front in neat, block letters.

“You’ve been packing that same stack of novels for two hours, Red,” my dad said, leaning against my open doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. He was still in his crisp work suit, looking every bit the high-powered CEO, though his tie was loosened at his neck.

“They’re delicate, Dad,” I replied, sitting back on my heels and wiping a stray strand of red hair out of my face. “And I have to organize them by author. It’s a delicate process.”

He chuckled, stepping into the room to pick up a framed photo from my nightstand—a picture of the two of us and my mom at my high school graduation a few months ago. He stared at it for a moment, his eyes softening in that quiet, rare way he only ever let show at home.

“I still don’t understand why you refused to let me hire movers to drive your stuff up to North Ridge,” he said, setting the frame back down gently. “That’s what the company accounts are for.”

“Because I’m eighteen, not helpless,” I said, offering him a faint smile. “Plus, packing my own life into five boxes makes it feel... real. Like I’m actually going.”

“It’s very real,” my mom added, stepping past my dad into the room holding a freshly folded laundry basket. She set it down by my closet, giving me a warm, reassuring look. “Your father is just panicking because his only daughter won’t be downstairs making late-night coffee with him anymore.”

“I am not panicking,” my dad insisted smoothly, though he didn’t deny the coffee part. He looked at his watch, adjusting his cuff. “Just... call when you get to the gas station off the highway on your drive up. And when you get to the dorms. And before you go to sleep.”

“Yes, Dad. Three calls a day minimum,” I teased, standing up to stretch my legs.

From the corner of the room, a low, demanding meow cut through the sentimentality. Luna, my two-year-old void of a black cat, stepped out from under the bed with her tail held straight up in the air like a tiny antenna. She walked over to my half-packed trunk, gave it a sniff of pure disdain, and hopped right into an empty box, curling her sleek black body into a tight circle.

“See?” I pointed at her. “Luna agrees. She’s ready to move into the dorm.”

“I still can’t believe the university approved a pet waiver for a freshman,” my dad muttered, though I knew he’d been the one who secretly double-checked the housing department’s emotional support animal paperwork to ensure it went through without a hitch.

“She keeps me sane,” I said, kneeling down to scratch behind Luna’s ears. She purred loudly, leaning into my hand. “Besides, she hates everyone else anyway. Who would watch her?”

My phone buzzed on the bed—a group chat notification lighting up the screen.

Chloe: Car’s outside, Red! Get down here before the fries get cold!

Sam: If we don’t get the corner booth at Diner ’88 right now I’m going to lose my mind.

I looked up at my parents. “The crew is outside.”

My mom stepped over and pulled me into a tight, warm hug, smelling like vanilla and fresh rain. “Go enjoy your last official weekend before the madness starts. We’ll load the car together on Tuesday morning.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I murmured into her shoulder. My dad patted my back, lingering a second longer than usual before letting go.

I grabbed my purse, tossed my keys into my bag, and gave Luna one last scratch under the chin. “Back in a few hours, roomie.”

The late-August air was thick and warm, smelling like hot asphalt and fading summer as I jogged down the front steps. Chloe’s battered silver sedan was idling at the curb, stereo blaring a terrible pop song from three years ago that we all hated, yet somehow knew every single word to.

“Look who finally escaped the fortress!” Sam yelled from the backseat, sticking his head out the window as I opened the passenger door and climbed in.

“Dad was giving the ‘call me three times a day’ speech,” I said, pulling the seatbelt over my chest as Chloe pulled away from the curb.

“Classic Mr. Bright,” Chloe laughed, navigating down the tree-lined streets of our hometown. “My mom has already cried four times today, and I haven’t even started packing my shoes yet.”

Diner ’88 was our spot. It was a greasy-spoon dive on the edge of town with torn vinyl booths, jukeboxes that barely worked, and the best chocolate milkshakes in three counties. We’d spent every major life event here—post-game celebrations, breakup debriefs, cramming for midterms, and now, our final goodbye dinner before everyone scattered across the state for college.

We slid into our usual booth by the window, ordering a ridiculous spread of curly fries, onion rings, and three large shakes before the waitress even had time to hand us menus.

“So,” Sam said, leaning his elbows on the Formica table. “North Ridge. The legendary ice fortress. Are you actually ready for this, Cass?”

“I think so,” I said, stirring my shake with a red-and-white striped straw. “It’s a great business school. The town seems quiet enough. It’ll be nice to start over somewhere where nobody knows my dad’s last name.”

“Quiet?” Chloe snickered, popping a french fry into her mouth. “Cassidy, North Ridge is a Division I hockey school. That town lives and dies by the rink. Half the guys on campus walk around looking like demigods with missing teeth.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m going there for a degree, Chloe, not to sit in the bleachers cheering for guys who think hitting people into glass walls is a personality trait.”

“Famous last words,” Sam teased, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re going to get sucked into the sports culture. It’s inevitable. First week in, you’ll be wearing a oversized school jersey and drinking warm beer at a bonfire.”

“Hard pass,” I said smoothly. “I have a cat, a full course load, and a roommate I haven’t met yet who hopefully isn’t crazy. I don’t have time for college athletes.”

“Speaking of,” Chloe leaned in, dropping her voice to a dramatic whisper. “Did you look up the hockey team’s roster like I told you to?”

“No, because I have self-respect.”

“Well, I did,” Chloe grinned, pulling up her phone and sliding it across the sticky table toward me. “And their star center is literally trouble wrapped in a jersey. Look at this.”

I glanced down at the screen reluctantly. The photo showed a guy in a dark green and white hockey uniform, leaning casually against the rink boards with an arrogant, half-crooked smirk. Dark curly hair, sharp jawline, and eyes that looked like he knew every dirty secret in the room. The caption below read: Kieran Wells | #24 | Junior | Center.

“He looks like he breaks hearts for sport,” I said, sliding the phone right back to her without missing a beat.

“He does!” Chloe giggled. “My cousin goes to North Ridge. She said he’s the campus player. Like, legendary level. Flirts with anything that breathes, never calls back, total disaster zone.”

“Good thing I’m immune to cocky guys with bad reputations,” I said, reaching for an onion ring. “I’m going to university to build a career, not to be another notch on some hockey player’s stick.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Sam chuckled, raising his glass in a toast. “To Cassidy Bright: the only freshman who’s going to college actually planning to study.”

We clinked our glasses together over the pile of fries, the laughter easy and familiar. But as I looked around the booth at the faces I’d grown up with, a tight little knot formed in the center of my chest.

In seventy-two hours, I’d be sitting in a dorm room three hours away, surrounded by total strangers, in a town dominated by a game I didn’t care about and guys I had no intention of knowing.

I took a sip of my shake and pushed the thought away. I had a plan, a goal, and a clear path ahead. Nothing at North Ridge was going to throw me off course.