Almost Him, Almost You

I didn’t expect to feel like a stranger in my own town. But then again, I didn’t expect to see him tonight either.

I take my seat, the plastic crinkling, while the crowd roars, fans stumping their shoes on the ground and cheering, the icy air thick with anticipation. The ice gleams like glass, flawless and frozen, but I know better. Beneath the surface it’s scuffed, cracked, carved up by the skates and collisions. Just like this town, perfect from a distance, full of old lines if you look closer.

In Medford hockey isn’t just a sport. It’s the town’s whole identity, even high school hockey. And today is the day, the two main rival high schools face off for the final game this season.

The summer before seventh grade, my parents made me switch schools. We moved to the south side of Medford, and I had to leave everything behind, especially my best friends.Truth is, my life here in the South isn’t bad. I’ve made new friends. I’m dating Luke, the captain of the Southside High School Red Hawks.

The players glide onto the rink like it’s second nature. His team is the first one to enter the rink in a blur of red and yellow jerseys, the crowd goes wild, cheering in anticipation of the game.

While I admire the sport and show up to most of the games, mostly for Luke’s sake, I’ve never felt the urge to memorise stats or the standings. Hockey matters here, but not in my bones the way it does for others, I just don’t feel the need to obsess over the teams.

When the boys finish their grand entry Luke skates up to me and puts his hands on the plexiglass building a wall between us.

“That jersey looks good on you, Audrey” he says, with a grin.

I feel the heat rush to my cheeks as I feel eyes staring at us from all across the arena, hearing the whispers ripple through the crowd behind me. I glance down at his oversized jersey, trying to make it look less like a dress. I look back up at him and my eyes lock on his deep brown ones, both of us getting lost in the moment.

He winks, taps the glass, and turns back toward his team, just in time for his teammate to barrel into him. Luke, laughs, blows me a dramatic kiss and skates away, which honestly had more of an impact on the fangirls sitting behind me than it did on me. He loves showing off, he’s been that way since we met.

The crowd erupts again.

The North Peak Polar Bears take the ice. I hear the cheers and boos echo in the background while I just stay put in my place and gaze out into the rink, seeing the blue and white jerseys swirl across the rink. Contemplating what my life would have been like if I hadn’t moved.

And then I see him.

He’s just another player at first. Number 11. Moving with that same quiet intensity I used to know. My breath catches.

My eyes lock onto the opposite teams captain. I lean forward, squinting through the plexiglass, trying to make sense of the shape of his face under the helmet. And then he turns. Just a flick of his head, just enough for me to see the set of his jaw.

My heart stumbles. That’s when I know.

He looks familiar, painfully familiar. Like his name is on the tip of my tongue, yet I can’t seem to put my finger on what it is. It’s been a while since I was on that side of town.

The commentators voices blare through the speakers. Then I hear it. It’s his name that hits me first. Not his number, not his school. His name. Full, clear, like it never left me. Like I’d been carrying it all along and only now remembered the weight of it.

“Jonathan” I whisper under my breath as I realise who it is. “I didn’t know he’s the captain now.”

He looks different than he did back then. Older. Taller. Stronger. Almost serious. Though it’s hard to tell through all the gear and layers, I try to tell myself.

Still, the heat rising in my cheeks feels more intense this time.

Maybe if I hadn’t left, he’d still be my best friend. Or maybe more. We were thirteen, what did we know?

But I still remember the way he looked at me when I got in the car that last day, like he already knew we’d never go back to how it was. I never wrote. I told myself it was easier that way. But now, watching him here, I’m not so sure.

I remember our last day like a photograph left too long in the sun, edges are blurry, but the centre’s still sharp. We sat on the curb outside the corner store, eating sour gummies and throwing rocks into the gutter.

“They’re moving us south,” I had said, trying to sound casual, like it didn’t matter.

He didn’t answer. Just kept throwing rocks.

“We’ll still hang out,” I tried again.

He looked up then. “Sure,” he said, and I knew it was a lie. Not because he meant to lie, but because we both knew how these things went. One zip code over might as well be the moon when you’re thirteen.

When I got in the car that day, he stood there with his hands in his pockets, not waving, not smiling. Just watching.

Maybe we would’ve drifted anyway. Maybe high school would’ve made us strangers no matter what.

But part of me always thought: if I stayed, he would’ve stayed too. Not just physically, but as that version of him. The one who knew how to make me laugh without trying. The one who looked at me like I wasn’t just another face in the crowd.

Now, I don’t know who he is anymore.

The game starts,faster than I remember. Sticks clash, skates cut into the ice, and the puck darts across the rink like it’s got a mind of its own.

Luke dominates the opening minutes, weaving between defenders and passing clean, sharp. He’s good. Confident. Flashy, even.

The crowd chants his name like a battle cry.

“LUKE! LUKE! LUKE!”

And then the puck changes sides.

North Peak takes control, and everything slows.

Jonathan moves differently. He doesn’t demand attention the way Luke does. He just... commands it. Smooth, quiet, efficient. Every movement looks planned. Calculated. He looks like he’s actually enjoying the game, not just trying to win.

His skates cut arcs into the ice like calligraphy. He doesn’t race, he glides. Sticks clash all around him, the boards rattle with impact, and still he moves like the calm at the centre of a storm.

I find myself leaning forward instinctively.

We used to meet behind the bleachers and throw pebbles at the opposing team’s banner before games. “North Peak will never lose,” he’d whisper like it was a spell. I’d always laugh, even when they did.

He skates past the bench, and our eyes meet, just for a second.

It’s enough.

I feel it, deep in my chest. Like something waking up.

The crowd roars again, someone scores. Southside, I think. But I barely notice.

My eyes are still on Jonathan, who’s already skating back into formation, jaw clenched, laser-focused.

Luke passes the bench and shoots me a grin, holding up two fingers to signal the score. He looks proud. Cocky.

I smile back, but it feels automatic.

Because now I can’t stop watching Jonathan.

And the worst part is, I don’t know why.

The final third starts off tense.

The score is tied now, 2:2, and you can feel the pressure building in every pass, every shove, every shout from the benches. The cheers have turned sharp, urgent. Less celebration, more desperation.

It’s not just a game anymore. It feels like something else now, like both sides are fighting for more than a win. Maybe that’s just in my head. Maybe not.

Luke is skating faster, playing harder, jaw tight with focus. But North Peak is matching their energy. And Jonathan,he’s like a shadow. Always where the puck is. Always one step ahead.

Then it happens.

The puck shoots toward the corner. Both captains chase it down. Their skates cut deep into the ice as they barrel toward each other, shoulder to shoulder.

I hold my breath.

They crash into the boards with a sickening thud. The entire arena gasps, so do I. The noise fades, like everything else in the room just paused to see which version of my life wins this time.

I grip the edge of my seat so hard my knuckles turn white. Every muscle in my legs is tense, like I’m the one bracing for impact.

The cold seeps through the seams of the arena, but my palms are sweating. It’s not just the game. It’s this ache building in my chest, this sense that I’m watching two different parts of my life crash into each others at full speed. And there is no way to stop it.

Luke tries to shove past him, but Jonathan doesn’t back down. Words are exchanged, too fast and too low for me to hear. Whatever they’re saying, it isn’t friendly.

Jonathan gives Luke a final shove and skates off. Luke hesitates a beat, staring after him. Then he glances toward me.

Our eyes meet.

And in that split second, something flashes across his face, something between warning and insecurity.

I look away. My eyes followJonathan again, secretly hoping he will score.

The ref blows the whistle. The game keeps going.

But the energy has shifted.

Southside comes back harder. Luke, like he has something to prove. The whole team kicks into overdrive. And five minutes before the final whistle, they score.

The crowd explodes. Red and yellow everywhere.

Final score: 3:2.

Southside wins.

Luke raises both arms in victory, skating straight toward the glass again, triumphant, magnetic. A crowd of fans screams his name like he’s already won everything worth winning. He presses his palm against it, beaming at me.

I smile and clap along with everyone else.

He’s mine, I remind myself. My boyfriend. My team. My side.

But why does it feel like I just lost something I can’t name?

I press my hand against the glass, mirroring his.

But my heart is still racing for a completely different reason.My chest feels tight. Hollow, almost. Luke may have won the game, but something about the way Jonathan played, calm, unshaken, stayed with me longer than the score.

And suddenly I’m thirteen again, torn between two worlds, wishing I didn’t have to choose.

Because somewhere out on the ice, Jonathan is still staring at me, too. Like he recognised me. I can feel his eyes on me, on us.

I think he’s going to look away. He doesn’t.

Even from across the ice, even through all that gear, I can feel it. The way he’s studying me like I’m the one thing that doesn’t make sense anymore.

Luke turns toward the bench, caught in a celebration huddle, oblivious.

But Jonathan stays still. Watching.

And for a breathless second, I wonder what it would feel like to walk out of this arena, and and walk straight back into the life I left behind