Salute the Commander

[Emily’s POV]

The thing about starting over is that nobody tells you how exhausting it is to pretend you know what the fuck you're doing.

Two hours ago, things were simpler and I knew what my day held.

First practice, new team, fresh start in a new city. The motel’s bedspread had a pattern that seemed designed to hide stains of unknown origin and I chose not to investigate.

I'd been there almost a week, waiting for dorms to open. Plenty of time to memorize every water stain on the ceiling and develop a complicated relationship with the vending machine down the hall.

Coach Marquette recruited me specifically. A scholarship, a way out of my old program which wasn’t bad, but opportunities here are better.

A way away from my mother.

She thought I was making a mistake, she usually does. But she also drove me to the airport and told me to call when I landed.

We're complicated like that—like her sending me to learn ice skating at the age of four, and years later trying to find me a ‘nice guy’ to settle down with because apparently my head got into the game a little too much.

Typical mother-daughter stuff. Not even worth mentioning.

Just like the endless guys she’s trying to set me up with.

I'm standing in the Lakeview University’s ice rink, trying to look like I belong here. The rink itself is beautiful. Cold and bright, the ice freshly resurfaced and gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

"Don't stretch there."

I look up to find a girl with wild curly hair pointing at the spot I'd been eyeing. She's got the kind of face that makes you want to trust her immediately—open, amused, slightly chaotic.

"That's Maddie's spot," she continues. "Actually, everything from here to the Zamboni entrance is basically Maddie's spot. The girl has more territory than a medieval lord."

"Maddie?" I stand, grabbing my water bottle.

"Our illustrious captain. Think Regina George but with triple axels and daddy's credit card." The girl extends her hand. "I'm Ava. You must be the new scholarship kid Coach has been hyping."

"Emily,” I said, shaking her hand. “And 'hyping' feels generous. More like 'mentioned once in passing.'"

Ava laughs, and it's the first genuine sound I've heard since arriving. "Trust me, if Coach mentioned you at all, it is hype."

We settle onto a bench, and I start lacing my skates while Ava gives me what she calls "the survival guide to not getting emotionally murdered."

"Maddie, she's…” Ava's voice drops. "Look, she's an incredible skater. Like, stupid good. But she's also the kind of person who'll smile at you while calculating exactly where to insert the knife for maximum damage."

"Sounds delightful."

Then I follow her gaze to a cluster of girls near center ice. They're all variations on a theme—long legs, perfect ponytails and casual confidence. And in the center, like the sun they're all orbiting around, is… No way.

My stomach drops through the floor, possibly into another dimension where things make sense. Because the girl holding court out there, the one with the perfect posture and the laugh that carries across the ice like a threat, is Maddie.

My Madison.

Or at least, the Madison who used to be mine, back when we were twelve and thought friendship meant forever.

Ava keeps talking, but I can't stop staring.

Years have turned her into something out of a magazine—all sharp angles and deliberate beauty. The baby fat's gone, replaced by cheekbones that could cut glass and a presence that sucks up all the oxygen in a room.

She's gorgeous.

The kind of gorgeous that makes you stupid. Makes you forget things like self-preservation and the fact that she apparently rules this place through fear and superior conditioning.

Before I can answer, my traitorous legs are already moving.

There's this stupid, hopeful part of me that thinks maybe—maybe—when she sees me, something will click. We'll laugh about the odds, she'll introduce me to everyone, and it'll be like those years apart never happened.

I'm an idiot.

"Madison?"

She turns, and for one perfect second, I see recognition flash across her face. Her eyes, still that impossible shade of brown that used to make me forget my own name, widen slightly.

Then her expression smooths into something cold and polished, like she's pulled on a mask. "It’s Maddie. Can I help you?"

The words are ice water to the face. She's looking at me like I'm a stranger.

No, worse. Like I'm an inconvenience.

"It's me. Emily? We used to—"

"Oh my God." She cuts me off, and her voice is loud enough that her bees all turn to stare. "Emily Harper?"

The way she says my name makes it sound like a disease. "Yeah, I…"

"This is hilarious." She turns to her followers, who are watching us with the kind of anticipation usually reserved for reality TV disasters. "Girls, this is Emily. We were friends when we were... what? Twelve?"

"Eight to twelve, actually." The correction slips out before I can stop it.

"Right." Her laugh is crystalline, sharp enough to draw blood. "Back when we thought matching friendship bracelets were peak fashion. How embarrassing."

My face is burning. "You made those bracelets too."

"Did I?" Maddie tilts her head, studying me like I'm a particularly boring museum exhibit. "I blocked out a lot of my tragic phase. You know how it is. We all have that friend from childhood we're embarrassed about."

That friend.

Not her best friend. Not the girl she used to sneak into movies with. Not the person who knew she was terrified of thunderstorms and would stay on the phone with her until they passed.

Just that friend. The embarrassing one.

"Though I guess some people never grow out of their tragic phase," she continues, her eyes doing a slow scan from my skates to my definitely-not-designer practice gear. "Cute that you still skate though. Recreation league?"

"I'm on the team," I manage, my voice barely steady. "Coach Marquette recruited me."

Something flickers in her expression—surprise, maybe, or annoyance. But it's gone before I can process it.

"How... special." She draws out the word like it tastes bad. "Try to keep up, won't you? We have standards here."

She starts to turn away, then pauses, looking back over her shoulder.

"Oh, and Emily? That thing where you used to follow me around like a puppy? Let's not do that here. It's giving desperate, and honestly?" She smiles, and it's all teeth. "It was embarrassing then, too."

The words land like physical blows. Follow her around like a puppy?

I was her best friend. We were equals. At least, I thought we were.