Theo's pov
You know what's worse than 5 a.m. practice?
Double period maths.
I'd rather take a puck to the face than listen to Mr. Cartwright drone on about logarithmic equations at 8:15 in the morning while trying to act like he's the cleverest man in Britain just because he did his A-levels back in the Jurassic era.
"Dodge," he snapped, mid-rant about some exam rubric I already stopped listening to, "care to join us mentally or would you rather continue practicing your model stare into the window?"
I looked up, deadpan. "Was checking if my soul had left my body yet."
Someone snorted behind me. Cartwright didn't find it funny.
"Detention."
"Brilliant. I'll add it to the collection."
He turned back to the board like he hadn't just tanked the last will I had to live.
---
Between classes, the halls were chaos. Over-perfumed sixth form girls giggling like life was a YA romcom. Some Year 10s sprinting like they were being chased by Satan. And the usual crowd pretending they didn't care who watched them walk by, when we all knew they absolutely did.
"Oi, Dodge," Avinav jogged up beside me, slapping the back of my head like a proper menace. "You're trending again."
"What?"
He held out his phone. An Instagram reel—someone had filmed me lacing up my skates before practice, shirt half-off, jaw clenched, hair a mess. Caption:
> "If sin had a face, it'd be Theodore Dodge. 💀🔥 #rinkboy #deluluapproved"
I stared at it, then at him. "Who the hell films me in the locker room?"
"Be flattered. You're the school's unofficial thirst trap."
"And you're the school's official idiot."
"You love me."
"Debatable."
---
By lunch, I was over it.
The noise, the stares, the whispers—God, you'd think I saved puppies and donated blood with how people act. It's exhausting being everyone's fantasy when you're just trying to find a quiet table and not lose your mind.
I sat at our usual spot—outside under the quad's covered benches, near the hedge where no one could sneak up from behind.
Avinav flopped next to me with two protein bars and a soda. "We've got the physics mock next week."
"Cool. I'll fail it in style."
"D'you even try in anything that's not hockey?"
"Why waste effort on things that aren't gonna get me drafted?"
He gave me a look. "Because if you break your ankle tomorrow, you'll need a backup plan."
"Positive vibes, mate."
"Reality check, mate."
We sat in silence for a minute. A group of girls across the courtyard kept throwing glances, one of them twirling her hair so violently I thought she might take off like a helicopter.
"Your fan club is on again," Avi muttered.
"Don't care."
"Liar."
"No, I genuinely don't. They're not interested in me. Just the image."
"The image is hot."
"And it's fake."
That shut him up.
---
There's something weird about being admired for the version of yourself you only put on because it's easier than being real.
The real Theo? He doesn't always want to flirt. Or smirk. Or talk.
Sometimes, he just wants to sit in silence, eat his overpriced cafeteria crisps, and not feel like he's performing 24/7.
But you can't be vulnerable when the whole school's watching.
So you play the part.
And eventually, the part starts playing you.