Chapter 1 – The Confession and the Ice Breaker

The air outside the ice rink stung my cheeks as I stood by the vending machine, clutching a crumpled note in my pocket like it was a grenade.

"This is a terrible idea, Rae," my best friend Hana had whispered two hours earlier. "He’s the team captain. He’s not even in your orbit."

Maybe that was true. He wasn’t just out of my league—he was playing a different sport entirely. Literally. But I was done watching him from the art room window while sketching the curve of his jawline like a love-sick cartoonist.

Lucas Park.

Captain of the ice hockey team. National-level forward. Straight A student when he bothered to show up to class, which, annoyingly, he still managed to ace. Tall—maybe six feet—lean but broad-shouldered, with a face that seemed sculpted for heartbreak: dark, stormy eyes under thick brows, a defined jawline, and a mouth that looked like it rarely smiled but could destroy you when it did.

He always looked like he was carrying the weight of ten things he’d never talk about. Mysterious. Untouchable. The kind of guy who didn’t need to say a lot to own the room.

He wasn’t loud like the other athletes. He didn’t flirt or show off. But when he was on the ice, he owned it. Controlled chaos with blades on his feet. Confidence, not arrogance. Charisma without trying. He had this gravity that pulled people toward him without him even looking up.

And maybe that’s why I liked him.

Because he never chased attention—but he always got it.

And I… I had been crushing on him for a year. Watching from the sidelines. Wondering if maybe, just maybe, he noticed me too.

This was my Year of Bold Decisions. And this? This was Bold Decision #1:

Confess to the guy I’ve crushed on for a year.

The doors of the rink creaked open. The team started filing out, laughing, shoving, dripping sweat and victory. And then—him. Lucas. Towel slung around his neck, a hockey stick still in hand, dark hair damp and curling at the ends.

My heart forgot how to beat.

I stepped forward. “Lucas!”

He turned, his brown eyes flicking toward me with that cool, unreadable stare. “Yeah?”

“I—I need to tell you something.” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat. “Privately?”

He blinked, then shrugged and followed me a few feet away, still wiping sweat from his jawline. “You okay?”

No. Not even remotely. I was about to publicly destroy the thin layer of dignity I had left.

I took a breath so deep it hurt my ribs. “I like you. I have for a while. A year, actually. I just thought… you should know.”

Silence.

His expression didn’t change. His brow didn’t lift. He didn’t smile. He didn’t even blink for a second too long.

Then he said, “Sorry. I don’t feel the same.”

Just like that.

Like I’d asked him if he wanted gum, and he’d politely declined.

The cold didn’t hit until after he turned and walked away, towel swinging over one shoulder. It wasn’t the outside chill. It was the kind that bloomed in your chest and sat there like frostbite.

---

Day 2

The weird part wasn’t the screaming.

It was the tone of the screaming. Like it was coming from someone who knew all my secrets.

"RAE!" a voice bellowed from the doorway.

I sat bolt upright in a bed that wasn’t mine, in a room that smelled like sweat, cologne, and whatever scent screams "teenage boy who doesn't clean properly." A single hockey poster hung on the wall. The shelves were neat. Too neat.

The bedroom door slammed open.

And there, standing like the grim reaper of my self-respect, was… me.

Or more accurately, my body, glaring daggers.

"What the—" I started, but the voice that came out wasn’t mine. It was lower, rougher. Familiar in the way an echo is familiar.

I scrambled off the bed and ran to the mirror over the dresser. Staring back at me was Lucas Park. Messy dark hair. Strong jaw. Broad shoulders. Shirtless.

I screamed.

Then "I" screamed. My real voice. From the person standing in front of me.

“Wha—what is happening?!”

Lucas (in my body) pinched the bridge of my nose. “I was hoping this was a dream. That I didn’t actually wake up in your body and start freaking out when your mom offered me cereal and told me not to forget my ‘art competition sketchbook.’”

“I have an art competition next week!” I cried. “Wait, no! You’re in my body. Which means I’m—” I pointed to the mirror.

“Me,” he finished, flatly. “Which is a problem. A huge one.”

I staggered back, clutching the dresser. “Okay. Okay. This is—this is like that one movie. The one with the switching. Or a curse. Maybe we touched something? A comet? A cursed vending machine?”

Lucas crossed his arms. In my body. Which was horrifying. “Unless that vending machine was serving black magic with its lemon water, no.”

I stared at him. “You really think we swapped bodies because I confessed to you and the universe was like, ‘Let's humiliate her further'?”

Lucas gave me a look. “Trust me, this is not a gift for me either.”

Ouch.

He stepped closer. “But here's the real issue. Our final regional match is in five days. I’m team captain. Scouts are coming. If you screw this up in my body—”

“I don’t even know how to skate!”

“—you’re dead.”

“Do you hear yourself? This isn’t my fault!”

Lucas gestured to me. “Try telling that to the team when you fall on your face in front of everyone.”

I glared. “I can’t even lift a hockey stick.”

“Then you’d better start learning,” he said. “Get dressed.”

“What?”

“We’re going to the training rink.”

I looked down at myself—his self—and realized the universe had one sick sense of humor.

Twenty Minutes Later

“Don’t tighten the laces like that. You’ll cut off circulation.”

Lucas crouched beside me, adjusting the skates I’d fumbled onto my feet.

We were alone on the ice. Well, him and me. Technically just me. I guess.

He stood, handed me a stick, and pointed toward a pile of pucks near the boards. “You’re going to learn how to move, pass, shoot, and not humiliate me—or yourself.”

I stumbled forward. My ankle gave out. My body—his—tipped.

I crashed to the ice, knocking down two pucks, the stick flying from my hand.

Lucas sighed. Loudly.

“You're a disaster.”

“Thanks,” I snapped. “Very encouraging.”

He walked over, snatched the stick, and leaned in, too close. His face—my face—was set in a scowl. “I’m serious, Rae. If we lose because of you—”

“I’m dead,” I muttered. “Yeah. Message received.”

“No. You don’t get it.” His voice dropped. “Losing this match means losing my scholarship. My chance to get out of this town. If I lose this... I lose everything.”

That shut me up.

I looked down at the stick, at the ice, at the version of myself I didn’t recognize.

Maybe this wasn’t about a dumb crush anymore.

“Then you’d better start training,” he said.

I clenched the stick.

Fine. If I’m stuck in his body, I’m going to become him. Or at least fake it well enough not to ruin his life.

But deep down, something chilled me worse than the ice beneath my feet.

Because what if…

This switch wasn’t temporary?