Chapter 3 Chapter 3
PEARL’S POV
I wake up to my phone vibrating like the world is ending. Half asleep, I grab it off the nightstand and instantly regret opening my notifications.
“Hockey Star Davis Ford Calmed By Mystery Girl.”“Internet Obsessed With Viral Arena Moment.”“Who Is Pearl Arlo?”
“Oh, hell no.” I sit up too fast and nearly smack my head against the wall behind my bed.
The internet has apparently lost its mind overnight. Videos of me are everywhere now. TikTok, Instagram, sports pages, campus gossip accounts, even fan edits with dramatic music playing behind my face like I died in a tragic romance movie.
One video zooms in on Davis staring at me in the tunnel. The comments underneath are worse.
He looked at her like she stopped the fight with magic. No because why did he calm down immediately? That man is DOWN BAD already.
“What the fuck is wrong with people?” I mutter. Before I can spiral properly, my phone starts ringing again. Gift.
“I’m dropping out,” I answer immediately. Her sleepy voice crackles through the speaker. “Good morning to you girrll.”
“There are edits of me.” A pause. Then, “Wait…… edits edits?”
“Yes!”
“Oh my God.” I hear movement on her side. “Send them right now.”
“I’d rather get hit by a car.”
“You’re serious?”
“There’s violin music, Gift.” She starts laughing instantly. “You are literally campus famous now,” she gasps. “I hate every second of this.”
“No, listen.” She’s still laughing. “‘He looked at her like a Victorian man seeing ankles for the first time.’”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. Gift immediately catches it. “Aha.”
“Don’t start.”
“You laughed.”
“You’re annoying.”
“And you love me.” Gift somehow treats life like a game while I treat mine like a survival strategy. I make schedules for fun.
“You still going to class?” she asks. “What choice do I have?”
“You could fake food poisoning.”
“It only works if you’re committed to the performance.”
“See? This is why you’re scary.” By the time I reach campus, I already want to go home.
People recognize me immediately. A guy outside the student center nudges his friend. “Yo, that’s her.”
The hockey girl. I shove my headphones on and keep walking even though no music is playing.
Westbridge feels louder than usual today. Giant screens replay clips from last night’s game while students argue about Davis like sports majors suddenly became licensed therapists.
Near the library, I stop at a coffee cart because caffeine feels medically necessary at this point.
The guy working glances up, then freezes. “Oh shit,” he blurts. I stare at him. His face turns red immediately. “Sorry. That sounded bad.”
“It definitely sounded bad.”
“I just meant….. from the video.”
“Unfortunately.” He hands me my coffee awkwardly. “For what it’s worth, you looked kinda cool.” I almost smile. “Thanks.”
“You should start charging hockey players for emotional support.” I snort quietly before walking away. The mood disappears once I enter the psychology building and spot reporters downstairs near the athletics offices.
Apparently the Davis situation keeps getting worse. Sponsors are pulling away, scouts are questioning his draft potential publicly, and students around campus keep replaying the fight like it’s entertainment instead of an actual breakdown.
The weird part is I can still remember the look on his face afterward. Exhausted like he was aware everyone was watching him lose control in real time.
I hate that my brain keeps replaying it. By afternoon, I’m sitting inside Professor Hernandez’s office trying not to lose my cool.
“The department selected you to supervise Davis Ford’s rehabilitation tutoring sessions,” she explains calmly. I blink once. “No.”
“Pearl…….”
“No.”
“You’re one of our strongest behavioral analysis students.”
“That still doesn’t mean I want responsibility for a hockey player with anger issues.” Her expression tightens slightly. “This situation is important for the university.” I let out a short laugh. “Of course it is.” Because Davis Ford makes the university money.
She studies me for a second. “You’re reacting emotionally.”
“I wonder why.”
“Pearl.”
“No, seriously. Why would I willingly involve myself in this mess?” Especially when messy situations have a habit of ruining everyone nearby too.
Unfortunately, life apparently finds my suffering entertaining. Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting across from my scholarship advisor hearing words that make my stomach drop.
“Several postgraduate opportunities connected to your research are partially funded through partnerships associated with Ford Sports Group.”
I stare at her quietly. “So refusing would make things complicated.” Her silence answers loudly enough.
Damn it, I leave the office irritated enough to spend six dollars on a muffin purely out of spite. By the next evening, I’m standing outside the rehabilitation meeting room gripping my notebook tighter than necessary.
This is temporary, survive the sessions and move on. Except my stomach keeps doing this weird nervous thing that honestly needs to calm down.
I push the door open and freeze. Davis Ford is already inside wearing a dark hoodie, a fading bruise visible along his jaw.
One AirPod sits in his ear while his hockey stick rests against the wall beside him, covered in neat strips of black tape he’s absentmindedly peeling apart with his fingers.
His phone lies face-down on the desk untouched. Then he looks up and the second he sees me, his entire attention sharpens.
Focused instantly like he’s been waiting for me specifically.
My grip tightens around my notebook before I can stop it. Because suddenly this feels less like a university assignment and more like the beginning of a mistake I’m going to regret getting attached to.
