• It was a Tuesday afternoon. I think. Or was it Sunday? Maybe Thursday? Well, if there is one think I know for sure, it was that Marshall Cross was the furthest thing on my mind that day.

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    "Luce! Lucy, are you watching?" Dad called as he craned his head to see me; the only girl in the entire rink. My attitude was less than content, considering I was being forced to be there by father's selfish desires. My eyebrows were pointed at such an angle that you would've thought they'd been drawn in. Suffice it to say, I was sullen. "See how fun it is? You could be doing this! You could be having this much fun!" Dad nodded enthusiastically before flashing me a smile and a thumbs-up
    I rolled my eyes and huffed. My silvery blonde hair was up in pigtails and my houndstooth coat was a little too warm, even in the freezing rink. Every boy in the third grade was scattered on the ice with their battle mugs on and their sticks ready. I recognized all of them, but greeted none of them. That was just how it worked back then, at least where I was from; girls with girls and boys with boys.
    I was an exception. Sure, I only had one boy as a friend, but he was my best friend--- and he still is, to this day. However, he was not one of the boys on the ice that day. And if you know him today, that's really no surprise. Vic Diamond is quite possibly the biggest video game nerd I know and quite definitely my best friend in the whole entire world. I hated video games but there was no doubt in my mind that I'd rather be sitting around playing those than sitting around watching little boys play hockey.
    I felt a warmth on my side. I snapped up to see my father taking a seat next to me. "See, Luce? Fun, right? Don't you wish you were out there?"
    My eyes narrowed as I looked up at my dad. "No," I simply said. I turned my attention forward again.
    As if he hadn't heard this, he beamed even further. He patted the top of my head, ruffling my bangs slightly before sighing and standing up again. I watched him leave before turning my attention again. I looked up to see a boy. He was taller than me with slightly disheveled brown hair under his helmet. He had the faint traces of a smile gracing his face and gave a small wave before refocusing and slamming his stick into the puck and scoring a goal.
    I raised an eyebrow, but shrugged it off. I stood up and stomped off into the gift shop where I complained to my mother until she brought me home. I didn't know it then, but this was probably one of the most important memories I'd ever have, and it was all because of the little boy with the messy hair.