Chapter 111 HATING THE HOCKEY CAPTAIN PART 1

Chapter 111 HATING THE HOCKEY CAPTAIN PART 1
Sara’s POV
The hallway was crowded and noisy, the usual chaos between classes. People were laughing, lockers were slamming shut, and someone’s perfume mixed with the sharp scent of cleaning spray in the air. I hurried through the crowd, clutching my bag close to my chest. The strap kept slipping off my shoulder, and I was already late for my next class. My locker was near the end of the hall, and I just wanted to grab my books and disappear before the bell rang again.
But, of course, fate had other plans.
I turned a corner too quickly and crashed straight into someone—hard enough to make my books slip from my hands and scatter across the floor.
“Watch it!” I snapped, dropping to my knees to pick them up before realizing who I’d bumped into.
Archer King.
Just my luck.
The school’s hockey captain. The golden boy. The one everyone loved to hate—but mostly loved. His name was everywhere—on trophies, in whispers, and even written in hearts on the bathroom wall. Archer King was the guy teachers never scolded and girls couldn’t stop talking about. He was the definition of untouchable.
He bent down slowly, his shadow falling over me as he picked up one of my notebooks. When I looked up, our eyes met. His grey eyes—stormy, sharp, and way too confident—stared straight into mine. My breath caught for a second, and I hated that it did.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said, flashing that lazy smirk that made half the girls in this school lose their minds.
I scowled and snatched my notebook from his hand. “Don’t call me that.”
He chuckled softly, not even pretending to be sorry. “You bumped into me, you know.”
“Yeah, and I already said watch it,” I shot back, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off my skirt. “Maybe if you weren’t always standing in the middle of the hallway like you own the place—”
“But I kinda do,” he interrupted, still smiling, like this was all some big joke.
I rolled my eyes and turned back to my locker, ignoring him. Of course, he didn’t take the hint. He leaned against the locker next to mine, watching me with that infuriating calmness, as if he had all the time in the world.
Every time we crossed paths, it went like this. I’d tell him off, and he’d flirt like it was a sport. It was exhausting. And yet, somehow, he never stopped.
Maybe it was because he thought I was different—because I didn’t giggle or blush or fall for his stupid compliments. Or maybe he was just bored.
Either way, I wanted nothing to do with him.
It didn’t help that my mum worked for his family. The Kings were practically royalty in this town. Their mansion was up on the hill, all marble and glass, while we lived in a tiny apartment that smelled like old paint and laundry soap. My mum cleaned their house, served at their fancy dinners, and sometimes came home late, too tired to even eat.
Meanwhile, Archer was their perfect son. The one who got everything handed to him. The one who had never struggled for anything.
And the worst part? He was annoyingly attractive. Like, unfairly so.
His black hair was always a little messy, but in that kind of way that looked planned, like he’d spent hours trying to make it look like he didn’t care. It always fell over his forehead, and sometimes he’d run his fingers through it and it would fall right back again. His jawline looked sharp enough to slice paper, and when he smirked, it made my stomach twist in the most irritating way.
And those eyes—God, those grey eyes. Cold and stormy, like they could see right through every word I said. I hated that I noticed that too.
“Why do you always look at me like you hate me?” he asked suddenly. His voice wasn’t as smug as usual—it was softer, curious even.
“Because I do,” I blurted out before I could think, but my voice came out a little weaker than I wanted. My heart did this stupid skip thing, and I hoped he didn’t notice.
He did. Of course he did.
Archer chuckled under his breath, leaning forward just slightly. “You’re lying.”
My breath caught. I looked up at him, and for a second, neither of us said anything. The space between us felt too small. Too full. His cologne—something dark and expensive—wrapped around me, and it made my head spin a little.
I quickly took a step back, my hands tightening around my bag. “Stay away from me, Archer.”
I didn’t wait for his reply. I shoved my books into my bag and swung it over my shoulder, trying to look calm even though my pulse was thudding in my ears.
As I walked away, I could feel his gaze burning into my back. I didn’t have to look to know he was still standing there, smirking to himself like he’d just found a new game to play.
And deep down, even though I’d never admit it—I had a bad feeling that game was me.
By the time I got to class, my shoulders already ached from rushing through the crowded hallway. My bag felt heavier than usual, and my hair was a mess from the wind outside. I sighed quietly, tucked a strand behind my ear, and slid into my usual seat by the window—third row, near the back. It was my little corner of peace.
The classroom smelled faintly of old chalk, pencil shavings, and that floral perfume the teacher always wore. Students were chatting, laughing, and scrolling through their phones. I placed my books neatly on the desk, trying to calm myself before the lesson began.
The bell rang, sharp and loud, and everyone hurried to face the front. The teacher started the lesson in her usual calm tone, talking about something I wasn’t even fully paying attention to yet—something about literature themes or narrative structure, I think.
And then, just when I thought I could finally breathe for five minutes—
The door creaked open.
Every head turned.
And in walked Archer King.