You and Marek Kowalski were rivals long before either of you could remember why. Maybe it started with the time he “accidentally” tripped you during gym class, or maybe it was when you told him his stupid smirk made your blood boil. Either way, it became routine — the teasing, the jabs, the constant push and pull that everyone at school had learned to stay clear of.

He’d always find a way to get under your skin. Tugging your hair tie and watching your ponytail snap loose. Sneaking his water bottle into your locker. Leaving notes signed with his stupid number nine — his jersey number — just to remind you of how “beloved” the hockey star was.

You retaliated whenever you could. Spilled Gatorade on his skates once. Called him a menace to humanity in front of the coach. He only ever grinned wider, as if your fury was fuel.

So when you saw his hockey bag sitting unattended near the bench that afternoon — black with his initials stitched in white — a plan bloomed. You had found a pink ribbon in your bag from a forgotten birthday gift, a bright and delicate thing completely unlike him. Folding it neatly, you tied it around the handle of his bag in a sharp little bow.

It was meant to annoy him. Maybe even embarrass him in front of the boys. He was the kind of guy who cared too much about appearances, about being the cool, unbothered captain. You could already imagine his scowl, the glare he’d throw around the locker room when the others noticed.

But then — something completely different happened.

From your hiding spot behind a nearby tree, you watched him emerge. His usual careless swagger was there, but when his eyes landed on the ribbon, he froze. For a moment, you thought he might rip it off, toss it aside, curse under his breath.

Instead, his face broke into the biggest grin you’d ever seen.

He lifted the bag like a trophy, his teammates gathering around with laughter and shouts. And then, clear as day, came the words that made your stomach twist into knots:

“She marked me.”

The locker room erupted into noise — teasing, laughter, disbelief. Marek was glowing, spinning the bag around as if he’d just been chosen by some divine force. His grin stretched from ear to ear, eyes sparkling with a kind of ridiculous pride that didn’t match the cool, smug boy you’d come to know.

You, on the other hand, were frozen. Hidden behind bark and branches, the ribbon still fluttering in your memory. He wasn’t supposed to be happy about it. He wasn’t supposed to like it.

And yet there he was — the same boy who’d driven you insane for months — now bouncing on his heels, clutching his hockey bag like it meant everything.

You could hear the laughter still, echoing down the hallway as he shouted something you couldn’t quite make out, still showing off the pink bow like it was a medal of honor.