I hide a smile as we pull up outside the wood lodge that houses the participants in CFOC. Lancaster sponsors many clinics throughout the year, but this one has always been my favorite. Tucked away amidst freshwater lakes and towering pines, it’s definitely the most scenic. It draws players from the best programs in North America, meaning it’s a chance to settle old scores and start new rivalries each year before the season officially starts.

“First clinic starts in an hour,” Coach Taylor announces from the front of the coach bus we made the trek from the airport in. “Get changed, get settled, and don’t be late.”

Emma files out into the aisle and I follow, trailed by the rest of our teammates. Cressida yawns widely as we pass through the automatic doors that lead into the lodge. It’s welcoming and homey, with a fire crackling behind the reception desk that makes me feel like it’s winter rather than barely September. There’s a massive chandelier hanging in the center of the lobby, constructed from antlers. I notice Emma eyeing it and grin.

We get checked in and head upstairs. Emma and I are sharing a room, and Cressida and Anne are across the hall. Emma swipes the plastic card against the keypad, and we head inside the room. It’s your average room, except with woolen blankets covering the bedspread and prints of snowy mountains on the walls.

“Bye-bye, summer,” Emma mumbles, flopping down on the buffalo print covering her bed.

I set my duffle bag on the dresser and unzip it to grab my cleats and shin guards. “All good things must come to an end.”

“Did you change your major again? Philosophy this time?”

I stick my tongue out at her and flop down on my bed. “Is it just me, or are these blankets actually really comfortable?”

“It’s just you,” Emma replies. “Mine’s scratchy.”

“I’m taking this back to school.” I pat the tartan pattern I’m lying on.

“Brilliant plan. They’ll never notice,” Emma mutters.

I choose to ignore her sarcasm, closing my eyes and snuggling against the soft wool. What feels like mere minutes later, there’s a knock at our door.

Emma murmurs something unintelligible. I drag myself vertical and stagger over to the door. I blink through sleepy eyes to see Anne and Cressida standing in the hallway.

“Told you they’d be asleep,” Anne informs Cressida.

“Last time I don’t bet against you, Scott,” Cressida tells me. “Let’s go. Clinic time.”