What if it changed how they see me?
I peel off my jersey slowly. The thick fabric is damp and heavy. My skin prickles with leftover adrenaline, and my braid is stuck to the back of my neck with sweat. Everything itches. Everything feels off.
Maisie’s sitting beside me again. She hasn’t left my side since warm-up. She doesn’t ask questions. Just digs into her gym bag and wordlessly hands me a banana, like it’s medicine. I take it, but I don’t peel it. Just hold it in my hands. I’m not even sure why she gave it to me.
Beth passes by, dropping her gloves into her cubby. “We’ve got your back,” she says, not even pausing to make a thing of it.
“I know,” I mumble.
But I don’t know if that’s enough today. I pull out my phone. Against every warning in my gut, I open Instagram.
The video of the guys yelling at the rink is already up.
So is a split-screen with the original leaked clip. Side by side, me laughing, then me getting heckled. The caption reads:
“Clout always crashes.”
My stomach turns.
Maisie sees the screen over my shoulder. “Luna.”
“It meant something,” I whisper.
And maybe that’s the worst part. I wasn’t pretending. I wasn’t trying to scam anyone. I actually gave a shit about everything. The team, the community events, my followers, the donor… him.
The screen blurs in my vision, and I blink hard, trying to push back the sting. My fingers tremble as I swipe away from the video.
I feel hollow. Like someone scooped the marrow out of me and left the shell behind.
Maisie reaches over and taps her finger against my temple, light but grounding. “Hey. Look at me.”
I do. Barely.
“You’re not what they say you are,” she says.
“I know.” But do I?
Because the internet has a long memory, and people are addicted to drama. I’m not a girl in love anymore. I’m a cautionary tale.
And Beau?
Still silent.
Still not here.
By the time I’m dressed, the locker room’s half empty. I linger at my cubby, just long enough to avoid looking like I’m hiding. Maisie has somewhere to be, class or a meeting with our athletic advisor, and Beth offers a quick, tight hug before ducking out behind her.
It’s just me now.
Me and the silence.
I lean back against the locker and pull out my phone again. Not to scroll. I’m done with that for the day. Just to stare at the screen. The blankness is comforting in a way. A pause. A held breath.
Until a new text pops up from my sister.
Celeste: guess who got the call scholarship with Summergold it’s happening. ur off the hook
My throat closes. It’s not from sadness or envy. It’s pride. Tangled and raw to my overstimulated senses. A weight lifts off my shoulders, but I can’t even bring myself to be excited about it. I’ve got too many other things dragging me down. I sink onto the bench, phone still in my hand. It takes me a minute to type out a reply because my fingers don’t quite feel steady.
