I don’t.
I shower. Brush my teeth. Put on the uniform. Tie my tie. I do it all on autopilot, replaying her voice, her words, the way she looked like she was built from steel and lightning.
She turned down six figures.
I still can’t get over that.
Most people at Royal Oaks throw their daddy’s credit card at anything with a logo on it. She had a real shot at safety money, at never worrying about tuition again, and she said no because it was dirty.
Because it was hush money.
I stare at myself in the mirror.
Dark circles. Jaw clenched. Eyes that look like I’m about to start a fight or cry or both.
“I don’t deserve you,” I tell my reflection.
He doesn’t argue.
I grab my keys, my bag, and the world’s fakest sense of composure, then head out.
The drive to school is short and too long at the same time.
Newport in late November looks like a bad postcard. Cold sky, bare trees, old mansions flexing on everyone for no reason.
Every red light feels like a personal attack.
At the second light, my phone buzzes in the cupholder. I glance down.
Group chat:TRI X LEO
Tristan:
bro they put her clip on local news last night
Xavier:
my mom said “this girl is a problem. in a good way”
Tristan again:
thanksgiving weekend she’s going to explode
like tv-interview explode
I type with one hand…
yeah
i know
I flick the radio on to drown out my thoughts.
No luck.
Jade’s voice is bigger than any song.
I’m strong. I don’t break under pressure… Coaches, I’m your girl.
