I walk through campus without my shoulders locked up around my ears. Teachers look me in the eye again—not with pity, not with fear, but with respect. The administration keeps their distance, careful now. Polite. Almost deferential.
They need me.
Positive PR has a funny way of changing power dynamics.
I said no toGood Morning America.
No to Hollywood.
No to late-night talk shows that wanted a soundbite, not a story.
But I said yes to Netflix.
Not because of fame. Not because of money.
Because the story didn’t end at the slime.
Because the quiet parts mattered too.
Filming starts slow. Observational. No manufactured drama. Cameras catching me in meetings, in therapy sessions, on the field, in classrooms. Royal Oaks signs off on it—they need the redemption arc just as badly as I needed the truth told.
And me?
I keep moving forward.
I run for student president.
I win.
Not because I’m viral—but because I show up.
I push for changes that don’t fit on a poster. More grant money. Expanded athletic funding. Cultural training that isn’t just a PowerPoint once a year. Anonymous reporting systems that actually protect people instead of feeding them back to the wolves.
Coach Roman watches it all with something like quiet awe.
“I didn’t bring you here just to play soccer,” she tells me one afternoon in her office. “But damn if I’m not glad I did.”
Then Boston College calls.
Then emails.
Then calls again.
A reinstated D1 offer.
Athletic scholarship.
Academic money layered on top.
I sit on my bed when I read it, phone shaking in my hands, the ocean pounding outside like it’s applauding.
I say yes.
When I tell Leo, he doesn’t even try to play it cool.
He picks me up and spins me around in the parking lot like we’re in some stupid rom-com, laughing into my hair, breathless.
“I knew it,” he says. “I always knew it.”
