Not whispers.
Not headlines.
So why?—
Why does it feel like I just lost something anyway?
After that, I flatten out.
Not in a dramatic way.
No crying in bathrooms. No angry music. No late-night spiral texts I’ll regret in the morning.
I just… go still.
The kind of stillness that looks disciplined from the outside.
Coach loves it.
Delia hates it.
I stop lingering after practice. Stop sitting around in the locker room. Stop giving anyone the chance to read my face before I’ve decided what expression I want on it.
I’m up before dawn.
Bleachers.
Lift.
Classes.
Film.
Library.
Laundry.
Protein.
Sleep.
Repeat.
Everything gets folded into clean corners.
Everything gets measured.
Even my coffee order becomes a system.
Hot. Always hot. Even when Palo Alto is eighty-two and bright enough to make the sidewalks glow.
No parties.
No mixers.
No “accidental” dinners in the athlete hall.
No stopping to chat on the quad.
