It was performance territory.
And I was bleeding points.
Coach called me over after the scrimmage break.
The gym was loud behind us—balls bouncing, shoes squeaking—but it felt distant standing there.
“You know what scouts are looking for in New York?” he asked.
“Consistency.”
“Good. Now show me you understand what that means.”
I wiped my face with my towel. “I’m not falling apart.”
Coach didn’t react to that.
Just looked at me.
That quiet, annoying kind of look that said he’d coached too many guys like me already.
“You’re not falling apart,” he said finally. “You’re splitting.”
That hit harder than I wanted it to.
“Fix it before it shows up in a game.”
Then he walked away.
No dramatic ending.
Just left me standing there with that sentence sitting in my chest like a weight.
ROWAN
I almost missed my internship workshop because I couldn’t find my laptop charger.
Which felt like a personal attack from the universe.
Mia was already halfway through her coffee when I burst into the medialab.
“You look like you ran here,” she said.
“I basically did.”
“You’re late. Professor Bennett is already in murder mode.”
“Great.”
The workshop was packed tighter than usual.
Everyone was talking about New York like it was a lottery ticket instead of a competition.
Bennett walked in and the room immediately shut up.
“Good,” she said. “Less noise means fewer delusions of confidence.”
Okay.
