Because she was right.
I leaned against the wall while people walked past us.
NYC posters were everywhere now—internship deadlines, placements, schedules.
Everything felt louder.
Closer.
Mia lowered her voice.
“You’re thinking about him again.”
It wasn’t even a question.
I sighed. “It’s not like that.”
“It is like that,” she said calmly. “Just not in a way you understand yet.”
That sentence sat uncomfortably in my head as I walked back to my desk.
Because I didn’t have a counterargument.
Which annoyed me.
MASON
Practice ended late again.
Nobody spoke much on the way out.
Even Luca was quiet.
That was never good.
I stayed behind longer than usual.
Just sitting on the bleachers, water bottle half-empty, staring at the court.
Coach came out of his office eventually.
He didn’t sit next to me this time.
Just stood near the sideline.
“You’re overcorrecting,” he said.
“I’m trying to fix it.”
“That’s the problem.”
I frowned slightly. “Fixing it is bad?”
“Fixing it blindly is.”
I looked up at him.
He nodded once toward the court.
