Chapter Seven. Reid
CHAPTER SEVEN
REID
NOW
TWO DAYS UNTIL LEGACY BANQUET
@haikuforyou
The rain falls in sheets
lands in droplets on my hand
together, alone.
KENJI’S ANNUAL LEGACY PARTY is already packed when Mitchell and I get there. I can’t believe he convinced me to come. I shouldn’t even be home yet. But this morning, I was standing outside my bio class fully intending to go in when that photo of the lake came through the group chat.
I didn’t think. I just walked straight back to my dorm, threw my laundry in the truck, and drove the four hours to Woodhurst for the first time since I left. Now that I’m here, I’m not sure why I was in such a big hurry.
A lot of people from my old team are catching up, and I already feel like a fraud walking among them. I could’ve at least put on a nicer shirt.
With its high ceilings and wide windows showing stunning views of the mountain, Kenji’s place is one of the nicest houses in Woodhurst. The Yoshinos used to run some sort of tech company before they moved here, when Woodhurst started to become this odd collection of families who have Bay Area runoff money and the rest of us who … don’t.
I follow Mitch down the carpeted steps to the basement where we used to hang out for parties. I weave through everyone as quickly as I can, my head swiveling around the crowded room, waiting to catch a glimpse of dark hair or sharp green eyes. I don’t.
But her car’s outside. I know she’s here, and it’s twisting me into knots. Ever since she sent that picture, I don’t know what to think. She hasn’t said a word since I hit the heart icon. We’re off to a great start.
Someone calls my name, and my gut clenches as I turn. It’s Nicole Kelly, a pretty redhead with a monster kick from the girls varsity team. We were always friendly, but we haven’t really spoken since graduation.
Her sunny smile as she approaches takes me right back to the training trails. How she’d yell at me between breaths, “C’mon, Rousseau, pick up your feet.”
“If you can talk, you’re not pushing hard enough,” I’d shoot back.
Which is exactly the kind of memory I wanted to avoid tonight, but I guess I don’t have a choice. She hugs me quickly.
“How’s school?” I ask.
Her hands stay planted on my shoulders, holding me a little too close to her. “The best! I PR’d at the Glenview Invitational.”
Jealousy ripples through me. “Nice.”
Someone walks behind me, and I step out of their way, subtly shrugging Nicole’s hands off in the process.
“Seriously, I still can’t believe I get to go there every day. Like, I think about it sometimes—if I hadn’t become a Legacy, I would’ve had to go to my, like, fifth-choice school. Instead, I’m training with the best. I can’t help but feel like none of this should be happening to me.”
Because it shouldn’t, I think. Nicole’s deserving in her own way, but it’s such a confusing thing to be happy for a former teammate when I know what not getting the scholarship did to Clara. How unfair that still seems.
“How is Clara?” Nicole asks, her tone thoughtful.
I shake my head slowly. Hoping that’s answer enough.
She brightens. “Got it. Sore subject, Nicole.” She laughs, but I can’t even pretend to. “Well, you should know that my coach lost it when she found out I used to run with you. I mean, it’s not every day you run with an Olympic hopeful!”
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” I say.
She rolls her eyes playfully. “Okay, keep your secrets to yourself for now. Delaney has all weekend to get it out of you.”
“Delaney?”
She laughs again. “Remember how she always knew everything about everyone?”
“Oh, right.” I force a laugh in an attempt to calm my spiked pulse.
When I can tell she’s about to ask me more about my season, I excuse myself, saying I need a drink. But really, I need air.
I swivel my head around one more time looking for her, only to run into Kenji. He wraps me in a bear hug.
“Mitchell with you?” he asks, pinching the cuff of his white dress shirtsleeve to adjust it.
As if on cue, Mitchell walks up holding two red cups. I don’t want to know what’s in them, but if he’s gunning for Legacy this year it better not be liquor.
Kenji doesn’t pull Mitchell into a hug when he sees him. Instead, he hits him gently on the shoulder. “Hey.”
Mitchell grins and hits him back. “Hey.”
I frown as I look between them. Why are they being so weird?
In spite of myself, I scan the room again.
“Clara’s not down here,” Mitchell states as if he can read my every thought. It annoys me so much I’m tempted to punch him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I grumble.
He starts laughing. “Sure, okay.”
“How’s she been?” Kenji asks Mitchell. I’m pretty sure he does it so I don’t have to, and I shoot him a grateful look.
Mitchell sighs. “Kind of a mess, honestly.”
I wish that made me feel better, but it doesn’t. I don’t like thinking of her in pain. Or of anyone else comforting her.
“Reid!” It’s Nicole again, tugging on my arm. “My friends at school don’t believe me that I’m hanging out with you.”
She holds up her phone and rests her head on my shoulder as she takes a picture of us.
“They’re going to freak out. They’re always like, ‘You’re such a liar!’ But boom—sent.”
I force a smile, dying a little inside. “Uh, happy to help.”
“We’ll have to get one of all of us Legacies,” she says.
In the next instant, Amaya approaches and Nicole pulls her into a squealing hug. I don’t know how to extricate myself this time, so I stand with them awhile as they laugh and talk and reminisce about high school.
“Did you guys see that Legacy Lore account?” Amaya asks at one point, her expression worried.
She must mean that profile Kenji sent earlier. I nod. I barely looked at it, but I didn’t like it. Not the vague threats about us or the way it referenced the assembly last year.
“It’s wild the way people come for Legacies,” Kenji says.
Nicole rolls her eyes. “It has, like, twelve followers.” She puts one hand on Amaya’s arm and the other one on mine. “I doubt it’s anything to worry about.”
Amaya nods, but she doesn’t look particularly reassured. I don’t blame her.
Holding on to the privileges of Legacy—the sizable scholarship money and opportunities and status it provides—requires agreeing to several stipulations. Most important: not doing anything (at least publicly) that could threaten the Legacy image.
At the time, the money was such a help it seemed like a no-brainer to agree to the terms. But the more I have to hide, the more the golden handcuffs chafe. The more an account like Legacy Lore could do real damage.
Once the group is fully absorbed in conversation again, I take the opportunity to dip.
I’m almost in the clear as I round the corner toward the stairs, except Delaney is standing there in a black dress and dark red lipstick, her blond hair up in a high ponytail on top of her head.
She’s pale, her cheekbones sharper than when I saw her just a month ago.
She tracks me immediately. My heart starts pumping harder as she stands there staring at me, as if expecting me to know what to say in this awkward-as-hell situation.
I don’t, but I go with “Hey.”
Delaney narrows her eyes. “So you are alive.”
“I’ve been busy,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets.
“It’s been a month, Reid.”
I let out a breath. It shakes.
“I’m sorry.” I mean it.
She must sense that I do because the stark line between her eyebrows smooths out. Then she hits me in the shoulder, hard. Delaney is small, but she’s strong from her years of dancing, and I splutter out a surprised cough. “I’ve been so worried about you. Texting you, calling you.”
I can’t let her worry in. I don’t want anyone’s concern or care. “I know.”
Her hands ball into fists, and she lets out a small, aggravated noise. “I’m starting to believe all the Olympics rumors.”
“That’s not it.”
“So you’ve been ignoring me becaaaauuuuse?”
Heat shoots up my neck. “I don’t know.”
Except that I do. We both do.
Delaney tightens her ponytail and looks me dead in the eyes. “I can’t keep doing this. The guilt is eating me up. Clara’s here. You have to let me tell her, Reid.”
My lungs go tight. Fuck. There are some lines you just don’t cross. Clara would never get over it.
“You can’t. You know you can’t.”
Delaney exhales hard. “I have to.”
I step toward her, keeping my voice so low I have to lean in closer than I want to. But I don’t want to risk anyone overhearing. “Delaney, please. I need time.”
There’s conflict all over her face, but before she can answer, Kenji’s voice booms through a microphone. “Who’s ready for karaoke?!”
There’s an excited burst of sound from the group in response. With so many former theater kids here, it’ll last all night.
Kill me now.
Delaney gets pulled away by Nicole for a picture, and I turn to leave.
Just like after that first party last year, when I kissed Clara on a dare—a kiss that messed with my head for weeks afterward—I need to get out of here. But there’s a small group of guys laughing near the door, blocking my smooth exit.
Among them is the last person I want to see: Josh West.
My chest puffs up on instinct. I’ve dealt with guys like Josh on every team I’ve ever been on. They’re obnoxious at best and dangerous at worst. Everything about him puts me on edge. When he notices me, his top lip curls into a sneer.
“Rousseau,” he says.
I toss him an acknowledging nod, hoping to keep it at that. But he continues.
“Heard about the fall.”
My heart drops into my stomach.
Of course he did. We’re not in the same division, but word gets around in a sport as small as ours. Still, I have to remind myself that not even my own trainer knows the extent of my pain. He’s sniffing me out, trying to get me to own up to something by pretending he already knows.
At least I hope he’s pretending.
“You in rehab or whatever?”
“Or whatever,” I respond.
Annoyance flashes across his face. “Always such a tool,” he mutters.
I smirk. It’s nice to know some things never change.
He takes a pull of his drink, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “So now that you’re damaged goods, is Stanford gonna drop your ass?”
“Who says I’m damaged?”
It’s Josh’s turn to smirk. “Your team likes to talk.”
Coach explained early on they couldn’t pull my scholarship just because I got hurt, but if my grades stay as bad as they are, not even my coaches can save me from academic probation. I just hope it doesn’t come to that.
Or that Coach hasn’t lost interest in me already.
“There’s no way that Olympic shit is real,” Josh states.
This time he’s right. No matter what the Olympic coach and I talked about in April, I’m out of that conversation if I can’t even get my ass to regionals.
I shrug in response because I owe Josh nothing and it’s the best nonanswer to life’s most annoying people.
Josh’s eyes flash. “Guess you won’t have any problem at the 5K tomorrow, then?”
Shit. I forgot about the Legacy 5K Fun Run.
The entire town is invited, but nobody usually shows up outside of the cross-country team and their families. Still, it’s a little over three miles, and I’ve just ensured that Josh will give it everything he’s got. If I don’t beat him, everyone will know something’s up with me.
But if I run, I could fuck up my knee even worse and completely screw myself over for regionals. For the entire year.
“How’s Amaya?” I ask, pointedly changing the subject, knowing full well she dumped his ass and was shooting him glares during our entire conversation earlier.
He narrows his eyes. “How’s Clara?”
Though I’ve been wanting to sock him since the first time he talked down to Clara, I keep my stance casual and say nothing.
I’ve noticed the longer I let a silence stretch with a guy like Josh, the more likely he’ll either spin himself up or lose interest. I watch and wait to see which way this will go.
Josh leans closer and gestures with a lift of his chin toward something over my shoulder. “I’ve heard about more than just your season.”
I turn around and see Delaney dancing and talking with a few of the other girls from the pom squad.
He doesn’t mean … No. There’s no way he knows. I didn’t tell anyone about what happened. Unless …
Did she say something?
You have to let me tell her, Reid.
Everything I’ve been shoving down or turning against myself comes to attention. What happened was bad enough. But Josh hearing about it makes it a lot fucking worse.
“‘The Golden Boy,’” he mocks, quoting what our local paper once called me. “What a joke.” He pushes past me, clipping my shoulder.
I lean back against the wall as he starts walking, thinking he bested me.
“The real joke is that I was already better at fifteen than you’ll ever be.”
He stops.
“Not to mention your dad picked me as the guest of honor over his own son.” I cock my head to the side and grin. “Hilarious.”
His face goes red as he lunges toward me.
I push off from the wall with one foot in response, but before I can get close enough to swing at him, Mitchell appears out of nowhere and shoves me back with a meaty slap to my chest. Mitch may be younger, but he’s taller than both me and Josh and looks every inch the multi-hyphenate athlete he is.
“You got a problem?” Mitch asks, swiveling his attention on Josh.
“Several,” I mutter.
A sheen of sweat coats Josh’s forehead and upper lip. His eyes dart between us.
“Watch your back, Rousseau,” he says.
I give him a mock salute. “Easy enough since you’re always behind me.”
Mitchell’s shoulders release once Josh steps outside, and he rounds on me. “Do you want to get your ass kicked?”
I roll my eyes. “That’s not what would’ve happened.”
Mitchell crosses his arms, unconvinced. “Since when do you go looking for fights?”
“Since when did you start sounding like your mom?”
He narrows his eyes. “Low.”
Another karaoke song starts, and I wince. I’ve always struggled with clashing noise, and with the pop song in one room, and Amaya belting a Broadway ballad in another, every nerve in my body starts to fray.
Mitchell notices and shoves me into the hallway where it’s quieter. “Seriously, Reid. It’s not like you to let someone like Josh get under your skin.”
I clench my jaw. I don’t like that he’s right. But I can’t explain it, either.
“People change” is all I say.
Without waiting for a response, I finally escape by bounding up the stairs and heading to the deck where I used to sneak away whenever parties got too overwhelming.
As soon as I slide the door open and step out into the clear night, my heart stops.
Clara is standing there.