Chapter Thirty. Reid
CHAPTER THIRTY
REID
@haikuforyou
Lost in the thicket
Of your laugh, your hair, your lips
Never to return
AFTER I INTRODUCE MYSELF? the interview starts with Clara asking me what my favorite part about running is. That’s easy enough to answer.
“I like that you only need to focus on what’s right in front of you. Once you pass someone or hit a mile mark or whatever, it’s behind you and it doesn’t matter anymore. Looking back is a waste of energy. There’s only forward.”
There’s a slight glint in her eye when she says, “Well, my favorite part is when it’s over.”
That pulls a laugh out of me, and she grins. I feel my shoulders loosen, and we move on to talking about what it was like to move to Woodhurst and start running for the team as a senior.
“It was intimidating, honestly,” I say.
Her expression is surprised. “But you were on track for state.”
“Exactly. Expectations come with a lot of pressure.” I rub my palms up and down my thighs. “The whole town is rooting for you when you’re a Legacy. To have that kind of support at your back means something. I don’t want to let anyone down.”
Her expression softens a little. “How would you let anyone down?”
I wish I could wrap a hand around my throbbing knee, but I fold my hands in my lap and squeeze them instead. “I guess … not achieving all my goals. I might not ever be a champion again.”
“Do you think anyone ever achieves all their goals?”
“I doubt it.”
“Then why do you have to?”
I stare at her, and she stares right back. “Aren’t we supposed to be talking about the Legacy Program?”
“We are. But I can rephrase the question if you want.”
If I wasn’t so focused on keeping up, I’d be amazed at how good she is at this. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and keeps going.
“As a Legacy, do you find that you get the benefits and opportunities promised by the program?”
I nod. “Definitely. So long as we don’t step a toe out of line.”
She raises an intrigued eyebrow, seemingly surprised at my candor.
It’s the fuel I need to keep going because with everything that’s been happening this weekend, Nicole sabotaging Clara for a spot, and Legacy Lore on a deranged power trip—I’m not about to sit here and pretend like this program is perfect anymore.
“It is an incredible opportunity, and I’m grateful for it.
But … the cost is really high. The standards for keeping the Legacy status and scholarship are almost impossible when you consider that a rumor, or video, or picture out of context could take it all away.
” I shake my head, getting worked up. “What kind of program allows that? Like in your case, they were more concerned about their public image than your actual life.”
Clara doesn’t say anything, but her eyes are glued to me, absorbed. Giving me time to consider my next words carefully.
I rub the back of my neck. “I get that being a role model is an important responsibility. But what about this program’s responsibility to take care of us? To allow us to, I don’t know—fuck up?”
Her grin is sly, her tone playfully obtuse. “The Golden Boy fucks up?”
A derisive laugh escapes me, and I fold my arms across my chest. “Probably more than anyone.”
“Some people say the program is motivating.”
“Which is really weird,” I blurt.
She leans forward. “How so?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I think for some people this program is what makes them dream big. But … it just seems like it rewards peaking in high school.”
Clara laughs.
I’m relaxed now, making it easier to open up. “Think about it. You were disqualified, right?”
Her face grows serious, but I hold her gaze.
“But it doesn’t mean you won’t go on to do amazing things. I’m sure lots of other alumni have even when they weren’t Legacies. There are infinite possibilities, and to expect us to have everything already figured out by the time we graduate high school seems…”
“Unfair,” she finishes my sentence, her eyes never leaving mine.
I think we’re talking about two things at once when I nod. “Yeah. Really unfair.”
She swallows and breaks the moment to look at her notes. She seems flustered as she turns the page once, twice, then back to the first one again. “Um— What have you gotten out of the Legacy Program?”
I frown, thinking. Other than the money, it’s hard to come up with any other positives of the program.
After a small stretch of silence I say, “A lot of the Legacies work really hard, and I find that inspiring. I’m a competitive guy, so that part of it is fun for me.
” The image of Josh’s petulant face flashes through my mind.
Clara returns my smile like she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“Is there anything that you regret?”
My pulse picks up as her eyes blaze into mine. As I realize that this is my chance to finally say what I need to say to Clara. What else do I have to lose at this point?
I let my Channel Nine smile fall. “I messed up last year. With you.”
A slight crinkle forms between her eyebrows. “I didn’t mean personally—”
“I know.”
I think of all the poems I’ve squirreled away and posted anonymously over the past several months, the only place I’ve let myself be really honest. Not just about her but about myself.
She wasn’t the only one who held back last year.
I let us go on without telling her how I felt or what I wanted for way too long.
Then I let it all out in that card and never even asked her about it before today because I got so embarrassed.
I don’t know that I’ll ever get another chance to own my shit.
“You told me a lot that you weren’t ready for something serious. And I pushed it. A lot. I’ve been trained hard to keep going, to never give up, but … that was unfair to you. To us. I’m sorry if I pushed too much.”
Our eyes catch, and a soft flush spreads across her cheekbones.
“Don’t be.” She blinks rapidly, her lips pursing like she’s trying not to cry. Her voice is thick when she says, “You were so good to me, and the way you never gave up on me made me feel like I really mattered to you.”
“You did.”
She bites her lip, her nose going a little pink. “You did to me, too.”
My knee protests, but I get up from the official interview chair and reach for her hand.
She takes it, and I pull her to me. We stand there wrapped in an embrace that feels …
final. Sad and sorry. Heavy and hopeful.
I don’t know if what we’re doing here is healing the past or trying to have a future.
Once we get settled back in our chairs, she asks a few more questions about the year, about Stanford—all things we’ve covered off camera that she wants to be sure are included here.
“Last question,” she assures me when I rub a hand across my knee. “Was it all worth it?”
Her focus on me is intense, and it feels like we’ve veered again. Like she’s asking me something deeper than about being a Legacy.
Though my heart is aching for her, and she’s being softer and more open with me, I don’t know what to say.
Because I still don’t know if we want the same things.