CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
ROWAN
I didn’t sleep properly.
That was becoming a pattern.
Not dramatic insomnia.
Just the kind where your brain refuses to shut up in short, annoying bursts.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the same things:
Mason’s interview.
The word “distractions.”
The forum thread.
NYC.
And the part I hated most—
how quickly everything had shifted from private to public without either of us agreeing to it.
My phone lit up at 6:41 a.m.
Mia.
Mia:
Don’t read the forum today.
I stared at that for a second.
Then replied:
Rowan:
Too late.
Three dots.
Mia:
Come to campus early.
That wasn’t a suggestion.
That was damage control.
MASON
Coach started practice with a warning.
“Yesterday doesn’t exist,” he said.
Nobody believed him.
That’s not how it works.
You don’t erase noise just by naming it.
You just pretend harder.
Andre missed the first shot.
Jace missed the second.
I didn’t miss mine.
But it didn’t feel clean.
Everything felt slightly off-center.
Luca noticed.
“You’re still thinking about it,” he said.
“I’m thinking about practice.”
“Same thing today.”
That was the problem.
It was starting to overlap in ways I didn’t like.
Coach blew the whistle.
“Reed. Reset.”
I reset.
But not enough.
ROWAN
Campus felt different that morning.
Not physically.
Socially.
People looked at me longer than usual.
Not openly.
Just enough.
Mia met me outside the media building with a folded newspaper printout.
“Yes,” she said immediately. “It got worse.”
I didn’t even want to look.
But I did.
Headline-style article.
Not official journalism.
Worse.
Student media.
“NYC ATHLETE’S ‘DISTRACTION’ COMMENT SPARKS INTERNAL TEAM TENSION”
My stomach tightened.
Mia shook her head. “They’re running with it.”
“It’s not even accurate,” I said.
“I know.”
“That’s not the point anymore,” she added quietly.
That sentence again.
Not the point anymore.
MASON
Coach called me in again after practice.
This time he looked tired.
That was new.
“You need to fix this,” he said.
“I didn’t do anything.”
Coach exhaled slowly.
“That’s the problem.”
I frowned.
He pointed at the court behind us.
“You said one word,” he continued. “And now it’s a storyline.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know.”
Pause.
“But meaning doesn’t matter once it leaves your mouth.”
That stuck longer than I wanted it to.
ROWAN
Professor Bennett didn’t mention it in class.
Which somehow made it worse.
Because silence in academic environments usually meant: we are watching you handle this yourself.
Mia leaned toward me during break.
“You’re not writing anything yet,” she said.
“I’m gathering context.”
“You’re avoiding.”
“I’m processing.”
She gave me a look.
“That’s the same thing right now.”
I didn’t answer.
Because she wasn’t wrong.
My phone buzzed.
Mason.
Mason:
They’re making it worse at school too.
I stared at it.
Then:
Rowan:
Same here.
Pause.
Mason:
I hate this.
That was new.
Mason didn’t usually say that directly.
Not like that.
MASON
Luca showed me another post during lunch.
This one had edits.
Screenshots.
Comments.
People arguing about what I meant.
None of them knew.
“That’s wild,” Luca said.
I didn’t respond.
Because it didn’t feel like gossip anymore.
It felt like pressure building around something that wasn’t supposed to be public.
Coach walked past us.
“Block it out,” he said.
I almost laughed.
Because it wasn’t something you block.
It’s something that follows.
ROWAN
Serena looked at me differently now.
Not softer.
More aware.
“You’re part of something messy,” she said.
“I’m part of an assignment.”
“No,” she said. “You’re part of a narrative now.”
I sighed. “Stop saying that word.”
“It’s true.”
I looked at her.
“I didn’t ask for it.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
That was the first time she didn’t argue with me.
Which scared me slightly more than if she had.
MASON
Coach changed drills again.
More pressure scenarios.
Less structure.
More chaos.
“Adapt,” he kept saying.
Andre finally snapped mid-drill.
“This isn’t adaptation, this is punishment!”
Coach didn’t react.
“Then stop being punished.”
That shut him up again.
But I could feel it.
Everyone was off.
Not physically.
Mentally.
Like something was sitting on top of the team.
Invisible.
But heavy.
ROWAN
Mia walked me home.
That was new.
“I don’t like this,” she said.
“Neither do I.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
We stopped outside my building.
She turned to me.
“You and him are being watched now,” she said. “Not just by each other.”
That sentence hit differently.
Because she was right.
And I hadn’t fully processed what that meant yet.
My phone buzzed.
Mason.
Mason:
Are you okay?
I stared at it.
Then replied:
Rowan:
Not really.
That honesty came easier now.
Too easy.
MASON
I didn’t go straight home again.
I sat in the empty gym.
Lights off.
Just the exit signs glowing faintly.
My phone was on my knee.
Rowan’s last message still open.
Not really.
That matched everything today.
Coach.
Team tension.
Media noise.
My own head.
I typed:
Mason:
We’ll get through it.
Paused.
Deleted.
Typed again:
Mason:
This will pass.
Stopped.
Because I didn’t believe it.
So I sent nothing.
ROWAN
I lay in bed staring at my ceiling again.
Serena had gone out.
Silence filled the room in a way I didn’t like anymore.
My phone lit up once.
Mason.
Mason:
I don’t know what this is anymore.
I didn’t reply immediately.
Because I didn’t either.
Then I typed:
Rowan:
I think it’s just getting started.
Sent.
And for the first time—
it didn’t feel like escalation.
It felt like entry.