CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
MASON
Coach canceled practice.
That alone was enough to make everyone uneasy.
Coach doesn’t cancel anything unless something is broken.
Or about to break.
We still showed up anyway.
Old habits.
The gym doors were unlocked, but the lights weren’t on.
Andre pushed them open anyway. “This feels illegal.”
“It’s not illegal,” Luca said. “It’s just depressing.”
We stood there in the dark for a second before Coach finally walked in.
No whistle.
No clipboard.
Just him.
That was worse.
“You all saw it,” he said.
Nobody asked what “it” was.
We all knew.
The media fallout. The posts. The article. The noise that wouldn’t stop multiplying.
Coach leaned against the wall.
“This is the part where most teams fall apart,” he said.
Silence.
“Not because of skill,” he added. “Because of attention.”
His eyes landed on me.
Not long.
Just enough.
I already knew what he was thinking.
I just didn’t know how to fix it.
ROWAN
Mia dragged me into a study room before I could even sit down.
“Okay,” she said. “We need rules.”
“For what?”
“This situation.”
“It’s not a situation.”
“It is now.”
She opened her laptop like she was preparing for war.
Rule one appeared on screen:
No reacting to external commentary without verification.
I frowned. “That’s just journalism.”
“Yes,” she said. “Congratulations, you’re learning.”
My phone buzzed.
Mason.
Mason:
Coach thinks we’re unstable.
I stared at that.
Then replied:
Rowan:
He’s not wrong.
Three dots.
Stopped.
Started again.
Mason:
I hate this week.
That felt simple.
Human.
Too human.
MASON
Luca sat beside me on the bleachers after we left the gym.
“You’re quieter,” he said.
“I’m thinking less.”
“That’s worse.”
I looked at him. “Why?”
“Because you’re not actually thinking less,” he said. “You’re just not saying it out loud.”
That was annoying.
Because it was accurate.
My phone buzzed again.
Rowan.
Rowan:
People are starting to ask me questions.
I frowned.
Mason:
About what?
Pause.
Longer than usual.
Rowan:
You.
That made me stop breathing for half a second.
Not because it was dramatic.
Because it was real.
ROWAN
That was the part I didn’t like saying out loud.
Even in text.
Even to him.
Because once I wrote it, it became something.
Mia glanced at my screen.
“Yep,” she said. “That’s exactly what I meant.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like it was predictable.”
“It was predictable,” she said.
I didn’t argue.
Because I was starting to see it too.
My phone buzzed again.
Mason.
Mason:
Don’t answer them.
I stared at that.
Then:
Rowan:
I have to do my job.
Three dots.
Stopped.
Started again.
Mason:
Yeah.
Mason:
I know.
But it didn’t sound like agreement.
It sounded like conflict.
MASON
Coach pulled me aside again.
This time outside the gym.
Cold air.
Empty parking lot.
“You’re becoming the story,” he said.
“I didn’t ask for that.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
That phrase again.
Doesn’t matter.
I was starting to hate it.
Coach continued.
“You need to separate yourself.”
“From what?”
“From everything outside basketball.”
I looked at him.
“That’s not possible anymore.”
Coach didn’t respond immediately.
That was rare.
Then:
“Then you adapt faster.”
ROWAN
Professor Bennett assigned new revisions.
But nobody was focusing.
Everyone was talking in low voices now.
NYC wasn’t the goal anymore.
It was pressure layered on pressure.
Mia leaned toward me.
“They’re going to push you to write something soon,” she said.
“I know.”
“About him.”
“I know.”
She studied me.
“And you still think you can keep it clean.”
I didn’t answer.
Because I wasn’t sure I believed that anymore.
MASON
Practice resumed the next day.
No warning.
Just intensity.
Coach made us run transition drills until legs gave out.
Andre collapsed on the bench halfway through.
“This is insane,” he said.
Coach didn’t look at him.
“It’s necessary.”
Luca looked over at me mid-drill.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
That wasn’t reassuring.
But it was honest.
My phone buzzed during water break.
Rowan.
Rowan:
I think they’re waiting for us to slip.
I stared at that.
Then replied:
Mason:
Yeah.
Mason:
I think so too.
ROWAN
Serena took my phone and read the last message.
“Wow,” she said.
“Give it back.”
“You’re both spiraling quietly,” she added.
“I’m not spiraling.”
“You are just doing it in parallel.”
That made me pause.
Parallel.
That word stuck.
Because it wasn’t just emotion anymore.
It was alignment under pressure.
My phone buzzed again.
Mason.
Mason:
This doesn’t feel like basketball anymore.
I stared at that longer than I meant to.
Because I agreed.
MASON
That night I didn’t go to sleep early.
I just sat in my room.
Phone in hand.
No music.
No noise.
Just thoughts I couldn’t organize properly anymore.
Rowan’s last message stayed open.
Everything around us was tightening.
Coach.
Media.
NYC.
Expectations.
And something worse than all of it—
people watching the space between us now.
My phone buzzed again.
Rowan.
Rowan:
Are we still okay?
I stared at that.
Long.
Hard.
Then typed:
Mason:
I don’t know what “okay” means anymore.
Sent.
And for the first time—
neither of us followed it with comfort.