Chapter 25
Sunday night, I’m sitting across from Miles at my usual table in the school library, highlighting passages and repeating textbook words in my head to make sure they make sense.
I watch him subtly as he draws something on his sketchpad. And it’s starting to stress me out. I can barely do my part of tomorrow’s presentation, much less cover for him if he flops.
Imagine that…me picking up for someone freezing during an oral presentation.
“Can you please focus?” I sigh. He’s been doodling for the better part of our hour-long session. And with only fifteen hours before this is due.
“I am.”
I cock my head.
“No really. This is how I focus.”
“Is it now?”
“It is, Isla,” he sighs as he sits back.
“Autonomy is the idea that people should be free to make their own choices—like me choosing to draw while I process information. Moral obligation is the responsibility to do what’s ethically right.
You were asking me which one of us would provide examples and demonstrations of which. ”
I jerk. “Oh great, you were listeni—”
“Given that you believe looking a person in the eye when they’re speaking is ethically right, while I believe I should be free to doodle all I want as long as I’m listening, I think the split is pretty obvious, don’t you?”
I blink. About to agree for the sake of ending this, but then think twice of it and sit up, resting my arms on the table. “Given that you can’t use that example during the presentation tomorrow, I say it’s still open for discussion.”
He smirks and sits up. “Fair enough. What do you have in mind?”
“Well, I was thinking of using a single example for both—but present the two different sides.”
“What if I don’t agree with one of them?” Miles asks with a shrug.
I feign shock, my hand on my heart. “Not agree with philosophers? That’s treason.”
He laughs and I push a copy of our notes toward him. “Just read these. I can’t be up there alone tomorrow arguing both sides.”
“Still think it makes more sense if we pick a side and have a debate.”
My eyes spread wide. “I…no—I can’t do debates.”
“Why not? It makes things more interesting.”
“It makes it confrontational,” I say flatly.
“Exactly, they’ll eat it up. People love watching others argue.”
I busy myself straightening the papers between us, my throat starting to clog. “I don’t argue with people.”
“You’re doing it right now,” he counters.
“Evening,” Kane’s voice cuts in. He’s in his team jacket, jeans, and a backwards baseball hat. He sets a coffee in front of me.
Evening? I check my phone. “Oh shit, it’s past seven.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re so cranky,” Miles mutters at the pages, then looks up. “Oh hey, Kane Andrews.” He stretches a hand. “Miles Burns. We took weightlifting together last year.”
Kane nods. “Right. Ira’s still taking credit for that championship last year.”
Miles laughs, then as if realizing something, his eyes flick between the two of us and the coffee Kane just set in front of me.
My brain does that stupid thing where it starts counting the number of people already suspicious of us being together.
The number of people who could put the pieces together that I’m Shadow.
“See you tomorrow?” I say, as bright as I can manage.
“Uh, yeah. Tomorrow.” He sighs. “Two sides, because heaven forbid we have a philosophical argument in our philosophy class.” He stands and gathers his things.
I exhale when he leaves and flip the plastic tab on my coffee cup. “Thank you.”
Kane takes Miles’ seat, watching me. “Dare I ask what that was about?”
I shake my head, keeping my eyes on the lid. “Just been a long day and he was doodling half the time.”
He waits like he knows there’s more and I finally look at him. “What?”
“Are you going to make me say it?”
“Say what?”
“That you had zero problem confronting me on more than one occasion.”
“Not accurate. When I realized you knew who I was, I bolted for the exit. You’re the one who jumped the boards like your life was in danger.”
“Fair,” he admits. “But once I caught up to you, you turned around and let me have it. Same when I found you in my bed.” A smirk tugs at his lips. “Breaking rules.”
“It was one rule.”
And I’m trying really hard not to break another.
“Then Chili and Olive. When it came down to it, you called them on all their bullshit.” He holds my gaze. “You keep proving yourself wrong. Every time you think you can’t do something, you quietly panic, then do it anyway.” A grin returns. “It’s…kinda becoming your thing.”
My eyes fall. “I’m just not comfortable with them.”
If confronting people came easily to me, I would’ve told my aunt exactly what I thought of her years ago. For taking everything that was supposed to give me a future and leaving me to spend five years without a real home, decent clothes, or any idea how I’d ever afford an education.
He pulls back with understanding. Then after a beat asks, “Since when?”
I scoff. “You mean have I always been this way?”
“I guess that’s what I’m asking, yeah.”
I glance at the work I need to memorize by the morning. “I don’t know. Maybe we can just grab some pizza and call it a night?” I ask.
It’s a blatant attempt to drop it and I hope he lets me.
He does and barely misses a beat, sitting up with a grin. “Actually, we’re all having dinner at The Castle tonight. Grey invited you. His mom’s visiting and she’s making lasagna. And she always makes enough to feed an entire team, literally.”
“And the team captain’s stalker?” I ask coyly.
That familiar deep laugh makes my stomach flip and I think I’m obsessed with it.
“Especially the team captain’s stalker.”
My heart squeezes, telling me I’m entering dangerous territory. Rule number three territory. For neither of us to make this anything more than it is.
I want to go more than anything, but I’ve been single-handedly blurring lines as it is. These nights where we study together, have dinner and talk about our families shouldn’t fall anywhere near our pre-game ritual arrangement.
No matter how tempting it is.
“Raincheck? I need to prepare my talking points for tomorrow.”
He hesitates a beat. “Okay.” He stands, reaching his hand out for mine. “But first, pizza.”
Me: Weird question...do people actually enjoy debating?
Bree: Some do. Why?
Me: My philosophy partner wanted us to argue opposite sides of a topic.
Bree: What happened after you said no?
Me: He probably thought I was a weirdo and agreed to present both sides just so he could call it a night.
Me: It just feels... uncomfortable. Unnecessary
.
Bree: Familiar?
I stare at the screen.
Me: Maybe.
Bree: When’s the first time you remember feeling that way?
My thumbs hover over the keyboard.
Me: After my dad was arrested. The few times I spoke up to defend him. It felt like a live debate and I was the only one on my side.
Tears prick my eyes and I’m grateful for this impromptu session being conducted via text.
This isn’t new information to Bree. She’s known about the rumors and harassment in high school. But the amount of times we bring it up has been rare.
Three dots appear at the bottom of the screen after a minute.
Bree: Isla, this all makes a lot of sense. Your brain learned that arguing and defending your side leads to humiliation. It triggers something deep and personal for you.
I reread her text, bleeding the truth the way she always manages to.
Me: I know my partner is right. A debate would make for a better presentation.
I start typing the word But…then delete it.
Bree: But then you risk clamming up in front of everyone.
Me: And that would be worse.
Bree: Your brain is protecting you. That’s natural and things we can’t help at times. But sometimes our brains protect us against something that might be…outdated. Does that make sense?
I nod. And that one, I don’t want to reread because it’s painfully accurate. Admitting that my anxiety and fear stem from something outdated sounds insensitive. Dismissive. The same if someone had said, Hey, it’s been years since your mother died, don’t you think it’s time you moved on?
At which point, anxiety or not, I would whack them in the face and pretend I found them on the floor with a broken nose.
But maybe Bree is right. I can’t keep letting something that happened to me at one stage of my life dictate how I live the rest of it.
Me: It does. So you think it’s okay to avoid a debate tomorrow?
Bree: I’m all for a good philosophical challenge, but not right now. You need to focus on delivering a solid presentation. Not testing how far you can push yourself.
Bree: Not yet at least.
Me: So I wasn’t wrong to turn down the idea? I feel like I’m failing myself.
Bree: You’re never wrong for turning down anything that makes you uncomfortable. But the fact that you brought it up today tells me you’re ready to challenge that fear. Maybe just save it for a safer setting.
Me: Safer setting. Thanks Bree. Talk tomorrow night?
Bree: Six o’clock. Can’t wait to hear what’s new on the Kane front.
I lean back on my new bed frame and lift my phone to text Miles about tomorrow. Despite Bree’s advice, I don’t want to waste an opportunity to outgrow my fear of confrontation.
Me: Let’s do it. The debate thing.
I bite my lip while I wait for his response and glance around my room. I still catch myself staring at everything. The bed. The dresser. The feel of the soft rug under my bare toes. Once I accepted the extraordinary gifts, it was nice to enjoy these things instead of condemning them.
Miles: Nah, you’re good. Let’s stick with Plan A. I’m too tired to rethink my discussion points.
I release a breath and send a silent thank you into the universe.
But then there’s the part of me that worries I’ll never climb out of the hole I’ve been stuck in for years.
Do I let anxiety win again because Miles—rightfully so—isn’t about to rethink this whole approach? Or do I find another way to challenge myself?