Chapter 19 — The Leak （Nora） #2
He shook his head hard and took the stairs two at a time, bag banging each rail. I stayed put, heart slamming my ribs, sick to my stomach. Tack tack tack went the leaf. I pressed my back to cool brick and couldn't pull a normal breath.
Marisol Vega stepped from the tutoring office, folders hugged to her chest. Her eyes softened, then went careful. She crossed fast, voice dropped low.
“Nora,” Marisol said, touching my elbow briefly. “I heard the episode. You okay, honey?”
“No,” I said, a half-sob laugh breaking out. “Not even close. Seen him tonight?”
“Not since practice broke up,” Marisol said, glancing at Room 214, worry deep in her face. “Listen. Keep that notebook closed around the facility till this blows over.” Her grip tightened once, then let go.
“The — what?” I said, blood icing over. “Why would you say that? What do you —”
“Just be careful,” Marisol cut in, eyes flicking down the hall. “Keep your head down till it blows over. Go home. Please.”
“Marisol, wait,” I said to her closing door. “That's it? That's all I get?”
The lock clicked, soft but final. I stared at it, mouth open, empty. My pens still lay scattered in Room 214, and I walked past without fixing one. That felt like grief.
? ? ?
I told myself I was dorm-bound, and my feet went field-ward through the dark. Cold snap bit after rain, breath puffing white. Wet leaves matted the path, mud sucking my sneakers, leaf and all.
Field lights burned at the far end, haloed in mist. I stopped at the fence where chain-link bit cold through my sleeves. Fingers curled in. Hands pocketed too late.
The offense bunched near the far hash, helmets off, breath smoking. Someone clapped once, sharp, and they broke and jogged ragged to the line. I scanned backs and numbers, stomach dropping through my shoes.
He wasn't there. No tall quarterback at the edge, no loose-handed stance, no one waiting in. Two linemen turned square backs to the fence like they felt my stare. Nobody waved. Nobody looked.
“The huddle has already closed around it,” I said to the mist. “They are running the offense without him like the empty space does not hurt.”
“Real fast,” I whispered to myself, gripping wire till it dented my palms. “Okay. I see it.”
“Is that Deon?” I muttered, squinting through mist at a tall shape. “No. No, it's not him.”
“Deon went back inside to stand up where it counted,” I whispered, wiping my nose on my sleeve. From the fence, though, it still looked like Beck had been erased from his own huddle.
My phone sat dead in my pocket, cold as stone. I checked with stiff fingers. Nothing new. Not a word.
I watched one more rep, sloppy and angry, voices sharp across wet turf. A coach barked. Someone laughed too loud, cut short. The huddle reformed tighter, smaller, no gap left for anyone else.
“Okay,” I told the night, teeth chattering, tears hot on freezing cheeks. “Okay. You've seen enough. Move.”
“Moving,” I whispered back to myself, legs shaking under me. “I'm moving. See? Walking away now.”
“Call me,” I begged the silent phone, thumb hovering over his name. “Please call me. I'm begging you.”
I wiped my face hard with my sleeve and backed off the fence, legs numb.
? ? ?
Priya looked up fast when I pushed into our dorm, face falling at mine. The laptop still glowed on the rug. The room felt colder, or maybe that was just me.
“Hey,” Priya said softly, pulling me into a shampoo-sweet hug. “Freezing. Talk to me.”
“Deon believes him, but the coaches ordered silence. Cole bolted. Marisol told me to hide. He was not at the field, Pri. Reps without him,” I said into her shoulder, holding hard.
“Sit,” Priya said, pushing me gently down. “Before you drop. You look wrecked.”
“Feel wrecked,” I said, dropping onto the rug. “Worse than wrecked. Hollow.”
I sat with my bag slumped close, the real notebook safe inside. Beck knew the decoy phrase. I knew about Cole's cards. We had told each other everything we had, and the lie had still moved faster than proof.
Priya tugged the laptop over, comments tripled since I'd left. Familiar names piled on, hungry, certain. My name flashed twice with venom. My hands shook so hard I tucked them under my legs.
“Don't read the comments. I'm serious, you'll throw up.” Priya snapped it halfway shut, light narrowing to a slit. “Eyes on me. Hey.”
“Trying,” I said, dragging my gaze up. “Here. I'm here. Sorry.”
“Breathe with me,” Priya said, taking my icy hands in her warm ones. “In. Out. Good. Again. It's a pod, not a verdict.”
“Felt like one,” I whispered, throat raw. “The empty huddle without Beck. Like the whole field had already decided.”
“Scared,” Priya said firmly, squeezing till I felt it. “Everyone's scared. Scared gets cold. Doesn't make it true.”
“What if he doesn't call?” My voice went tiny. “What if he thinks I had — God. He wouldn't. Right? Tell me.”
“He wouldn't,” Priya said like a vow, eyes locked on. “He knows you. Drink this. Teeth're chattering.” She pressed our chipped mug into my hands, and I drank because she said so.
“Better?” she asked, watching me swallow. “A little?”
“A little,” I admitted, holding the warm mug tight. “Thanks. For all of it.”
We sat shoulder to shoulder in half-light, night against the window. My sneakers lay kicked off by the rug, the wet leaf still plastered to the left sole. Priya peeled it free, dropped it in the trash, and nudged the warm mug back into my hands without making a thing of either rescue.
Priya yawned, checked her phone, mouth pinching. “Midterms done and this is our reward?” she muttered. “Passed everything for this? Unreal.”
“Total scam,” I said, managing half a laugh through tears. “We survived midterms for heartbreak? Rude.”
“So rude,” Priya said, bumping my shoulder softly. “We deserve snacks and peace. Not this mess.”
“Bed,” I told her, nudging her knee. “I'll sit a minute. Fine.”
“Liar,” Priya said fondly, standing with a groan. “One minute. Then sleep. Promise?”
“Promise,” I lied, and she gave me the look that knew. “Night, Pri.”
“Night,” Priya said, climbing in, phone face-down. “He'll call. Gut feeling.” She rolled over, breathing slowing in minutes. I envied her fully.
“You sure?” I whispered into the dark, pulling my blanket tighter. “You really think so?”
“I know so,” Priya murmured, half asleep already. “Trust me. Sleep soon.”
Alone in laptop glow, I pulled my knees up and hit play once more. Hovered, pressed anyway. Needed it clean, no talk-over, so maybe the shadows would stop moving.
“Don't,” I whispered to the empty room, finger shaking over the key. “Don't do it. You're only hurting yourself.”
“Do it anyway,” I answered myself, jaw tight, hitting play hard. “You need the truth straight. No flinching.”
Static crackled into the silent dorm, and the room fell away to nothing.
Kip's voice cut back in, flat and sure: “Beck Hale sold the playbook.”