Chapter 20 — Benched （Beck） #2
I ran the look again. And again. My thighs burned. The ones kept shouting behind me, pads cracking, whistles screaming. Trey kept watching until the position groups split, and then he walked off slow with his hands in his pockets, still smiling at nothing.
The scout coach blew his whistle at me. “That's enough, Hale! Tub back to the gate!”
“Yes, sir!” I said. “Putting it away!”
I squared the tub lid and carried it back to the gate. My fingers had gone numb from the cold.
The assistant waved me off early. “Go shower, Hale. We've got it from here.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I'll get out of the way.”
I walked off the field with my head down against the wind. The gate clanged shut behind me.
? ? ?
I didn't shower. I changed fast, pulled my jacket on, and walked the brick path to Whitmore with my hands jammed in my pockets and my wristband twisted tight under my sleeve.
The sky had gone lower, gray pressing on the rooftops. Leaves scraped the walk in dry lines. My shoes hit the seams in the sidewalk in time, one two one two, because the beat kept the noise down inside my head.
She waited by the steps outside Whitmore with her bag slung high on one shoulder and her hands tucked under her arms. Nora Quinn, small and bright against the stone, hair pulled back, cheeks pink from the cold.
I stopped three paces short of her. The distance felt like a line painted on concrete. I felt the small knot of thread she'd tied into my wristband press into my thumb, and I let go of it.
Her eyes searched my face fast, top to bottom, the way she read a page for the bad part first.
“Hey,” she said. “You didn't answer. I called and texted and — hey. Look at me.”
“I'm looking,” I said.
“Pruitt benched you,” she said. “Deon told me. Tell me what he said. Word for word. We'll pull it apart.”
“It's pending review,” I said. “Compliance. I'm scout till it clears. That's it.”
“That's not it,” she said. “Don't shut me out. We'll prove it's fake. Priya's already digging.”
Wind lifted the edge of her scarf. She caught it and pressed it flat with a shaking hand.
“I've been sick since last night,” she said. “That episode — everybody in my dorm was listening to it. Do you know what that felt like?”
“I can guess,” I said.
“Then don't lock me out,” she said. “Please. We do this together. You draw it and I help you say it. Right?”
“Nora,” I said.
“No,” she said. “Don't do that voice. Don't do the flat voice. I'm right here. Talk to me.”
“You can't come to the facility,” I said. “You can't text the team group chat. You can't be seen with me on the quad till this blows over.”
She stared. “What?”
“They'll pull your hours,” I said. “They'll pull your disclosure and turn it inside out. They'll say the tutor helped the cheat. You know they'll say that.”
“So what?” she said. “Let them. Marisol knows me. She knows I wouldn't —”
“Marisol can't stop compliance,” I said. “Nobody can. Not today.”
My ribs went tight and my throat burned when she said my name again, soft, like a question. “Beck?”
I counted three breaths and the air wouldn't go down past the pressure sitting on my chest. Her shoes on the step filled my whole view, scuffed white sneakers, laces double-knotted, one toe tapping fast.
I forced my eyes back up to her face.
“Don't wait for me, Nora. That's an order. It's the first one I ever hated giving.”
She shook her head hard. Tears stood bright in her eyes and spilled before she could blink them back.
“No,” she said. “No way. You don't get to decide that. I'm not some call you can audible out of.”
“You can't be near this. It'll take you down too.”
“I don't care!” she cried. Her voice cracked open on the cold air. People turned on the walk behind us. “Let them talk! I know you! I know you didn't do this!”
“Lower your voice,” I said, quiet. “Please.”
“Don't tell me to —” she said, and pressed her fist to her mouth. “Don't. Do you hear yourself? After everything? After your notebook and all of it? You're just cutting me off?”
“I'm keeping your name clean,” I said. “Your job. Your disclosure. They'll pull your hours. They'll say you helped me. They'll make you part of it.”
“Let them try!” she said. “I'm not scared of Marisol or compliance or Kip or any of them! I'm scared of you shutting down and going somewhere I can't follow!”
I took a half-step toward her without deciding to, then locked my knees and held still. My hands ached in my pockets.
“This isn't shutting down,” I said. “This is me choosing. You stay away and you stay safe. That's the whole play.”
“That's a terrible play!” she said. Tears cut down her cheeks now, fast. “That's the worst call you've ever made! Check out of it! Check, Beck!”
“Can't,” I said. “It's already called.”
“Then call something else!” she said. “Tell me what to do and I'll do it! Tell me where to look!”
“There's nowhere to look,” I said. “Just go to class. Just keep your head down. Promise me.”
“No!” she said. “I won't sit still while they do this to you!”
She grabbed my sleeve. I felt the tug all the way up my arm. I stepped back before I could lean into it.
“Don't,” I said. My voice broke on the one word. I fixed it fast. “Don't make this harder.”
“I'm making it harder?” she whispered. “I kept you safe! How can you —”
She stopped, breath catching. Fresh tears spilled. She wiped them hard with the back of her hand.
“This feels like ice in my chest,” I said. “But I'd rather feel it than watch it hit you.”
Her face crumpled. “Then don't do it,” she whispered. “Please. Don't do this to us.”
The wind gusted between us. Three paces of wet concrete and dead leaves. I memorized the pattern of the cracks so I wouldn't memorize her crying.
“Go inside,” I said. “You're shaking. Get warm.”
“Not without you,” she said.
“Yes,” I said. “Without me. For now.”
I walked past her up the steps. Her sleeve brushed my jacket, soft and gone. I did not turn around when she called my name once more behind me, sharp with tears.
I pushed through the Whitmore doors alone and let them swing shut between us.
? ? ?
The hallway inside smelled like old paper and radiator heat. Late light fell thin through the tall windows and laid long bars across the carpet.
My shoes sounded too loud. Each step echoed back off the brick, even and empty.
Room 214 stood open at the end of the hall. The scarred oak table sat where it always sat. Two chairs tucked in. The radiator hummed low under the window.
I stood in the doorway and ducked my head under the frame out of habit. My hands hung empty at my sides, cold to the wrist.
The chair by the door sat where she always sat, facing the door, angled just right. The seat was empty. The wood caught the thin light along one edge.
I looked at it a long time. My chest still felt locked, my throat raw, my breath shallow in the warm air.
I could have sat in the wrong chair and waited. I could have pulled the other seat out and stared at the wall until my breathing went even.
I pictured her sliding into that seat, bag thudding down, pen clicking once before she caught herself. The hum of Room 214 filled the quiet she always filled first.
I stepped back into the hall and pulled the door of Room 214 half shut behind me.
The chair by the door in 214 sat empty, and I left it that way.