“Well, folks . . .” Jim pauses, like he’s trying to find the right words. “Emotions can run high at times like these. Why don’t we give all the athletes another round of applause.”

A few claps, but the buzzing drowns them out.

“I think we’ve all had a heck of a night,” Jim says over the noise. “Let’s be safe getting home.”

I look back over my shoulder and see Rex and his coach disappearing into the tunnel leading to the locker rooms, the sting of his betrayal still piercing every inch of my skin. Those were my secrets to tell. Not his. Why would he do this? And in front of everyone?

I close my eyes, head reeling with confusion, and imagine the last time I saw him, cheering wildly for me in the stands. What the hell happ— Damn, I missed his game. With everything going on, I wasn’t even thinking about him. And he lost. In front of all the scouts.

Jordan grabs my shoulder and I turn around. “Is it true?” she asks, face screwed up with confusion.

“I was going to tell you—”

“Wait, are you serious? You’re really quitting the team?”

“Yes, but—”

“I can’t believe this shit! How could you keep this from me?”

“I wanted to tell you. I just—”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jordan says, and walks off the stage. The rest of the team follows.

I forget to be careful and catch Shannon’s daddy looking at me from the stands like I’m the biggest disappointment ever.

Even coming from him, I can’t help feeling like I am.

REX

Nothing hurt. In the gym, in my haze of anger, I felt numb. Free. But heading back to Houston in the backseat of my father’s Tesla, it feels like I just had a bad dream.

If only I had.

If only my mind—suspicious of itself, unwilling to believe I did what I did—was right.

Why did I have to do Carli so wrong?

Well, she did me wrong first. I didn’t hurt her more any more than she hurt me.

I can’t believe I’m sittin’ up here defending myself. Another warm tear slides down my cheek, and I quickly wipe it with my funky warm-up sleeve.

Angie slides hand over hand over hand, like she’s washing them. And I wish I could wash myself of myself—scrub my conscience clean.

Then she turns back to look at me over her left shoulder, her black wavy hair framing her face, and says, “People make mistakes, Rex. You were upset. You can’t beat yourself up about it.”

But that’s exactly what you should do. My ass could use a good beatdown right about now.

My father looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Yeah,” he says, “give it some time. Things will blow over.”