The day the Delia story broke, Hallie decided to leave practice early. She called her mom to come pick her up, and I waited with her in the locker room so people didn’t keep staring at her. Once she left, I found Ryan in the gym and told him we needed to talk. We sat in a quiet, empty corner of the gym, and I relayed the entire dismal story. He looked shocked and sad when I summarized what happened to Delia, but downright grief-stricken when I shared how Kaminsky had made Hallie feel. His face crumpled.

“No,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Is she okay? How is she holding up?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “She’s angry. Upset. Sad. Who wouldn’t be?”

He punched a stack of crash mats, and the solid thump of his fist echoed around the gym.

“I told her to go to that scumbag,” he spat out. “This is my fault.”

“It’s not,” I said gently.

And because nothing in the world was right, I stepped forward to give him a hug. I held him for a long time.

“I just had no idea,” he repeated over and over, looking pained. “Everyone trusted him.”

I was at a loss for words again.

“Maybe,” I said finally, “that was the problem.”

Chapter 14

• CHAPTER 14 •

It’s been a hell of a week, so on Saturday morning, when Sara invites me to yoga for what must be the fifteenth time, I say yes. Anything is better than sitting around, reading infuriating tweets about the scandal. If yoga can help take my mind off that, I’m willing to try it.

“Yay, this is fab! I’m so excited to have you in class today,” Sara says, giving me a quick squeeze of a hug. “You don’t have a yoga mat, do you?”

“Nope. You know, I’ve never actually done yoga before.”

“Not a problem. There are extra mats at the studio. You should bring a water bottle and wear something comfortable that you can move in—probably not a leotard, though, just FYI. Like, leggings, tank tops, that kind of thing.”

“Trust me, it’s not like any of my old leotards even fit anymore,” I joke. “I wish.”

“Don’t do that,” Sara says gently.

“What?”

“Make comments like that about your body,” she explains. “There’s no need to beat yourself up.”

“I don’t—” I start to protest.