Page 159 of Bad Prince

Not whispers.

Not headlines.

So why?—

Why does it feel like I just lost something anyway?

After that, I flatten out.

Not in a dramatic way.

No crying in bathrooms. No angry music. No late-night spiral texts I’ll regret in the morning.

I just… go still.

The kind of stillness that looks disciplined from the outside.

Coach loves it.

Delia hates it.

I stop lingering after practice. Stop sitting around in the locker room. Stop giving anyone the chance to read my face before I’ve decided what expression I want on it.

I’m up before dawn.

Bleachers.

Lift.

Classes.

Film.

Library.

Laundry.

Protein.

Sleep.

Repeat.

Everything gets folded into clean corners.

Everything gets measured.

Even my coffee order becomes a system.

Hot. Always hot. Even when Palo Alto is eighty-two and bright enough to make the sidewalks glow.

No parties.

No mixers.

No “accidental” dinners in the athlete hall.

No stopping to chat on the quad.