Pretty When She Cries - Black Mountain Academy

When I went back to Hawaii, I thought I could untangle the endless loop of my thoughts and make sense of everything. For months, I explored these themes with a therapist. If I can’t remember what happened that night, who’s really responsible? I shouldn’t have had that drink. I shouldn’t have gone to the party. I should have, could have, and would have done so many things differently. It feels like my own mind has betrayed me. I’m so angry with Landon, but I blame myself too. I can’t have it both ways. And the worst part is, even with so much lingering uncertainty, I confessed to my therapist that Landon still appeared in my dreams. Only they weren’t nightmares. They were fantasies.

The therapist tried to tell me it was okay. She said my brain was trying to make sense of what happened. Subconsciously, I was trying to make a scary situation safe. But it never felt like that to me. It felt depraved and dirty. There was no way it was okay to think about my tormentor like that. Not anymore.

I quit therapy after that and tried to make sense of things myself. But in the end, I determined there was only one thing I could do. Come back here and destroy them all. Particularly, Landon Blackwood.

So, when the opportunity presents itself after practice on Monday afternoon, what do I do?

I freeze.

I never anticipated I’d round the corner of the locker room and stumble upon such a rare moment of vulnerability. His broad palm is slapped against the brick exterior, his football uniform clinging to his muscular frame as his head sags into his chest. It’s like a secret nobody knows. Not even him. He’s in too much pain to notice me even if he wanted to. Clutching his elbow as his stomach revolts, he’s clearly fighting back the urge to vomit. He pinches the bridge of his nose and tilts his head back, eyes squeezed shut as he fights for control of his own body. It’s raw, and it’s unexpected. Why does he play football if he’s in so much pain? And what caused those scars on the back of his arm?

My phone sticks to my palm as the rational side of my brain shouts at me to take a picture. This is what I’ve been waiting for. I could ruin him with one photo. I could send it to every media outlet in the country and, even worse, to all the rival football teams. But can I really do that? Is this who I’ve become?

I swallow the lump in my throat and try to justify why I can’t do it. This wouldn’t be a fair fight. And I will do Landon dirty. I will. But not like this.

“Pathetic, much?”

I whirl around to find Audrey watching me watch Landon, and my cheeks flame with heat. This is the last thing I need right now. Play it cool, Kail. Just play it cool. I breeze past her and try to flip my hair over my shoulder, but it whips me in the face. Real smooth.

“I was just making sure your boyfriend didn’t keel over,” I say. “Not that I care either way.”

Her voice is dripping with venom when she replies. “Coach Lopez is looking for you. We’re having an impromptu meeting.”

I come to a halt, glancing at her over my shoulder with narrowed eyes. “What?”

Her lips curl into a devious grin as she points her perfectly manicured claw at the gym. “They’re all waiting for you.”

This is bad. Her barely restrained glee is evidence of that. But just in case she didn’t successfully make the ground shake beneath me, she drives her point home with an embellished princess wave.

“Ready to kiss your crown goodbye? Hope you enjoyed it while it lasted.”

I feel like my windpipe is caving in on itself as I walk to my inevitable doom. It’s obvious what’s happening here, and when I open the door to find the committee of alumni seated across from Coach Lopez, I’m not even surprised.

My vision sways a little as my pristine white shoes squeak across the gymnasium floor.

“Kailani.” Coach nods at me, her face tight. “We’re having an impromptu meeting with the committee. Can you join us?”

She gestures to the open seat next to her, and I take it. Audrey walks around the table and joins the woman in the middle, who can only be her mother. They are exact replicas of each other.

“This is Mrs. Rothschild.” Coach gestures at Audrey’s mother, and then goes around the table, introducing the rest of the women. I don’t hear their names. My head feels like it’s underwater. I expected something like this, but I thought I’d have time to prepare before facing them. There should have been some warning.

“This is about what happened at the first game.” I venture a guess.