[Maddie’s POV]
I stare at the phone. Derek's name glows on the screen like a warning sign, pulsing with each ring. My entire body goes cold, then hot, then cold again—like my internal temperature control just gave up and went on vacation without leaving a forwarding address.
"Put it on speaker," Emily says immediately, already moving closer. Her hand reaches for her own phone. "Record it. Whatever he's about to say, we need evidence."
My hands shake as I swipe to answer, fumbling with the speaker button. Emily's phone is already recording, pointed at mine like we're documenting a crime scene. Which, given Derek's track record, we probably are.
"Hello?" My voice comes out steadier than I feel, which is a miracle considering my heart's attempting to break the world record for most beats per minute.
"Congratulations on your victory today." Derek's voice cuts through the speaker—cold, bitter, sharp enough to draw blood. "Got my friends expelled."
"Jenna and the others aren't your friends," I say, forcing steel into my tone even though I feel like I'm made of wet paper. "You're on the hockey team. They're not even on the skating team."
"Jenna's been a friend since freshman year." His voice is tight, controlled fury barely contained. "She helped me with classes, introduced me to people when I transferred. And you got her kicked out. Destroyed her life."
"Jenna got herself expelled by sabotaging equipment." The words come out sharper than I intend. "She made her own choices."
Derek laughs—a sound completely devoid of humor, like broken glass scraping concrete. "You know what the worst part is? You dumped me. Made me look like an idiot in front of everyone. And now people are whispering."
My throat tightens. "What are people whispering?"
His voice hardens into something ugly, something dangerous. "That you might be into girls. That you were never really into me at all. That maybe dating me turned you gay or some shit. Do you know how that makes me look?"
My throat closes up completely. I have to force the words out past the panic. "That's not how sexuality works."
"I don't care how it works," Derek snaps. "I care that people are laughing at me behind my back. Saying Derek Owens's girlfriend left him for a girl. That I wasn't good enough, so you went and found yourself a girlfriend instead."
Emily cuts in, her voice sharp as a blade. "This is about your ego?"
"This is about respect," Derek says, and there's something venomous in his tone now, something that makes my skin crawl. "Maddie humiliated me. Used me as a beard or whatever. And now I'm expelled, facing criminal charges for defending my friends, and she gets to walk away like she didn't destroy multiple lives."
"I didn't use you," I say, my voice coming out smaller than I want. "We dated. Then we broke up. That's how relationships work sometimes."
"Bullshit." The word hits like a slap. "Everyone sees how you look at Emily. How close you two are. I've been watching. I've seen things."
My blood runs cold. Ice water straight through my veins, freezing everything solid. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I've seen you two together when you thought no one was looking." Derek's voice drops lower, more threatening. "The parking lot after late practices. The way you touch each other. The way she held you when you were crying. That wasn't just friendship, Maddie."
My mind races—the parking lot. I'd been having a breakdown about the bullying, about everything falling apart, and Emily held me. It was innocent. Just comfort. But it lasted too long, we stood too close, and apparently someone was watching. Apparently Derek was watching.
"I've got my suspicions," Derek continues, and I can hear the cruel satisfaction in his voice. "And I'm done keeping quiet about them. People deserve to know what you really are."
"Are you threatening us?" Emily's voice is steady, controlled, but I can see her hands clenched into fists.
"I'm promising you that the truth is going to come out," Derek says. "One way or another." The line goes dead. I sit frozen, phone still gripped in my hand like it might explode if I set it down. The recording on Emily's phone keeps running for another few seconds before she stops it.
"Did he actually see something?" Emily asks carefully, her eyes searching my face. "Or is he just guessing?"
"Even if he's guessing," I say, and my voice sounds hollow, distant, like it's coming from underwater, "if he tells enough people his suspicions, it becomes truth. People will believe him. They want to believe it—gives them something to gossip about, makes them feel like they were right all along."
We sit in heavy silence. The weight of it presses down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Our secret—the one we've guarded so carefully, hidden so well—is slipping through our fingers like water. No matter how tightly we try to hold on, it keeps leaking out, drop by drop, until eventually there won't be anything left to hide.
The next few days pass in tense, anxious limbo. I keep waiting for Derek to make his move—for rumors to explode across campus, for screenshots to surface, for our carefully constructed lies to crumble.
But nothing happens. Life continues with eerie normalcy. My physical therapy sessions progress. Emily trains, her jumps getting cleaner, her programs sharper. We exist in careful routine, going through the motions like actors playing ourselves, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
A week after Derek's call, my phone rings. Mom's name flashes on the screen. I answer automatically, still half-expecting disaster.
"Hi, sweetheart." Her voice is too casual, too measured—the tone she uses when she's trying very hard to sound normal. "Your father and I were thinking we'd like to come visit on Saturday. Take you to lunch, spend some time together. How does that sound?"
There's something beneath the words, something I can't quite identify but know is there. Like she's reading from a script someone else wrote.
"That sounds great," I say, because what else can I say? "I'd love to see you both."
After we hang up, I turn to Emily. "My parents are coming Saturday."
Emily's expression shifts immediately. "Do you think this is about the hearing?"
"Definitely." The certainty settles in my stomach like a stone. "That lawyer's questions. The rumors Derek's probably spreading. They want answers."
"Okay." Emily sits up straighter, already shifting into strategy mode. "So we need to convince them the rumors are lies. We need to be consistent."
We spend the next hour practicing—rehearsing what I'll say, how I'll deflect, which version of the truth I'll tell. The version where Emily and I are just friends, just training partners, just two people who went through trauma together and came out closer on the other side.
The version that's safe. The version that keeps everyone comfortable. The version that's a complete lie.
By the time we finish, my head hurts and my chest feels tight. Saturday looms on the horizon—simultaneously too far away and too soon. Like standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing you'll eventually have to jump but desperately wishing you could stay on solid ground just a little bit longer.