Get used to them. He looked at her. What do I owe you? Nothing, Maya. Nothing.
Earl shook his head. One day, you're going to have to let somebody do something for you. Maya thought of Helen saying nearly the same thing. Apparently, there's a committee forming. That made him laugh.
At 9:30, alone outside the kitchen beneath the red awning, Maya called her father. David answered on the third ring. You eat protein? Hi to you, too. That means no, dad.
His voice softened. What happened? Maya looked out at the rain shining beneath street lights. She told him about Nicole. Not every detail enough.
David was quiet for several seconds. Then he said, "He's trying to make you angry at the world." "I know. Don't help him." Maya leaned against the brick wall.
"I know. Listen to me." She closed her eyes. I'm listening. Don't throw away six years because a rich man's son needs six minutes of your anger.
The sentence went through her past the training, past the notebook, past all the things she'd built to keep herself steady. Maya swallowed. What if it isn't just me anymore? Then you protect the people around you the same way you've been protecting yourself. How?
By staying who you are. The rain came harder. David coughed once, then continued. People like that want to choose the version of you they get to fight. Don't give it to them.
Maya's eyes burned. I have to go, Maya. I'm okay. He was quiet, then gently. I didn't ask if you were.
She ended the call before her voice could break. The locker room at Caldwell was empty when she reached campus later that night. Maya sat on the wooden bench beneath fluorescent lights. For a long time, she stared at the floor. Then the tears came silently.
No dramatic sobbing, no collapse, just exhaustion, finally finding somewhere private to go. She cried for Nicole, for the apartment she'd lost, for David's back, for every time kindness seemed to create another handle somebody could grab. She pressed both hands against the bench, breathed, waited. When it was over, she washed her face with cold water. Then she trained for 40 minutes, not hard, clean, precise.
At 10:18, she stepped out of the athletic building. A man was waiting near the bike rack. Maya recognized him. Evan Cole, 25, one of the students who sometimes sat with Tyler. He kept looking toward the parking lot.
You're Maya, right? You know I am. Evan nodded. I need to tell you something. Maya said nothing.
He lowered his voice. Last year there was another scholarship student. Maya went still. What about them? They pushed back on Tyler.