“You should, and I know this seems spur of the moment, but Abby approached me about this last week, too. Like you, I figured maybe it would never result in anything.”
I feel sick. I’m not ready to put what happened to me—what happened to Anika—on paper.
“Theo, I don’t want to. They can fire me, too. I’ll get my work hours done in the mail room at campus. I don’t care.”
He shakes his head.
“Can’t. I’ve got that job now,” he jokes.
My head falls to the side, and I stare at him, willing him to be serious.
“Lil, they’re going to write this story one way or another. I’d rather it be you driving the narrative.”
“How can they? I’ll refuse to talk.” It would be easy for me. I haven’t been quoted once, anywhere, about what happened. When reporters called, I let them go to voicemail. And when my mom and Drew had people show up at our home in Ohio, they took their cards, sent them away, and promptly tossed them in the trash. That’s one silver lining to my mom’s cold shoulder toward me: she hates the idea of me getting any attention.
“I thought you’ve readThe Affiliatefor years,” he says. “You know they don’t need the subject to talk to tell their story. They’ll find others to quote. Welles will put pressure on your coach, wanting the positive spin. Good press means donations and new students.”
“I won’t swim, then. I’ll quit.” I fold my arms over my chest and literally dig my heel into the floor of his car.
Theo leans forward and unravels my hold on myself, taking my hands in his and working his fingers through mine one at a time. He looks at them like they’re special. He looks at me like I’m special.
Shaking his head, he says, “You have to swim, Lily.”
My eyes burn. I shake my head.
“No.”
He lets go with one hand and wipes away the tear that escapes down my cheek, leaving his hand there for support. His stare is so potent, so clear and honest. The scowl has disappeared from his forehead, probably because he’s resolved to this being the only way. But I’m not. It isn’t fair.
“You’ve worked too hard to break through that cage, Lily. You’re almost free of a huge fear. You can’t give up on that because some greedy media mogul wants to capitalize on it. Besides, you know they’d only change the headline.”
WILL SHE EVER SWIM AGAIN?
I can visualize the bold letters in my mind, along with the photos taken from that night. They’d use photos from the Welles student paper, and clips from theAshwood Courier, the local paper that covers literally everything that happens in town. Someone would probably give them a yearbook, and I bet my old roommate Angela would beg them to be quoted in the story out of spite.
“I’m going to be fine. I’m not expelled, and I get to play football in two weeks. I said my piece to my mom today, and I’m prepared to play the long game when it comes to Neil. Lily, I’ve never been surer about the things in my life than I am now. I love you, and you have to do this.”
Our eyes flicker at that word, but rather than maintain eye contact, we quickly look away—Theo’s gaze darting out the windshield and mine dropping to my lap, to my kneading hands. He doesn’t repeat it, and I don’t respond. Not to that, at least.
“Okay,” I murmur.
I love you, too.
“I’ll do it.”
Chapter26
Theo
Is it weird that despite parts of my life unraveling, I’m exceptionally okay right now? I’m even all right with the fact I told Lily I loved her. Not really the way I wanted to say it, all innocuous and buried like that, but it was so easy to say. I don’t want to label it an accident, but it wasn’t planned or purposeful. I haven’t really thought about it in terms of that level of feeling. But even after only weeks, the word is easy and accurate. There isn’t a single thing I’ve come to know about her that I don’t love.
Anika was right.
I wonder if I tell Coach I love him if that will fast-forward this uncomfortable meeting we’re about to have? Probably not.
Even James was clueless what this meeting is about. I texted him right after his dad called me this morning and told me to meet in the headmaster’s conference room before my first hour. I’ve been in this room more in the past two days than my entire time at Welles. I’m not very fond of it, either. It’s overly ornate, which I think is supposed to impress wealthy donors—riches beget more riches, or something like that. But from my perspective, it’s tacky. Why so much wood paneling? And why so . . . dark? What’s wrong with windows?
“Theo, thanks for starting your day a little early for this,” Coach says as he walks in behind me and interrupts my mental spiral down my own HGTV show.