Chapter 5

For three days, the storm didn’t break. Harrington’s lectures remained clinical, his gaze skimming past her like she was just another student. Jameson nodded politely in the hallways, his smiles bland and practiced. Ben she never saw. Kylie’s bruises faded; her throat healed. She woke without flinching, showered without scrubbing her skin raw. The folded lace underwear in her closet gathered dust, untouched. Maya chattered about her latest crush—some football player with dimples—while they stretched before practice, blissfully oblivious. Coach Miller barked corrections as Kylie practiced her uneven bars routine, the sting of calloused palms against polished wood grounding her in reality. The competition loomed; the team buzzed with adrenaline. For fleeting moments, she could pretend the recent events were just a bad dream.

Inside the humid locker room, Maya bounced on the bench beside her, towel wrapped around her waist. “Ezra kissed me yesterday,” she announced, eyes gleaming. “Behind the bleachers? Total cliché, right?” Her damp ponytail swung as she giggled. “He’s so...” She trailed off, searching for the word, fingers twisting the towel edge, “Aggressive.” Like, he pinned me against the chain-link, y’know?” Kylie froze mid-motion, her leotard half-pulled over her shoulders. The cold metal locker door pressed against her wrist. Maya leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “So? Have you done it yet? With anyone?” The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Kylie’s reflection stared back from the locker mirror—pale, hollow-eyed. Her own hand trembled against the nylon fabric.

Kylie yanked the leotard up sharply, fabric snapping against her spine. She forced a bright peal of laughter, clear as a bell. “Me?” she scoffed, turning to face Maya with a wide, dazzling smile plastered across her face—the same smile she reserved for competition podiums and scholarship photos. “God, no!” She arched a playful eyebrow. “Virgin, remember?” Maya blinked, momentarily stunned by the radiant assurance. But beneath the practiced grin, Kylie’s mind fragmented: Harrington’s fingers digging into her scalp, Jameson’s cold observation of her throat milking him, the choking flood of semen erupting from her nose, the merciless schlock as Harrington pulled free. Her stomach clenched violently. She shoved the images down, deep beneath the gymnast’s polished facade.

Maya sighed, tying her sneakers. “Saving it for someone special, huh?” Kylie busied herself stuffing her gym bag, fingers fumbling with the zipper. Special. The word echoed mockingly. Harrington’s soft explanation—Because we can—rang louder. The phantom taste of scotch-laced mint ghosted over her tongue. Maya rambled on about Ezra’s hands, oblivious to the tremor running through Kylie’s frame as she slammed her locker shut.

“Seriously, though,” Maya teased, rising and nudging Kylie’s shoulder playfully, “how are you still a virgin? With those?” Her gaze dropped pointedly to Kylie’s chest beneath the thin leotard strap. “Look at those! Big, perfect boobies? And that?” She gestured admiringly at Kylie’s lean, but curvy backside. “Every guy stares—like, constantly—when you vault. Coach shouldn’t even let you wear spandex shorts!” Kylie let out an airy giggle, high and bright, pressing her palms to flushed cheeks. “Oh my god, stop!” she protested, turning away to hide the genuine heat crawling up her neck. Kylie’s giggling intensified, almost frantic now, shoulders shaking as she leaned against the cold locker bank. “Stop it, Maya! You’re ridiculous!” she gasped between peals of laughter, still shielding her burning face. Maya grinned, delighted by the reaction. “Blushing virgin!” she sing-songed triumphantly, grabbing her own bag. “I bet you secretly want Liam Walsh to notice.” Kylie froze mid-giggle, hands lowering slowly. Liam Walsh. Star quarterback. Kind eyes that crinkled when he laughed. Ophelia’s crush. Did he ever notice her?

Maya watched Kylie’s blush deepen, mistaking her sudden stillness for shy delight. “Definitely Liam!” Maya crowed, bouncing gleefully. “Dude practically trips over his feet whenever you walk past him in the hall!” Kylie forced herself to breathe evenly, fingers tightening on her gym bag strap until her knuckles whitened. “Really?” Her voice sounded unnaturally bright. Maya nodded enthusiastically. “Yep! And it’s totally because of these!” She abruptly cupped her own small breasts through her towel, squeezing them pointedly. “Ugh, my boobies are tiny.” she groaned dramatically, letting go to gesture dismissively at her modest chest. “But,” she added, perking up instantly as she spun around, deliberately jiggling her own firm buttocks clad only in her towel, “this is pretty damn nice, right? Ezra says he loves it.” She giggled, shaking her hips side-to-side playfully in Kylie’s face. “Solid A-plus butt!”

The forced laughter caught in Kylie’s throat as Maya turned away. Seeing the exaggerated wiggle, Kylie reacted instinctively—a gymnast’s quick, playful reflex. “Oh yeah?” she teased, the false lightness cracking slightly. She reached out and swatted Maya’s swaying backside sharply with her open palm. “Solid A-plus this!” The sharp smack echoed dully in the humid locker room. Maya shrieked—not in pain, but surprise—jumping nearly a foot in the air. The sudden jolt loosened the knot of her towel tucked securely at her waist. Before Maya could react, the damp terrycloth slithered down her legs, puddling at her ankles on the damp concrete floor. Maya froze mid-jump, eyes widening comically. “KYLIE!” she screeched, utterly mortified. Kylie stared, momentarily paralyzed, at Maya’s completely bare backside—smooth skin, taut muscles flexing in surprise.