Chapter 7

The bright lights of Scoops & Swirls buzzed overhead, casting harsh reflections on chrome tables sticky with spilled soda. Kylie and her teammates piled into the booths, the vinyl seats squeaking as they slid in, celebrating after regionals. Maya shoved a triple-scoop sundae toward Kylie, cherries sliding off melted ice cream dripping with caramel and chocolate. “Gold medalist gets first dibs!” she crowed, nudging Kylie gently in the ribs. Around them, her team laughed, chairs scraping as they crowded in—sequins mingling with Pinecrest High warm-up jackets. Kylie dug her spoon into the mint chocolate chip, the cold sweetness sharp against her bruised palate. She swirled the ice cream around her tongue, trying to hide the lingering taste of semen she could sense in her mouth. For a fractured moment, the chatter faded: Maya’s elbow against hers, the bright tang of rainbow sprinkles, the weight of the gold medal bouncing against her sternum beneath her hoodie. Normalcy tasted nice, like mint, offering Kylie a respite, but she struggled to keep the intrusive memories at bay.

Across the booth, Sarah—another teammate—retold Kylie’s beam recovery with exaggerated hand gestures. “—and then she sticks the landing like whoosh!” Ice cream dripped onto the table as Sarah mimed the flip with a sundae spoon. Laughter erupted as the girls giggled. Kylie forced her lips into a smile, licking sticky residue from her spoon. Her throat tightened as she swallowed—not from emotion, but the ghostly memory of whiskey and cigars and grease. She focused on the chill of the ice cream, the squeaking of the booth as the girl shifted, the too-loud pop song blasting from the jukebox. Maya leaned in, breath warm with fudge sauce, “Nailed it! I’m so proud of you!” Despite herself, Kylie blushed, leaning into Myra with gratitude.

Suddenly, the bell above the door jingled. Kylie looked up as Liam Walsh ducked inside, his letterman jacket brushing the frame, eyes scanning the crowded room before landing on Kylie. She blushed furiously as the team erupted in whistles. Liam grinned, sliding into the booth beside her, his knee pressing against hers. “Champion deserves a victory kiss,” Maya teased, waggling her eyebrows. Liam’s hand found Kylie’s under the table, his fingers warm and calloused—so different from the greased grip in the boiler room, gentle. He leaned in gently, respectfully. Kylie’s pulse spiked in her chest and throat, but she turned her head at the last moment, presenting her flushed cheek to him. His lips were soft, his breath carrying the vague hint of spearmint gum. She gently pushed her cheek into his lips mechanically, the medal digging into her chest, not completely sure what to do. Pulling away, she caught Maya’s delighted sigh. Normal. Happy. Safe. Teenager things. Yet beneath the table, Kylie’s other hand clenched, nails biting into her palm until her pulse settled and the redness in her cheek diminished.

Outside, beneath a flickering streetlamp, Kylie trailed behind the group. Liam draped an arm around her shoulders, his thumb rubbing idle circles near her collarbone—too close to the hidden bruises. Maya linked arms with Sarah, their laughter echoing down the empty sidewalk. Kylie stared at her medal gleaming under the sodium light. Gold. Perfect. You did perfect, Princess, Harrington’s voice whispered in her mind. She shuddered, pulling Liam’s jacket tighter around her throat. The cold night air reeked of exhaust and the sweet aroma of spilled ice cream. Miles away, the rustle of leather seats in the office at Pinecrest High as the judges critiqued her performances with sips of cocktails would never reach Kylie’s ears.

“I gotta get home and celebrate with my family,” Kylie murmurs to Liam. Her fingers trembling slightly against his jacket sleeve. She forced her brightest smile, the one she practiced all last summer for beam dismounts. Liam’s grin faltered only for a second—just long enough for her to see the flicker of confusion in his eyes—before he leaned in for another quick kiss. “First place, so proud of you” he murmured against her cheek, like it’s a secret. When she pulled away, Maya caught her elbow, all purple sequins and breathless giggles. “Text me later,” Maya ordered, squeezing hard enough to leave fingerprints. Kylie gave a brief nod, before scurrying to her car, sliding inside and starting the engine. In her rearview mirror, Maya and the rest of the gymnastics team happily bounce around their vehicles, but Liam watches her car turn out of the parking lot, a discouraged running across his face.