Pretty When She Cries - A. Zavarelli Page 0,23

swear it sounds like Landon. But I don’t look back. I don’t stop for anything. I just let Courtney lead me away, a fresh wave of tears carving rivers through the red paint before they splatter onto my uniform. Courtney keeps telling me it will be okay, but even she doesn’t sound like she believes that.

By the time I leave the staff shower, the game outside has ended. My skin is red and blotchy from scrubbing, and I still don’t feel clean. I just want to go home and hide. I throw on my leggings and a tank top in a daze and tie my hair back into a messy bun. I don’t have the energy to deal with makeup, so I give up and walk out with my chin held high. The floor beneath me feels tenuous at best, but I have to preserve my fragile ego.

Never let them see you hurt.

“Kailani.” Coach approaches me carefully with Courtney trailing beside her. “You doing okay?”

“I’m fine.”

It sounds weak to my own ears, but neither one of them calls me on it.

“I’ve spoken with the announcer,” she says. “He doesn’t know what happened with the program. We’re looking into it.”

I nod, but I already know what this means. They can’t prove who messed with it. That’s the way this goes. People like Audrey always get away with their dirty deeds.

Coach stuffs her hands into her jacket pockets and rocks back on her heels. “As far as the mascot goes, we’re trying to track down who was really in the costume tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t Daniel,” she explains. “Someone tied him up in the boy’s locker room and stole the costume.”

“And he didn’t see who it was?” I ask incredulously.

“According to him, they were wearing masks,” Coach says.

It’s all a bunch of bullshit. The truth is, even if Daniel knows who did it, he won’t talk. Why should I expect anything else at this point?

“Okay, well, I’m gonna go home.” I shrug my heavy shoulders. “I’m tired.”

Coach Lopez reaches out to give my arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m not giving up. These things just take time.”

“I know.” I offer her a neutral smile. It isn’t her fault, and she’s one of the rare few teachers at BMA I trust not to look the other way. It’s a tedious system, and she looks as exhausted as I feel.

Her phone rings, and she holds up a finger when she answers, brows pinching together as she listens to the voice on the other line. Her eyes flash with surprise before they move to me, and she nods while murmuring a quiet affirmative and disconnecting the call.

“That was Principal Dawson.” Disbelief tinges her voice. “He found the culprit tied to an office chair in the staff parking lot. He was still wearing the costume, and his hand was covered in red paint. It looks like someone roughed him up a bit, but it doesn’t sound like he’s talking much.”

“Who is it?” I ask nervously.

“A student from Maple Grove.” Coach tucks her phone back in her pocket and shakes her head. “Mr. Dawson thinks it was meant to be some sort of a prank.”

“Do you know his name?” Courtney asks the same thing I’m wondering.

“Gavin.” Coach shrugs. “That’s all Mr. Dawson could get out of him.”

Court and I look at each other and nod. Audrey was definitely behind this, but I doubt I’ll ever be able to prove it.

“Am I missing something here?” Coach Lopez asks.

“No.” I school my features and hope she doesn’t grill me on this. I have to play my cards carefully.

“Okay.” She sighs. “Well, try to have a good night, ladies.”

Court and I walk out to the parking lot. I’m quietly scanning for more threats while she studies me.

“Why didn’t you tell her it was probably Audrey?” she asks.

“Because we both know Gavin will never admit it has anything to do with her.” I reach into my pocket and curl my fingers around the canister of Mace to give me some semblance of control.

Court pauses when we reach the red Audi TTS Theo and my mom gifted me on my return from Hawaii. Across the lot, some of the football players are congregating around their vehicles. Landon’s leaning against his pretty teal blue Porsche that reminds me of the ocean. He’s not talking to anyone else. He’s just standing there, arms crossed, eyes on me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was waiting for me out here.

“Whoa,” Court whispers.

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