Page 169 of Wish You Were Mine
I smiled.
Because I had to.
But as I raised my arms in salute to the judges and glanced back at the stands, that one empty seat made my eyes sting.
Because while I was pretty sure I’d just nailed a career high on floor…maybe even secured first in the all-around…the one person I wanted to celebrate with wasn’t here.
The next week blurred by in a haze of survival.
I switched on autopilot. Forced myself through classes, through practices, through life, because the alternative was lying in bed all day crying into the lavender-scented stuffed cow Owen had once tucked into my backpack.
My appetite was non-existent, replaced by a permanent knot in my stomach that refused to untangle. My whole nervous system felt frayed—jumpy, short-circuited, completely out of sync.
All Monday morning, my anxiety over facing Owen for the first time since our breakup built in slow, pounding waves as the clock ticked toward one o’clock.
By the time I stepped into the science building, my body revolted, and I had to duck into the bathroom while I lost the few bites of toast I’d forced down at lunch.
I stayed in there for a while, leaning over the sink, staring at my reflection as I debated skipping class altogether. Maybe I should just drop the class. Come back as a fifth-year senior in the fall to finish it.
It would be easier than facing him every day.
Easier than pretending the man I loved was just my professor now.
Easier than knowing he could never be mine as long as my dad was still sitting in the president’s office.
But no. If Owen had to still show up… If he had to go about life like nothing had happened over the weekend, then I would, too.
Even if it killed me.
I slipped into the back of the lecture hall ten minutes late, hoping no one would notice—especially him. But the second I sat down, I felt it.
His eyes.
He glanced at me once, the alarm flashing across his face so briefly I might have imagined it, before he forced his gaze away.
And then he kept teaching.
But every word he said, every movement he made, hit me like a jolt. Like the air between us was wired with everything we weren’t allowed to say anymore.
And it hurt so much more than I expected.
By Thursday, I was running on fumes.
I’d made it through several drills at practice, but my legs were shaky. My head felt floaty. Like I was about to tip over and fall straight off the beam during a drill I could normally do in my sleep.
“Lucy, what’s going on?” Coach Chambers blew her whistle and walked over, eyes narrowing. “You sick again?”
My chin trembled.
But before I could even attempt a lie, Nora stepped up beside me, her voice quiet but steady. “She had a bad breakup over the weekend. Hasn’t been able to eat or sleep.”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry to hear that.” Coach’s expression softened as she pulled me into her side. “Really. Breakups are rough. Especially with how much pressure you’re under.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah.”
“How about you take ten. Go sit. Try to eat something if you can. Then if you can, we’ll just have you run through your floor routine and call it good, okay?”
“Thanks, Coach,” I whispered, even as guilt clawed at my insides.
