Chapter Three: Morning After

Naomi's POV

The house was dark except for the kitchen light when I got home.

My mom was waiting up anyway, still in the same clothes she wore to the competition. A cup of tea gone cold in front of her.

She didn't ask me if it was true or not because she knew there was no truth in it. But she didn't know what to tell me either so she just drew me into a bear hug. Even at 21, I still melted whenever my Mum hugged me.

"We'll figure it out tomorrow," she said, pulling me tighter. She smelled like home. "Right now you need sleep."

I didn't tell her about the call. I didn't know how to explain two thousand dollars to her and have her start worrying on top of everything else.

We didn't have that kind of cash sitting anywhere and that reality kept me awake most of the night doing math that never worked out the same way twice.

By morning I'd slept maybe two hours, and none of it felt like rest.

School that day was its own kind of exhausting.

People went quiet when I walked past. Conversations that were loud a second before suddenly went mute when I passed.

Nobody looked at me directly. A few teachers were too careful about it, which was even worse.

By second period, Kayla Simmons stopped me outside the science hall, arms crossed, voice pitched to carry.

"My cousin swims for Brentwood," Kayla said. "She says everyone there already knows. Real classy, Naomi."

I didn't answer her. I didn't have the energy to defend myself to people like who'd already concluded.

Someone had took a picture of the results page on the notice board and posted it with a caption calling me a disgrace to the program. It had four hundred likes by the time I checked my phone at lunch.

I got through my morning classes on autopilot, answering when called on, saying nothing otherwise.

By lunch I'd made a decision I had been avoiding since the podium.

I was going to talk to Coach Reyes.

He was the only adult at Maristen who'd trained me since I was fourteen. Freshman year, when I almost quit the team after a bad competition, he stayed late every single day for a month until I stopped dreading practice again. Nobody else had ever done that for me, not even close.

I told myself that had to count for something, even after everything.

His office door was half open when I got there. A framed photo of the team from back in the day sat on his shelf, me at fourteen in the back row, gap toothed and grinning. Simpler times.

He looked up when I knocked on the door-frame, and for a second his face did something I couldn't read.

"Naomi." He set the folder down. "Close the door."

I did, and stood there twisting the strap of my bag until he gestured for me to sit.

"I know you're disappointed in me," I said, before I lost my nerve to speak. "I know that's probably why you couldn't say anything in front of everyone. But Coach, I swear to you, I was framed. Someone swapped my pills."

Something in his expression softened, and for a moment I let myself believe he was finally about to say something that would fix all of it.

"I know," he said quietly. "I never believed you were the kind of girl who'd risk everything for a shortcut."

Relief hit me so hard I almost missed what he said next. His opinions always meant the world to me not just because he was my coach. But I've had a heavy crush on him since I was 12. Only Octavia knew about that.

"Why are you here? I mean, what can I do for you? Did something else happen? Talk to me. All of it."

So I told him. The video. The password. The voice that didn't sound like anyone I knew. The deadline that kept ticking down in my head even as I sat there.

His knuckles went pale around the pen in his hand while I talked, and he leaned forward like every word mattered more than the last.

"Two thousand dollars," he repeated, once I'd finished. "And they want it by tonight?"

"Yeah, by tonight," I said. "I don't have it. I don't even know where I'd start."

"Call them back," he said. "Right now. Tell them you have the money."

"I don't have the money."

"I know that. I will handle it." He held my gaze steady. "But we need to know where they want to meet before we can do anything about it. Trust me."

I hesitated for exactly one second before I pulled out my phone. I was feeling both gratitude and anxiety. He was willing to pay them for me? My gosh.

He walked me through what to say, low and calm, the same voice he used to calm a swimmer down before a big race.

"Steady," he said. "Same tone you would use to ask about a schedule change or to place an order. Just be calm okay? Nothing more."

I nodded frantically and pressed redial on my phone.

The call connected on the second ring. The same scrambled voice answered like it had been waiting.

"I have the money," I said, my voice steadier than I felt, Coach Reyes watching me the whole time. "Where do you want it?"

There was a pause on the other end, longer than I expected.

"The boathouse behind the athletic complex," the voice said. "Nine tonight. Come alone."

The line went dead before I could say anything else.

I set the phone down on his desk; my hands not quite steady.

"The boathouse," I repeated to him. "Nine tonight."

Coach Reyes's hand tightened around his coffee mug hard enough that I heard it click against the desk when he set it down.

"Don't worry," he said, his voice back to calm before I could be sure I'd seen anything at all. "I'll get to the bottom of this. For all we know, whoever's doing this might even be the one who set you up in the first place."

I nodded, grateful, maybe even relieved. Now, all I had to do was wait for 9pm.