Chapter 3

At the last mock competition before Sectionals, I placed first overall.

Silas scored dead last.

He crumpled his score sheet into a ball and tossed it in the trash.

"Doesn't matter. I'm not competing at Sectionals anyway."

Lyla was right there, gazing up at him with worship in her eyes. "Silas, you're so amazing."

He grinned, pinched her cheek. "Obviously. I'm going home to run the family business."

I walked past them. Silas called out.

"Maeve."

I stopped.

"Still pissed about the grant?"

I didn't answer.

"I know it sucked for you. But you saw Lyla's situation. He needed it more than you did."

He walked up to me, voice softening. "Take the card. The PIN is your birthday. Whatever you need for training, just tell me."

He actually believed money could fix everything.

Could erase what he did to me. Could buy back what I lost.

"I don't need it," I said flatly.

"Here we go again." Irritation crept into his voice. "When are you going to drop this pathetic pride thing? You make, what, minimum wage at the shop? I'm offering you more than you'd earn in a lifetime."

Lyla walked over, tugging at his sleeve.

"Silas, don't say that to her. She's just... not used to it yet."

She turned to me, pity dripping from her eyes.

"Maeve, I know you resent me. But I was truly desperate. My stepmom, she's... she's not human."

Her eyes went red again.

I watched the performance.

All year, I'd watched it. Over and over.

She always played the victim in front of Silas.

And I was always cast as the villain.

"Silas promised he'd make it up to you," Lyla said, like she was the lady of the house making an announcement. "Whatever you want, just tell us."

I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. I actually laughed.

First time in days.

Silas blinked. "What's funny?"

"I'm laughing because you two deserve each other. A match made in hell."

I said it, turned, and walked away.

Silas shouted behind me. "Maeve! Get back here!"

I didn't look back.

That night, Bree sent me a photo.

Silas and Lyla at a karaoke bar. He was singing into a mic. She was curled up against him, beaming.

In the background, their friends held up a banner:

*Congrats Lyla on the Grant! Silas + Lyla Forever!*

Bree texted: *Don't look at this. She's not worth it.*

I turned off my phone. Tossed it aside.

Picked up my training journal. Started reviewing my jumps, one by one.

Drowning in the work was the only way to stop thinking.