[Maddie’s POV]

I walk without destination, letting my feet carry me wherever they want to go. The campus feels unfamiliar even though I’ve walked these paths a thousand times. Everything looks slightly wrong, like I’m seeing it through water.

The library looms ahead, its stone facade catching the late afternoon light. There’s a bench near the entrance and I sit down hard, my legs unable to hold me up anymore.

My phone weighs heavy in my pocket. I pull it out and stare at the screen, watching it blur in and out of focus. Before I can second-guess myself, I’m dialing Dad’s number.

He answers on the second ring. “Maddie, sweetheart. This is a nice surprise.” His voice is warm, comforting.

“Hey, Dad.” My voice sounds flat even to my own ears. I watch students walk past, laughing, and wonder what it’s like to feel that light.

“How are you doing? You sound tired.” There’s genuine concern in his tone, which makes my chest ache because it’s finally real.

“I’m okay. Just had a long day.” I pick at a loose thread on my jeans, watching it unravel.

Everything feels like it’s unraveling lately. “Actually, that’s not true. I’m not okay. Everything feels off, like I’m underwater and everyone else is breathing normally and I can’t figure out how they’re doing it.”

Dad makes a sympathetic sound that travels through the phone line. “That sounds really difficult, sweetheart. Are you taking care of yourself? Getting enough sleep?”

“I guess.” I lean back against the bench, tilting my head up to look at the sky. “It’s just been hard lately. Practice isn’t going well. Nothing’s going well.”

“Have you thought that maybe the environment there isn’t healthy for you?” His voice is casual, like he’s making an observation about the weather.

“I know Lakeview has a great program, but the…” He pauses, looking for correct word. “—political dynamics can be really toxic. All that pressure, all those expectations.”

I close my eyes. He’s right about the toxic environment. The biased scoring, the homophobia, the constant feeling of not being enough. But hearing him say it makes it feel more real, more inescapable.

“Victoria was actually just mentioning the other day that she has some connections at other programs. Places with better coaching, less politics. More supportive environments for skaters who’ve been through what you’ve been through.” He says it so smoothly.

My eyes snap open. “Victoria? Why would she be talking about that?” Victoria Hughes, the coach from my hometown, the olympics skater, the professional and unbiased one. I knew she was interested in me because of my father, but this…

“Oh, you know Victoria.” I actually don’t, not really, but I let him finish. “She’s always keeping an eye out for talented skaters. She’s seen your performances and thinks you have real potential.”

He pauses. “But she worries about the environment you’re in. She mentioned it to me the other day, said if you were ever interested in exploring other options, she’d be happy to make some calls.”

Starting over somewhere new sounds seductive. Nobody would know about the sabotaged skates or the discrimination or the fact that I’ve been falling apart.

“Are you saying I should transfer?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend. I watch students walk past the library.

“No, no, of course not.” David’s response is immediate, but calculated. “I would never tell you what to do, Maddie. You’re an adult now. You have to make your own decisions. I’m just saying that if the environment there is affecting your mental health, it might be worth considering your options. That’s all.”

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