Chapter 10 Secrets and Promises

POV: Silver Preston

The Olympic Trials medal glints in Americus's hands like it has no business existing in our cramped dorm room, reflecting the morning light streaming through our Gothic windows in ways that make my chest tighten with each flash.

I want to snatch it back, shove the entire box under my bed where it belongs, and pretend the past can stay buried beneath textbooks and Yale sweatshirts.

Instead, my throat closes completely, leaving me voiceless and frozen on my narrow bed.

Riley wanders in halfway through the archaeological dig that is Americus's cleaning spree, still clutching a composition notebook covered in neat handwriting and looking like someone who actually managed to complete her assigned reading.

She stops dead in the doorway when she spots Americus cradling the medal like it's made of actual silver and starlight.

"Wait."

Riley's voice carries the careful tone of someone trying to process unexpected information.

"What exactly is that?"

Americus doesn't miss a beat, spinning toward Riley with the kind of dramatic flair that belongs on a stage.

"Not what, honey. Who. Meet Silver Prestwood. Olympic hopeful, skating prodigy, cover of International Figure Skating Magazine level celebrity."

She holds the medal higher, letting light scatter across our stone walls in patterns that remind me uncomfortably of arena spotlights.

"And she's been hiding her entire legendary existence under her bed like it's a collection of embarrassing diary entries."

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to disappear into the medieval stonework around us.

"Please. Just put it away."

The silence that follows feels heavy enough to crush the small space between our beds.

When I finally force myself to look, I find Riley staring at me with an expression that cycles through confusion, recognition, and something that might be awe.

"Silver," Riley says slowly, setting her notebook on my desk with deliberate care. "Is that actually true?"

The question hangs in the air like smoke from a candle that's been blown out too quickly.

I swallow hard, the admission tasting like metal filings and regret.

"It was true. Once."

Americus gasps with the enthusiasm of someone who just got handed front row tickets to Hamilton on opening night.

"Was? Are you kidding me right now? Girl, this is forever territory. You don't just stop being iconic because time passes. That's not how icons work."

Riley moves closer, perching on the edge of Americus's bed with the kind of cautious grace that suggests she understands we're navigating emotional landmines.

"You don't have to explain anything if you don't want to. But..."

She pauses, clearly choosing her words with care.

"Why keep something like this a secret? This is incredible."

My hands fist in the rough institutional blanket covering my bed, my knuckles going white with the force of my grip.

The walls of our Gothic dorm suddenly feel closer, the weight of every photograph and headline and magazine cover pressing against my ribs until breathing becomes conscious work.

"Because I'm not that girl anymore."

The words come out raw, scraped from somewhere deep in my chest where I've been trying to bury them since Minneapolis.

Americus sits up straighter, her glitter bright energy shifting into something sharper, more protective.

"Says who?"

"Everyone."

My voice cracks like ice under pressure. I force myself to meet their eyes, to see the curiosity and concern written across their faces.

"I fell at Nationals. Badly. Destroyed my knee, tore multiple ligaments. I couldn't even finish my program. Just laid there on the ice like roadkill while my music kept playing and twenty thousand people watched in silence."

The room goes quiet except for the distant sounds of campus life filtering through our windows.

Students calling to friends across courtyards, the steady hum of traffic on Whitney Avenue, someone practicing violin in a room several floors above us.

"The press called it a complete meltdown," I continue, the words pouring out now that the dam has cracked. "Said I choked when it mattered most. Social media was... brutal. Sponsors started pulling out before I was even discharged from the hospital. My ranking dropped. My mother..."

My breath hitches, remembering Leona's cold fury in that sterile hospital room.

"She wanted me back on the ice before I could walk without limping. And when I couldn't deliver, when the doctors said my knee might never be competition ready again..."

I trail off, unable to voice the rest.

How Leona looked at me like I'd become a stranger. How the skating world moved on without me as if I'd never existed. How every mirror, every photo, every reflection seemed to show someone who failed when it mattered most.

Americus slowly lowers the medal back into the black storage box, her characteristic exuberance dimmed for perhaps the first time since I met her.

"Roomie..."

I shake my head, pulling the box closer to my body and sliding the lid shut with a finality that echoes through our small room.

"That's why I didn't tell you. Either of you. I came to Yale to disappear, to be normal. To be just another freshman who's never face planted on national television while wearing sequins and false eyelashes."

Riley's voice is soft but steady, carrying the kind of quiet strength that's probably gotten her through plenty of her own difficult moments.

"You're so much more than one fall. One bad moment doesn't erase everything you accomplished."

I almost laugh, the sound bitter enough to curdle milk.

"Tell that to the internet. Tell that to the skating forums that spent weeks analyzing every angle of my crash in slow motion. Tell that to the sponsors who decided I wasn't worth the investment anymore."

Americus leans forward, her glitter eyeliner slightly smudged but her eyes fierce with the kind of loyalty that can't be faked.

"Okay, listen carefully. Secrets are terrible for the soul, but we're not going to spill yours. Right, Riley?"

"Absolutely not," Riley agrees immediately, her voice carrying the weight of a solemn promise. "What you've shared stays between us."

Americus slaps her hand against her floral duvet like she's sealing a sacred pact.

"There. Done. Official glitter oath. What's said in this room stays in this room. We're like a secret society now, except with better fashion sense and significantly more sequins."

For the first time since the box was opened, I feel the crushing weight in my chest ease by a fraction.

I'm not completely alone with the wreckage of my former life anymore.

These two girls, virtual strangers just days ago, are offering to help me carry the burden of who I used to be.