Chapter 2
I watched Blake swim toward the wall, my stomach in knots.
Two more laps. In two more laps, he'd hit that wall wrong and never walk again.
My fingers dug into the bleacher rail. Just when I decided to shout out...
"Maya? What are you doing here?"
I spun around. Sarah stood behind me—the same girl who'd be calling me a murderer's daughter in two months.
"I was just—"
The sound cut through everything. A sick thud, then silence.
"Oh my God!" Sarah screamed. "Blake!"
I turned back slowly. Blake floated face-up, not moving, red spreading through the water around his head. Kids were running over, some crying, others yelling for help.
Nobody knew what to do.
I stood up, my heart hammering. Not from shock—from guilt so heavy I could barely breathe.
"Don't touch him!" I ran down the bleachers. "Spinal injury—you could paralyze him!"
Everyone stared at me, including Blake. His eyes were open, aware, terrified.
"Who are you?" Coach Martinez demanded.
I ignored him, kneeling by the pool edge to steady Blake's head. "Don't move, okay? Ambulance is coming. Just breathe."
Blake looked up at me, confused and scared. "I can't... I can't feel my legs."
My chest felt like it was caving in.
"Don't think about that right now." I touched his face gently. "Just focus on breathing. Focus on my voice."
He did. And I knelt there, holding the head of the boy I'd just let get destroyed, feeling like the worst person alive.
The hospital smelled like bleach and broken lives.
I'd been sitting outside Blake's room for three hours. His mom had just gotten the news—paralyzed from the waist down, maybe forever.
Something crashed inside the room.
I pushed the door open. Blake sat in a wheelchair, pill bottles smashed on the floor around him. His face was twisted with rage.
"Get out." His voice was flat, cold. "I don't want to see anyone."
I started picking up the broken plastic and pills.
"I said get out!" He was shouting now. "I don't even know you! Why are you here?"
"I don't know." I kept cleaning up the mess. "Maybe because I was there when it happened."
That shut him up. I could feel him watching me, trying to figure out why some random girl had shown up at the worst moment of his life.
"Who are you?" he asked finally, less angry now.
"Maya Rodriguez." I threw the last pieces in the trash. "The doctor says it might not be permanent. There's a chance you could get some feeling back."
"How do you know that?"
"I asked." I sat across from him. "So what now?"
His eyes flashed. "What do you mean?"
"You can sit here breaking things, or you can deal with this and move on. Both make sense. I'm just wondering which you'll choose."
He stared at me for a long time. "Why aren't you scared of me? Or feeling sorry for me? Everyone else looks at me like I'm dying."
I thought about the future—how he'd jump in that pool to save me without thinking twice. "Because you're not dying. And you're not pathetic."
"Right." He laughed bitterly. "Can't even feel my legs, but I'm not pathetic."
"Being brave isn't about your legs." I met his eyes. "It's about who you are when everything goes to hell."
His expression changed—anger fading into something softer, more confused. "You're weird, Maya Rodriguez."
I got up to leave. "Yeah, I know."
At the door, he called my name.
I looked back.
"Thanks," he said quietly. "For not telling me everything's going to be fine."
My throat closed up. "It's not going to be fine. But that doesn't mean it's over."
Blake's first day back, the whole school was buzzing.
"Oh my God, Blake..." "He'll never swim again..." "He used to be so gorgeous..."
I watched from my locker as crowds gathered around him. Not mean, just... curious. Uncomfortable. Nobody knew how to act around the golden boy who wasn't golden anymore.
Blake's jaw was tight, his knuckles white on the wheelchair handles. He was trying to look normal, but I could see him falling apart.
His girlfriend Chloe glanced over from across the hall, her face full of pity and awkwardness, then quickly walked away. His other friends kept their distance too.
I took a breath. Right now, I was still popular Maya—good grades, lots of friends, no scandal. Nobody would think twice about me talking to Blake. But in five weeks, when Dad got arrested, that would all change.
This was my chance.
I walked over, pushing through the crowd. "Don't you guys have class?"
Blake looked up, surprised. "Maya."
I moved behind his chair, hands on the handles. "Want a push?"
The crowd started breaking up, but I heard the whispers: "Since when are they friends?" "That's so sweet..." "I didn't know they knew each other..."
"You don't have to do this," Blake said, grateful but cautious.
"I want to." I started pushing him down the hall.
My friends shot me confused looks, but nobody said anything. In this timeline, I was still the girl everyone liked.
"Why?" Blake asked when we reached his classroom.
I stopped and crouched in front of him so we were eye level. "Because that day at the hospital, you didn't look like someone who needed pity. You looked like someone who deserved respect."
Something shifted in his face—trust, maybe hope.
Step one complete, I thought. He's starting to trust me.
But as I stood to go, Blake caught my hand.
"Maya." His voice was soft, real. "Thank you for treating me like I'm still human."
Looking at the gratitude in his eyes, my heart did something stupid. Not because my plan was working, but because of something way more dangerous.
I actually cared. I was starting to care about this boy I'd deliberately let get hurt.
I pulled my hand away gently. "You're welcome."
Walking away, I could feel him watching me. When I looked back, my chest ached.
He looked hopeful. Like I'd just given him something precious.
No. This was just the plan. I couldn't actually care about him.
But my stupid heart kept hurting as the truth hit me:
I wasn't pretending anymore.
I'd just given hope to someone whose life I'd destroyed on purpose. And worse—I was falling for him.
In five weeks, when my world exploded, he'd be the only one to show me kindness.
But he'd never know that kindness was built on what I'd done to him.
