Chapter 143
Kieran's POV
Summer stared at me for a long moment, her eyes still wet with tears. I used my thumb to wipe them away, the gesture feeling both familiar and fragile, like something that might shatter if I pressed too hard. She nodded slowly, trying to steady her breathing, and I could see her forcing herself to accept what I'd just told her—that I had to go, that I had to protect Lily, that everything between us would have to wait.
"Text me," she whispered. "Every day. Even if it's just to say you're okay."
"I will. I promise."
She gripped my hand tighter, her fingers trembling slightly. "And when you come back... we'll pick up where we left off?"
"Yeah." I pulled her against me one more time, my chin resting on top of her head, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo—something floral and clean that I'd memorized without meaning to. "We'll pick up exactly where we left off. And I'll do everything I should've done weeks ago."
"I'm going to hold you to that."
"Good." I closed my eyes, memorizing this moment—her warmth, her scent, the way she trusted me even when I couldn't give her all the answers. "Because I'm not letting you go, Summer. Not now, not ever."
When I finally pulled away, she looked up at me with those wide hazel eyes, and I had to force myself to turn around and walk toward the door before I changed my mind about all of this.
---
Coach Anderson's office smelled like old coffee and chalk dust, the familiar scent hitting me as I stood in the doorway staring at the USAPhO poster on his door—last year's national team, all of them smiling like they'd won the lottery. I knocked, my knuckles rapping against the wood harder than I'd intended, and when his voice called out for me to come in, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Coach looked up from his desk, surprise flickering across his face. "Kieran. I didn't expect to see you here. Shouldn't you be in the lab?"
"I need to talk to you, Coach." My voice came out steadier than I felt, my right hand curling into a fist at my side as I tried to keep my expression neutral.
His expression shifted to serious immediately. He gestured to the chair across from his desk, but I didn't sit. "Alright. What's going on?"
I took a breath, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "I got approval from Principal Morgan early this morning for a special leave arrangement. Starting tomorrow, I'll be doing most of my coursework remotely through the end of the semester if necessary. But I'm here to ask if you'll let me stay on the physics competition team under modified attendance."
Coach's face changed, his brows drawing together in a frown. "Remote coursework? Kieran, do you realize what you're asking? The F=ma Exam qualifier is in three weeks. You need to be here for daily drills and problem sessions—"
"I know the timeline." I kept my voice level, though my jaw tightened. "And I'll keep up. I'll do all the problem sets at home, submit them electronically. I'll come in for the mock exams and any critical review sessions you designate as mandatory. But I need to be exempt from regular daily attendance."
He stared at me, assessing, and I could see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to figure out what could possibly be serious enough to warrant this kind of arrangement. "This is about your family situation, isn't it? The one you mentioned last month."
I nodded. "It's gotten worse. I need to be home more to handle it."
Coach leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepling in front of him as he studied me with that sharp, analytical gaze that had always made me feel like he could see straight through any excuse or half-truth. "Kieran, I've seen a lot of talented students over the years. And I've seen a lot of them drop out because of 'family situations.' They always think they can keep up on their own, but they can't. The structure here, the daily accountability—that's what keeps you sharp."
"I'm not dropping out." My jaw tightened further, my teeth grinding together as I fought to keep my frustration under control. "I'm requesting a modification to my training schedule. I'll still be competing. I'll still hit every deadline. But I need the flexibility to do it from home."
He studied me for another long moment, and I forced myself to add the detail I'd been dreading having to explain. "I turned eighteen last April. Principal Morgan didn't need parental consent for the leave arrangement—I signed the paperwork myself this morning before anyone else got here."
Something shifted in Coach's expression, a flicker of understanding crossing his face as he processed what I'd just told him. Eighteen meant I could make my own decisions about my education, could sign myself out of regular attendance without my father's approval or knowledge. It also meant I was carrying whatever burden had driven me to this point entirely on my own shoulders, without any adult safety net to catch me if I fell.
Long silence filled the room, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall and the distant sound of students in the hallway outside. Coach's eyes never left mine, and I forced myself not to look away, to hold his gaze even though every instinct in me wanted to retreat, to protect myself from whatever judgment he might be about to hand down.
Then, finally: "You've maintained a 4.0 in all your physics coursework. Your practice test scores are consistently above 90th percentile. If anyone can pull this off, it's you."
Something in my chest loosened slightly, the tension that had been coiled there since this morning easing just enough for me to take a full breath.
"But," Coach continued, his voice taking on a harder edge, "if your scores drop below 85th percentile on any practice exam, or if you miss more than two mandatory sessions without prior notice, this exemption gets revoked and you're off the team. No second chances. Understood?"
"Understood. Thank you, Coach."