Chapter 92
Kieran's POV
The hallway outside the competition classroom echoed with zippers and scraping chairs. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the window, catching dust motes in its path. I kept my eyes on my hands as I packed my bag, trying to ignore the weight of Logan's stare from across the room.
He was going to corner me. I could feel it coming.
"Cross." His voice cut through the noise. "Wait up."
I didn't stop. Pulled my hoodie off the chair, draped it over my arm. The fabric was warm, familiar. Grounding.
"Cross, I'm talking to you." His footsteps quickened. I heard Oliver mutter "good luck" before the door clicked shut, leaving us alone.
Logan planted himself in my path. His face was flushed, eyes wide with disbelief. "You agreed to settle? Are you out of your mind?"
My jaw tightened. "Move."
"No. That was USAPhO. The national qualifier. Your shot at MIT. And you just—what? Threw it away?"
"I made a choice."
"A choice to let Tyler walk?" Logan's laugh was harsh. "You had him. The police had evidence. He was going down for assault and attempted blackmail, and you—"
"I know what I did." The words cut across his. A teacher glanced our way, and I lowered my voice. "You think I don't know?"
The anger in his expression shifted into something more complicated. Concern, maybe. Or pity.
"Then explain it to me," he said quietly. "Because right now, the only explanation I can think of is that they paid you off."
The accusation hung between us. I should have been angry. But I was too tired.
"Yeah." The admission tasted like ash. "They did."
I watched shock cross his face, then disappointment. "How much?"
"Enough."
"Enough for what? To make you forget what he did?" His voice rose again. "Cross, this was your future—"
"I said enough." I stepped around him. "Drop it, Logan."
He followed me to the stairwell. "Just tell me one thing. Was it really about the money? Because I need to know if I've been reading you completely wrong."
I stopped at the top of the stairs, gripping the railing until my knuckles went white.
"Believe what you want," I said without turning. Then I descended two steps at a time, leaving him alone.
---
The Charles River looked like hammered copper in the dying light. I sat on our usual bench—mine and Logan's—and watched the rowers cut clean lines across the water. Synchronized. Purposeful. Everything I wasn't.
Logan found me anyway.
"Figured you'd be here," he said, dropping onto the bench. "You always come here when you're avoiding people."
I kept my eyes on the water.
"I need to understand," he continued. "You got a perfect score on the qualifying exam. A hundred percent. Do you know how rare that is?"
"I know what it means."
"Then how can you take their money and just—" He stopped himself. "Sixty thousand dollars. Is that true?"
I didn't answer.
"Even if it is—Cross, it's not worth it. You could have had everything. MIT recruitment. Full scholarship. A direct path to the national team."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Then explain it to me! Make me understand, because all I see is you sabotaging yourself. Again."
The "again" hit harder than it should. I turned to look at him.
"You think I don't know what this looks like?" I asked quietly. "Everyone's going to assume I sold out. That's what people like me do, right? Poor kid from Southie. Scholarship student. One bad decision away from being back on the street."
"That's not—"
"It is." I looked back at the river. "You want to know why I settled? Because I needed the money. My sister needs surgery that costs more than your car. My mom works two jobs and still can't make rent. I've been hustling since I was fifteen. So when someone offers me sixty thousand to make a problem go away, I take it."
The words left a hollow feeling. Not quite lies, but not quite truth either.
"I don't believe you," Logan said finally.
"What?"
"I've known you for months. The guy who stays up until three AM on problem sets, who looks at MIT like it's the only thing worth living for—that guy doesn't trade his future for a paycheck."
"You don't know me as well as you think."
"Maybe not. But I know when you're lying. And you're lying right now."
I looked away.
"It doesn't matter," I said quietly.
"Of course it matters. If something else is going on, you can tell me—"
"There's nothing to figure out. It's done."
"But you can still compete next year. You could prepare again, take another shot—"
"I know." My voice came out hollow. "I will. But this year's chance is gone. This was my window for early recruitment, for catching the committee's attention before senior year applications. Even if I ace it next year, the timeline's different. The opportunity's different." I shook my head. "Some things you can't get back."
Logan was quiet. I could feel him watching me, trying to reconcile what I was saying with what he thought he knew.
"You're not going to tell me the real reason, are you?"
I didn't answer.
He let out a long breath. "Everyone else is buying it. The whole 'poor kid sells out' story. But I keep thinking about that day in the cafeteria. When you stood up to Tyler even though you knew it would cost you." He paused. "You're not the person everyone thinks you are."
My throat felt tight.
"You traded it for something," Logan continued, voice dropping. "Not money. Something you thought was worth more than MIT, more than everything you've worked for. What was it?"
Summer's face. Summer's safety. The knowledge that those videos would never surface.
"Nothing you need to worry about," I said instead.
"Cross—"
"I'm serious, Logan. Drop it. Please."
Something in my expression got through. We sat in silence as the sun painted the sky orange and pink.
"For what it's worth," Logan said eventually, "I think you're making a mistake. But I also think you know that already. And you're doing it anyway. Which means whatever you traded for must be pretty damn important."
I couldn't respond.
"I hope it's worth it," he added quietly. "Whatever it is. I really hope it's worth it."