Chapter 92 Lo

Chapter 92 Lo
CHAPTER NINETEEN — SECRET WEAPON

A sports blog runs the headline first: Caleb Kessler's Secret Weapon: How a Team Manager Turned Around a Slumping Season. Three years of my life reduced to a function.

Richard calls before lunch, voice smooth as ever.

A pause, calculated. "Secret weapon. Rather flattering, don't you think. Good work gets noticed, Ms. Lin. And noticed work comes with expectations attached."

I hang up before he can finish.

I find Caleb in the equipment room, snapping jerseys onto hangers harder than the task requires.

My voice comes out sharper than I mean it. "I don't want to be his secret weapon. Don't want to be anyone's function. Want to just be someone dating a boy she actually likes."

He sets the jersey down, takes both my hands.

His grip stays steady. "You're not his weapon. You're the person who sat in a waiting room at two in the morning. Who stood up to my father twice without blinking. None of that started because of me."

"Then why does it feel like the world only cares because of you?"

He brushes a loose strand back from my face. "Because the world's paying attention to me right now, and you got caught in the blast radius. Doesn't mean the world's version is the true one."

"Feels true some days."

He pulls me into a hug, chin resting on my head. "I know. Hate that it does. You're not a headline, Mia. You're just you. That's always been the point, as far as I'm concerned."

Chloe finds me at lunch, phone already out.

"You saw the blog post."

"I saw it."

"For what it's worth, everyone who actually knows you knows it's garbage. Reducing three years of work to one boy's stat sheet."

"Doesn't make it sting less."

She bumps my shoulder. "No. But it makes it a lie, and lies don't get to define you just because they're loud. You're allowed to be more than a headline, Mia."

That night, Caleb calls instead of texting, unusual enough that I answer on the first ring.

"You okay? After today?"

"Better than this morning."

"Good. I've been thinking about what you said. In the equipment room."

"Which part?"

"Not wanting to be anyone's function. I talked to the blog. Made them run a correction. Doesn't erase it, but it's something."

"Didn't have to do that."

A pause. "Wanted to. You're not a headline to me, Mia. Never have been. Wish the rest of the world could see you the way I do."

"Not really how the internet works."

He laughs, tired but real. "No. Unfortunately. For what it's worth, my dad's version of a compliment is the worst thing anyone's said about you all week, and that's saying something given Brianna."

"He really does think of people like line items."

"Always has. Used to think that was just how the world worked, until you showed me otherwise."

By the next morning, the correction's up, quieter than the original but visible. A few people mention it in the hallway.

Chloe says at my locker. "Saw the correction. Small win, but a win."

"I'll take it."

"Caleb do that?"

"Made some calls."

She studies me. "He's really stepping up lately. I know I gave him a hard time at the start. Starting to take some of it back."

"Only some?"

She grins. "He's still a boy who called you manager girl for three months. Some things take longer to forgive. But yeah. He's proving himself."

Caleb finds me before lunch, tie already loosened.

"Meeting with Derek after school. About limiting how much of your life gets pulled into my press stuff. Wanted you to know I'm actually doing something instead of just talking about it."

"Thank you. For following through."

"Always." He squeezes my hand before heading to his own table, and the blog headline finally starts to feel like the small, forgettable thing it always should have been.

By the end of the day, someone's already started calling it old news in the group chat, same speed the internet always moves at. Chloe walks with me to the parking lot, phone still tucked away.

"Feeling better about the whole thing?"

"Better. Not fully better. But better."

She squeezes my arm. "That's still progress. For what it's worth, I don't think anyone who actually matters believes the headline anyway."

"I know. Doesn't stop it from stinging when strangers do."

She's quiet a moment. "No. It doesn't. You know, before all this, I never really thought about how much of your life you carry alone. The jobs, your mom, Danny. Then Caleb shows up and suddenly the whole internet's got opinions about all of it."

"Feels invasive some days."

She hooks her arm around mine. "It is invasive. Doesn't mean it erases what's actually true about you, though. You're still exactly who you were before any of this. Headline or not."

I don't have a clean comeback for that, so I let her walk me the rest of the way home instead, grateful for a friend who somehow always knows what to say when the internet decides it doesn't.

At home, my mom's already heard some version of the blog story from a neighbor, apparently, because she brings it up before I even get my shoes off.

"Someone said there's an article about Caleb calling you his secret weapon."

"It's not flattering, if that's what you're picturing."

She pats the seat beside her. "I gathered as much from your face right now. Talk to me."

I walk her through all of it, Richard's phone call, the equipment room, Caleb's correction request to the blog. She listens without interrupting, same as she always does when it actually matters.

"That boy's fighting his father's whole worldview just by choosing to see you the way he does, Mia. That's not nothing."

"I know."

Her hand covers mine. "Good. Don't let one bad headline convince you otherwise. You've never been anyone's function. Not to me, not to Danny, and clearly not to him either."

There's nothing left to say beyond a small, grateful smile, and I head up to bed.

One more text comes through from Caleb right before I turn off my light.

Talked to Derek again. He's pulling back on anything that involves you directly from now on. My call, not his suggestion.

Thank you. For actually following through.

Told you I would. Meant it.

I know you did. Just still getting used to people meaning things around here.

Get used to it. I'm not going anywhere.

I set the phone down, his last message glowing faintly on my screen as I finally drift off to sleep.

I wake up to a follow-up correction posted by a second outlet, someone apparently having noticed the original blog's mistake and running their own version of the real story instead. Chloe sends me the link before I'm even downstairs.

Two corrections now. Not bad for a bad headline.

Not bad at all.

Told you people would catch on eventually.

I get ready for school lighter than I have in days. The secret weapon nonsense is noise, loud but temporary, nothing close to the truth of who I actually am.