By the end of the day, the post was gone.
But it didn’t matter.
People still talked. Not loudly like before, not openly cruel—but the looks were there. The quiet curiosity. The way conversations paused when Violet walked past, then picked up again the second she was gone.
She ignored it.
Not because it didn’t bother her.
Because she refused to give it that power again.
Practice was worse.
Marcelo tried to focus, he really did, but everything felt tighter than usual. His passes were sharp, almost aggressive, his movements just a little too forceful.
“Ease up,” his teammate muttered after catching a throw that hit harder than it needed to.
“I’m fine,” Marcelo replied, already resetting.
He wasn’t.
Every time he replayed the hallway—Vanessa, the post, the way Violet said I’ll deal
