The Olympic Trials medal glinted in Americus's hands like it had no business existing in their cramped dorm room, reflecting the morning light streaming through their Gothic windows in ways that made Silver's chest tighten with each flash. She wanted to snatch it back, shove the entire box under her bed where it belonged, and pretend the past could stay buried beneath textbooks and Yale sweatshirts.
Instead, her throat closed completely, leaving her voiceless and frozen on her narrow bed.
Riley had wandered in halfway through the archaeological dig that was Americus's cleaning spree, still clutching a composition notebook covered in neat handwriting and looking like someone who'd actually managed to complete her assigned reading. She stopped dead in the doorway when she spotted Americus cradling the medal like it was made of actual silver and starlight.
"Wait." Riley's voice carried the careful tone of someone trying to process unexpected information. "What exactly is that?"
Americus didn't miss a beat, spinning toward Riley with the kind of dramatic flair that belonged on a stage. "Not what, honey. Who. Meet Silver Prestwood—Olympic hopeful, skating prodigy, cover-of-International-Figure-Skating-Magazine level celebrity." She held the medal higher, letting light scatter across their stone walls in patterns that reminded Silver uncomfortably of arena spotlights. "And she's been hiding her entire legendary existence under her bed like it's a collection of embarrassing diary entries."
Silver squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to disappear into the medieval stonework around them. "Please. Just put it away."
The silence that followed felt heavy enough to crush the small space between their beds. When Silver finally forced herself to look, she found Riley staring at her with an expression that cycled through confusion, recognition, and something that might have been awe.
"Silver," Riley said slowly, setting her notebook on Silver's desk with deliberate care. "Is that actually true?"
The question hung in the air like smoke from a candle that had been blown out too quickly. Silver swallowed hard, the admission tasting like metal filings and regret.
"It was true. Once."
Americus gasped with the enthusiasm of someone who'd just been handed front-row tickets to Hamilton on opening night. "Was? Are you kidding me right now? Girl, this is forever territory. You don't just stop being iconic because time passes. That's not how icons work."
Riley moved closer, perching on the edge of Americus's bed with the kind of cautious grace that suggested she understood they were navigating emotional landmines. "You don't have to explain anything if you don't want to. But..." She paused, clearly choosing her words with care. "Why keep something like this a secret? This is incredible."
Silver's hands fisted in the rough institutional blanket covering her bed, her knuckles going white with the force of her grip. The walls of their Gothic dorm suddenly felt closer, the weight of every photograph and headline and magazine cover pressing against her ribs until breathing became conscious work.
"Because I'm not that girl anymore." The words came out raw, scraped from somewhere deep in her chest where she'd been trying to bury them since Minneapolis.
Americus sat up straighter, her glitter-bright energy shifting into something sharper, more protective. "Says who?"
"Everyone." Silver's voice cracked like ice under pressure. She forced herself to meet their eyes, to see the curiosity and concern written across their faces. "I fell at Nationals. Badly. Destroyed my knee, tore multiple ligaments. I couldn't even finish my program—just laid there on the ice like roadkill while my music kept playing and twenty thousand people watched in silence."
The room went quiet except for the distant sounds of campus life filtering through their windows—students calling to friends across courtyards, the steady hum of traffic on Whitney Avenue, someone practicing violin in a room several floors above them.
"The press called it a complete meltdown," Silver continued, the words pouring out now that the dam had cracked. "Said I choked when it mattered most. Social media was... brutal. Sponsors started pulling out before I was even discharged from the hospital. My ranking dropped. My mother..." Silver's breath hitched, remembering Leona's cold fury in that sterile hospital room. "She wanted me back on the ice before I could walk without limping. And when I couldn't deliver, when the doctors said my knee might never be competition-ready again..."
She trailed off, unable to voice the rest. How Leona had looked at her like she'd become a stranger. How the skating world had moved on without her as if she'd never existed. How every mirror, every photo, every reflection seemed to show someone who'd failed when it mattered most.
Americus slowly lowered the medal back into the black storage box, her characteristic exuberance dimmed for perhaps the first time since Silver had met her. "Roomie..."
Silver shook her head, pulling the box closer to her body and sliding the lid shut with a finality that echoed through their small room. "That's why I didn't tell you. Either of you. I came to Yale to disappear, to be normal. To be just another freshman who's never face-planted on national television while wearing sequins and false eyelashes."
Riley's voice was soft but steady, carrying the kind of quiet strength that had probably gotten her through plenty of her own difficult moments. "You're so much more than one fall. One bad moment doesn't erase everything you accomplished."
Silver almost laughed, the sound bitter enough to curdle milk. "Tell that to the internet. Tell that to the skating forums that spent weeks analyzing every angle of my crash in slow motion. Tell that to the sponsors who decided I wasn't worth the investment anymore."
Americus leaned forward, her glitter eyeliner slightly smudged but her eyes fierce with the kind of loyalty that couldn't be faked. "Okay, listen carefully. Secrets are terrible for the soul, but we're not going to spill yours. Right, Riley?"
"Absolutely not," Riley agreed immediately, her voice carrying the weight of a solemn promise. "What you've shared stays between us."
Americus slapped her hand against her floral duvet like she was sealing a sacred pact. "There. Done. Official glitter oath. What's said in this room stays in this room. We're like a secret society now, except with better fashion sense and significantly more sequins."
For the first time since the box had been opened, Silver felt the crushing weight in her chest ease by a fraction. She wasn't completely alone with the wreckage of her former life anymore. These two girls—virtual strangers just days ago—were offering to help her carry the burden of who she used to be.