i'm still alive

Location: Chicago, IL—hotel Date: Saturday, March 30 Time: Early (open)

Alanna is not a morning person. Especially not the night after a party, especially not when their flight isn’t for ages. In a better world, she’d be asleep for hours still. Actually, in a perfect world, she’d sleep right through this hangover. In the real world though, she wakes up at 6am with a horrible taste in her mouth and a head that’s pounding enough to keep her awake the rest of the morning. 

She isn’t sure how long it takes her to roll out of bed and track down painkillers and water, to get dressed and do her makeup as well as she can in this state, but she doesn’t feel much more like a person by the end of it. She needs food. She doesn’t want the continental breakfast either, with its sad looking collection of fruits and oatmeal packets and plain coffee creamers. 

But the prospect of facing Chicago alone? Alanna can just see herself getting lost and missing the flight. Or, worse, calling Cade to come find her in the nick of time—making her the exact opposite of the cool, independent step-sister she wishes she was. 

Thankfully, there are familiar faces in this hotel even at this godawful hour, and Alanna stops the first one she sees. “Hey, any chance you’re hungry? I need bacon. And hash browns. Maybe some eggs too. Definitely a fancy coffee with lots of milk and sugar.” 

His body jerks him awake at five. And he stares at the unfamiliar ceiling, swallowing past a dry throat and slowly reminding himself where he is. you’re a cheerleader, you’re a vixen, you’re a university student. there’s no gymnastics workout to begin.

It’s essentially the same mantra he’s given himself since the accident, when his sleep was even more fucked due to physical therapy and the sharp stabs of pain coursing through his legs at any given hour. But even then, he would wake at the same time, no matter how late his night had lasted, and every morning, he closes his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe.

         ( sometimes, he thinks of his coach, and he wonders if his chest would hurt as much if they could’ve just talked after all of it. noah understands closure isn’t something worth wishing for anymore, but it still pierces his heart how the lack of it echoes so, so loudly. )

He stays still, staring at the ceiling for much too long. At some point, he finally pushes himself up, not exactly feeling better, but the incessant muscle memory has subsided enough that he finally feels as if control has returned to him. Slowly, he walks to the shower, steadily ignoring the slight throbbing at his temples until it begins to fade along with the rest of the hot water. Once he downs a cup of disgusting hotel tap water and brushes away any remnants of the prior night, he’s quick to pull on clothes and finally walk out to the hallway. The bright lights dare to restart the throbbing, but a hand is already there at his temple, preemptive massaging already commencing. 

And that’s how Alanna finds him: somewhat put together for the morning. Never fully there, but it’s the effort that counts.

“Those sound delicious.” While he wasn’t hungry a moment before, he’s close to salivating at the thought of eggs and bacon. Maybe there would be french toast too, and god, now he’s ravenous for something even sweeter. “Yeah, I’m definitely hungry. Did you want to check out the breakfast downstairs, or did you have someplace else in mind?”

          Henry has never been a huge fan of flying. He’s never been a fan of heights and while some people can handle heights, he’s not one of those people. He’s actually sort of mad they didn’t drive. It isn’t that far. Part of him wants to try and convince Wymack to let him drive back. Henry’s sure there’s plenty of Foxes that aren’t keen on flying. But he knows it’ll probably never happen, so he’s doing his best to deal with the situation at hand without making himself even more nervous. 

          He barely registers that someone’s talking to him. Silence must hang in the air for a moment before he actually registers what Noah said to him. “Sorry,” he muttered. At least they were just trapped in the airport right now and not on the plane. Henry couldn’t handle that. “I mean, if you’re hungry and don’t have a snack go for it. But who knows how long we’re going to be stuck here before we’re allowed to board, so also maybe wait?” He wasn’t the best at giving advice to people. “Honestly, it probably isn’t a bad idea to get a snack.”

He registers the silence, and tucks it away in the back of his mind. It’s something to dwell over; it could speak of so many different moods, and if he’s learned anything in the last few years of his life, it’s how to study those around him. Sometimes he’s absent-minded, and he won’t ever deny that aspect of himself. But that doesn’t mean he’s incapable of noticing the world around him, and how other people react to it. 

And he won’t learn the true meaning of that silence --- or, at least, understand how Henry wields it --- until he continues moving forward. From there, he can adjust. From there, he can navigate the best course for the conversation.

“There’s still a game to be had, and a routine I shouldn’t be nauseous for,” he sighs. But that isn’t quite a denial. He eyes the flavor list for the fifth time, and heaves another long sigh. “What flavor would you choose? Tried-and-true, or something out there because who knows when we’ll be at this airport again?” 

“You tell them,” Grayson says, half sarcastic. He doesn’t expect the people behind Foxwatch give much of a shit if Noah thinks they should be better. They aren’t better, they’ve proved that time and time again. He feels bad about that a moment later though, and Grayson clears his throat, wonders if he should opt for something more genuine. 

Because in the end, there’s nothing wrong with Noah’s stance—Grayson sure as hell doesn’t expect a lot out of people, but if Noah does then that’s probably a good thing. It lines up better with the Fox mantra anyway, the flashy orange and the overt emphasis on hope and second chances. It used to be obnoxious, until Grayson decided he wanted one of those himself. “Nah, you’re right though,” he says, after a beat. “We’re getting the wins, you guys are putting on the show every single game. Foxwatch is boring in comparison and I’m sure they know that. Just…deep, deep down.”

He offers a half-hearted snort at the sarcasm. Oh, he’s trained in pinpointing such a thing; one doesn’t survive as the youngest of five without picking up traces of it and giving it right back. But Grayson isn’t one of his sisters, and so there’s nothing more than a sigh building in his chest, only to quickly die, caught in his throat. Same argument, same beats. And always being left with a hope that one day, the negativity of Foxwatch is an afterthought for everyone. 

So instead, he focuses on the positive, and brightens at Grayson’s compliment. “We gotta make sure we keep up with you all on the field in some way! The shows will get better and better.” He has absolutely no authority to say such a thing, but is he really wrong? “And with how you all play, that’s all that matters at the end of the day. We’re the exciting lot.”

A chirp sounds, and Noah jolts from his seat. “Crap, crap --- okay, I gotta jet out of here, or I’ll be late.” As he throws his backpack over his shoulder and grabs his phone from the table, he then pauses. “It was cool to talk to you, Grayson. I haven’t got the chance to talk to a lot of the Foxes, and I’m glad this opportunity arose. Hopefully next time it’s not quite --- an icky topic. Enjoy the rest of your day!”

Things felt easier on her old squad. She wasn’t so prickly then, so determined to maintain her distance. Her old squad was everything she wanted to be: Coach Corey’s favored children, with megawatt smiles and an enviable position at the top of the Palmetto social hierarchy. Raleigh knew that she wasn’t like the rest of them, but being accepted among them let her pretend that all the dark parts of her life never existed—if no one else could see the stain they left on her, then maybe it wasn’t really there. 

Being a Vixen feels like letting herself slip: they’re less perfect, more forgiving, she has less reason to hide the idiosyncrasies and the anger that the toughest years of her life have left her with. She thinks that she should be mad at them for that: for giving her permission to be like them, when she wants to be so much more. 

“I’ve got a blood orange,” she says, reaching past him to find the box and pull it down. “It’s pretty good. Really orange too, so I guess it’s basically school spirit in a cup. But really I just got it because—I have, like, no self control. If I see something that sounds unique, I buy it. So now I’m running out of space in this cabinet and, well—I guess I can’t take it all with me.” 

“School spirit in a cup? I’ll take it!” She presents the box like the present it is, and he silently sends another thanks to the generosity he’s being given. But there’s a twang of sadness underpinning this conversation. 

I guess I can’t take it all with me.

All at once, it’s a stark reminder of how quickly the end of the year is running toward them all, and while he still has so much time with Palmetto, this is the final year for so many teammates. And it’s weird, because he doesn’t know Raleigh, and a year is so, so short, but he can’t quite imagine the Vixens without her presence. There will be so many holes in the team, ones that freshmen will fill just as he did this year. But the team won’t ever be quite the same with the losses and changes. 

                                     ( a too-quick thought flickers, a tiny question if anybody on his gymnastics team felt the same when he was suddenly ripped away from the sport. but as quickly as it arrives, it fades, and he doesn’t bother with it any longer. he’s moved forward; he cannot dwell. )

He plucks a packet from the box, and he beams at his cheer-mate. “Thanks, Raleigh. I really appreciate this.” 

He reaches for a mug, rips the packet to plop in the tea-bag, and then turns for the hot water. “Alright, so what other unique sounding teas do you have? Because now I’m intrigued, and I kind of want to know what you deem as unique!”

Jen nods along in understanding, grinning at the blush on Noah’s cheeks. They’re definitely not inexperienced, but that doesn’t mean they actually look good while kissing someone–which they never really considered before now. It’s not like they ever watched themself in front of a mirror or something. It could be a really disturbing sight. 

“If it makes you feel better, I’m not sure anyone looks good doing that,” Jen muses thoughtfully, “Other than movie stars, but they’re probably coached to make it looks nice.” They’re not sure how they ended up down this path, especially when the likelihood of this actually happening is extremely low, but now they feel the need to research kissing in movies. 

“Maybe, we should drop the idea. I’m not sure if it’s worth the free publicity,” Jen laughs quietly. 

He sinks in his chair a bit, hand slowly covering his face at Jen’s grin. That telltale heat is blazing and he’s sure his entire face is painted red. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine --- he freely gave out the information, he shouldn’t be so EMBARRASSED. It’s completely natural not to have a relationship in high school; the world makes it seem like it should occur, and that maybe one is lesser if they never experienced it, but Noah knows the truth. And he’s absolutely willing to wait, for just the right time, and just the right person.

But that doesn’t abate much in the moment, and when he laughs, it’s a mix of nerves and genuine humor ( because, objectively speaking, this is quite hilarious ). “It’s a slight comfort. Though the idea of a kissing coach is tempting, if it wasn’t so odd to think about.”

Finally, he uncovers his face, and takes a deep breath. “You know, I think this is a fabulous end to the conversation, considering where it started.” He’s all bright smiles, leaning forward as if to say something more before his phone alarm begins chirping. “And good timing too; I’ll be late for economics if I don’t head out now. Maybe I can convince classmates that I’m red from rushing and not, uh, from any talk about kissing.”

With a quick two-fingered salute, he says, “Enjoy the rest of your day, Jen! I’ll see you at the next practice!”

“Okay listen, I know this is completely random, and if this bothers you, feel free to walk away, but you’re kind of the only person I know within viewing distance, and this is a dilemma.” 

Noah isn’t usually prone to dramatics, but then again, he’s been eyeing the frozen yogurt station for long enough that at this rate, he needs some intervention. Or somebody to say that paying for overpriced airport food isn’t actually a bad thing. 

“It’s not that I’m starving, but I have a crazy sweet tooth and a knack for not really wanting to give into unnecessary price hikes. What would you do: pay for the food, or say no?”

So he knows he’s not supposed to be talking to the Foxes on the bench, and that as a member of a cheer team, there’s a way better time that’s NOT NOW to try and sneak his way to the Foxes.

But there’s been too many hits for his liking, and he’s not exactly a fan of seeing anyone he knows --- anyone he considers a friend ---  being slammed against the wall. It’s part of the game, he knows that, he completely understands that, but it still doesn’t stop him from sliding behind where the Foxes sit.

And sure, he’s not exactly subtle, but at least Wymack’s attention is on the field as the teams ready for the next half. He definitely has a few moments, and so, in his loudest kind-of-whisper-but-also-kind-of-not, he calls out, “Indigo --- Indigo, you’re okay, right?”

Grayson snorts. “I don’t think anyone on Foxwatch is worried about our hurt feelings.” Noah seems genuinely concerned though, and the way he says how low can you go makes Grayson think Noah actually expects better of Foxwatch. Maybe this is new to him. 

It’s not as though Grayson had experience in college gossip rags before Palmetto—but he thinks he knows something about the people who’d be behind something like Foxwatch. Dubois prepared him well enough for that. 

As much as he hates Foxwatch—and he does, in a way that’s completely mixed up with the way he hates the gossips of his hometown too—he’d still rather someone spread stories about him and Jen rather than stories about his past. “People get bored. It’s a small town. Shitty thing is, with a team like the Foxes, I bet they could be a hell of a lot nastier.”

“Well they should care. Which I know is asking a lot, but --- ” He puffs his cheeks, because it’s an old argument he’s had before; it’s dressed differently, and held with someone new, but it follows the same beats. And at the end of the day, there’s nothing he can do to stop it. All he can do it just ---- output something better, and hope that people are drawn to his actions than the snarky idiocy of a gossip site.

Sighing, he leans back against his chair, drawing a leg up to wrap his arms around his knee. “Agreed, they could be nastier. Still sucks that’s the positive to take away from it.” Licking his lips, he added, “You know what though, they can sit in their corner and be creepy all they want. At least you all are out there playing well and tacking on more wins. That’s way more than they could ever do behind a computer screen.” 

She laughs—and she’s pleased. She likes to be taken seriously, to know that when she made it explicitly clear to the rest of the Vixens that they weren’t to touch her tea, they knew that she meant it. And while she doesn’t always choose to be deliberately unkind, she doesn’t choose to be overly kind often, either. Definitely not generous. 

She only shares when it feels like showing off, when it doesn’t feel like giving anything that’s hers away. Giving someone a ride in her car is different than giving away something that’s hers. Buying someone coffee is different than sharing her tea. And so, when she does decide to be nice and share, she likes to know that it’s noticed and appreciated—otherwise, what’s the point?

“Don’t worry, I’ve got enough water on for two. As for what kind—” she says, opening the cabinet door a little bit wider, takes a step back so Noah can look inside while she pulls down another mug, puts it next to hers on the counter “—it’s your pick, go wild. What kind of tea do you like? Do you want something with caffeine or no?”    

Listen, he’s blessed. Has been blessed for a long while now, on a variety of more serious topics than that regarding tea. And he’s grateful for all of the ways fate has directed his life to be in the position he’s in today. Because it’s led him here, having his pick of Raleigh’s tea, and right now it’s the best thing in the entire world. 

He’s still figuring out the lay of the land in the Vixens world; with almost a year done, he’s confident that he knows enough, but he’s hungry to learn more about his teammates. He likes knowing tidbits about people. Friendships are difficult to maintain, and he understands that not everyone is going to want to be his friend, but he always strives for something amicable. And it’s nice that he now has a chance to strive for that with Raleigh.

Darting forward as she opens the cabinet door, he peers inside, closing his eyes as he breathes the multitude of different scents. It’s so damn soothing, and he leans back, clapping his hands together. “I really like the fruit blends. Not anything with rose, though; not sure why, but that just doesn’t work like peach oolong tea for example. And I’m okay with no caffeine today. So based on that --- what do you recommend from your collection?”

Jen didn’t expect their casual speculation over who runs FoxWatch would take this turn. The idea that whoever it is, is stuck in high school seems to actually upset Noah, if the way he kind of trails off is any clue. Jen is pretty sure it has less to do with FoxWatch and more to do with high school as a whole, and they get that. High school was hard for them, and if given the choice, they’d never relieve it. They’re happy at Palmetto, things aren’t perfect, but they’ve never felt more accepted than they do on this campus, and they wouldn’t take that for granted. 

“Yeah,” Jen agrees quietly, staring down at their food before forcing a smile. “But maybe totally off and they’re just bored.” 

“I guess whoever’s willing,” Jen giggles with an amused shrug. Vivian would probably kill them if they did that without her approval. They’re not so sure if she’d want a kiss to be the finale. “Do you want to volunteer?”

Dammit, he just hampered the mood. That’s never been the goal when here at Palmetto. He’s spent enough days facing his family and watching their faces fall at the news of what little progress he had made in physical therapy, to never want to be in the same position again. Attending Palmetto was meant to be a fresh start, a constant beam of light because he's here and thriving.

And now --- Jen's smile is tight, forced, and Noah can’t help the shame that washes over him.

It’s a short-lived silence that follows, before Jen giggles, humor drifting back into the conversation. And Noah grasps it tight, promising himself to do better with the luck that he’s been granted.

“Me? Volunteer?” Red stains his cheeks again, for entirely different reasons than before. “Uh ---- I mean, half of me is going ‘sure, why not?’ and the other half of me is very much thinking about the HUGE lack of experience I have, and how messy it will all look as a result, soooo....yeah.”

Location: The Vixen Den, Kitchen Date: Wednesday, March 20 Time: Afternoon (open)

Every month, like clockwork, the Everharts have sent Raleigh a care package. There’s usually a box of tea in there, and there’s a corner cabinet in the Vixen Den’s kitchen that Raleigh has monopolized for herself to hold it all, ready for her to unleash her wrath on any Vixen who takes what doesn’t belong to them—what belongs to her. 

She’s not good at sharing, even now that she’s got more than enough to share. Jealously hoards every token of affection she receives, no matter how many of them there are. Because she still remembers a time when she didn’t, when it seemed like she didn’t have anything at all, that all the remnants of her old life were slipping through her fingers, and she had to fight to defend what shreds of herself remained. 

Now, though, she imagines packing it all up in a box at the end of the year, ready to be loaded into her car and driven back to Houston, and it all seems a little silly. It’s just tea, after all. 

She thinks about these things, now. Back in September, it felt like this year would never end. But now, somehow, it’s March. Like she could just blink and her last remaining months at Palmetto will be gone, just like that. Like, maybe, she’d wish that time would slow down, just a little bit. 

Today feels slow. A sunny afternoon, a couple hours between the end of her last class and the start of practice. Time to waste. “You want a cup?” She asks with a slight smile, barefoot and leaning against the kitchen counter. “This isn’t an offer that comes around often, but I’m feeling generous.“

Okay, Noah kind of feels like flipping out. Raleigh Everhart, offering a cup of tea? He’s stepped into the Twilight Zone. Raleigh is offering a cup of her tea. All he did was yawn as he entered the kitchen, patting his cheeks to remain awake as the dregs of the day were catching up to him. Now, fate is shining a spotlight on him, giving him the delightful reward to finally have a sip of RALEIGH EVERHART’S MOTHERFUCKING TEA.

He could die right here, right now, and he’d be fine with that. God, he’s about to flip all around the kitchen at this rate!

Jen grimaces at the thought. They played the part of the jock in high school pretty well. A little too well if their current grades were evidence. They definitely didn’t want to relive that point in their life when they had to hide everything about themself. That’s the one plus about FoxWatch though, it may try to recreate high school drama, but it just pointed out all the time Grayson and Jen danced around each other, not the fact that they wear makeup. 

“Sounds like someone who had a little too much fun in high school and never wants it to end,” Jen laughs. A thousand flips would probably end in a broken bone, and in that case it would probably catch the mysterious blogger’s interest. It’s probably best to stick to their usual choreography.

“I think the only answer is to choreograph and random kiss into  the finale of our routine,” Jen suggests with a feigned, solemn frown. “Then they’d definitely talk about it.”

“Which blows my mind that they don’t want high school to end. Here’s a new chapter to your life! A way to grow and learn and become the best version of yourself, and they want to keep the past? That’s so --- so --- ”

Pointless. The word dies on his tongue, because the bitter taste of hypocrisy is quite the sobering reminder. Not about reliving high school, but wanting to keep it close. Despite the vivid memory of pain, despite how his legs still strain on days he needs them to work, he wishes to return to the moments before the crash. Maybe give a warning, maybe try harder to remain conscious, if only to scream for his coach not to abandon him in recovery. 

He can’t change it, but that chapter isn’t closed yet. Not by a long shot.

“It’s all frustrating is what I’m trying to say,” he finally finishes. 

   Realizing a moment too late, as she always did, that she’d spoken out of turn, Indigo bit the inside of her cheek as he defended himself. Shit. It had become quite a habit for her to just ramble on without realizing the affect of her words. Lately, she’d tried to be aware of it, but it seemed she’d failed. “No, I- sorry. I just trying to play around. You’re not wrong, or whatever.”

   Indigo sighed. That abrasive nature had been a defense mechanism for so long, but as she matured, she realized more and more that sometimes, soft was better. In reality, half of Indi’s vocal acceptance of the site was a precaution to ward off any negative things they’d say about her - the Lord knows plenty could be written. 

   “I know,” Indigo replied, nose wrinkling, feeling a bit scolded. Her eyes went down to her food. “It’s just easier to pretend like it’s all an episode of Gossip Girl or something. You make it more real, I kinda hate that,” She smiled then, putting a lighter, playful tone on her words before things took more a detour than they’d already taken. He sure didn’t hesitate to stand up for his own thoughts, and Indigo had to hold a fair deal of respect for that. 

A rush of heat pools in his cheeks, and he dips his head before rubbing the back of his neck. "Ah, no, you don’t need to apologize. I mean, I guess thanks for giving it, but I’m the one lecturing.” He became much too serious, much too quickly. And he doesn’t believe she’s wrong, but what she said, it didn’t --- it didn’t sit well. He wouldn’t regret pushing back, but the embarrassment reddens his skin anyways.

“I mean, it’s real, so I can’t help but view it in that lens. But --- yeah, it sometimes does feel like an episode of Gossip Girl with how it’s all construed, yeah? Any second, we’re going to get a text that’s signed, ‘cheers motherfucker! -FW’ or something like that.” A small laugh sounds, something to match the smile she had offered. 

“And then on that day, we won’t take them seriously anymore. Unless there’s an underlying threat to the texts. Then obviously that’ll go reported.”

“Why? We starting a betting pool?” Grayson says. He doesn’t enjoy thinking it could be one of them—someone who plays alongside him or cheers with Jen, and Grayson moves on as quickly as he can. “With all the shit they report on, it’s gotta be more than one person, right? Unless it’s someone who’s way too obsessed with us.” 

Then again, he supposes they don’t need to be everywhere at all times. He remembers the way gossip worked in Dubois. It only took one person to start something, and then the entire town would latch on, spread it throughout as loyally and as dramatically as they could. Maybe Foxwatch simply collects the rumors and posts them at their leisure. “Maybe some pissed off football players. Foxwatch is always saying nice shit about that team.”

“Ah, nah, nothing like that. Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble for gambling and whatnot. But I’m curious of your opinion.”  

And Grayson freely gives it. Noah leans back against the chair then, hand on chin as he ponders what Grayson shares. “It could be either. It’s like --- there’s just no identifying information, right? Not that it’s hard to hide that stuff from online eyes anyways.”

He thinks that someone must know. Perhaps heading up the students that worked in the IT department would be a good idea. He doesn’t know them, but maybe they’d be willing to divulge information anyways. 

Eyes narrowing, he mutters, “The bastards if it is one of them. Honestly, it’s just how low can you go when ‘spilling the tea’ just hurts someone, you know?”

This exchange is slowly morphing into an outright conversation, one which is deeply confusing. Raph has no idea who Perez Hilton is or what kind of energy he has that the press appears to spread. He considers asking but thinks better of it. Whatever explanation Noah Nakamura provides him will probably only confuse him more. 

In the end he just shrugs and nods in an unconvincing and artificial display of understanding. 

“I had always assumed they were hired to be obstructive and distracting by an opponent team,” he says after a moment, when the period of silence has stretched to an uncomfortable length. “I cannot think of another reason for someone to expend so much time and energy surveilling our respective teams.”

Alright, good, not a bad conversation so far; he'll count this as a win. Unless the conversation unravels into a screaming match, which he doesn’t foresee happening given the trajectory, he can make this a special occasion. Even with the extended silence, he’s on his way to complete a full conversation with Raphael.

“That is a fair point. Maybe one of the Big Three hired them. That’s gotta be ground for disqualification though, right? I mean, I wouldn’t put it past people to do that, but gosh, what risk is worth potentially losing it all over something that’s so petty. If it’s true, it’s like they aren’t confident in themselves that they have the skills to win.”

         The blonde forced a smile at Noah. Of course, he wasn’t the only person that felt like it.knowing that people cared enough about them to humiliate them wasn’t a good feeling.But what they did or didn’t do did not have to be talked about in a gossip column. “Of course, you’re not the only person that feels that way. Anyone that’s been on that site probably feels the same way.” It was strange to know that there were people watching them. That not every conversation was private or every move they made at a party was watched by someone. It made her skin crawl.“I don’t bother reading it anymore.”

         Deep down, she knew that neither her mom nor her grandparents wanted her to feel ashamed about who she was, but sometimes that’s how she felt. McKenna wasn’t her mom, she wasn’t always irresponsible and she wasn’t always looking to have fun. She also wasn’t her grandparent’s perfect child either. She was somewhere in between the two of them. Her own person that she was becoming to love. She didn’t want to be in the box that everyone seemed to put her in, so she wouldn’t be. Though she was soft about who she was, not loud and proud like some people were. The blonde wanted people to know who she was without her having to feel like she had to tell everyone. When she was in high school, the gossip had been about her—about her mom, her family. Everyone was always trying to make her into something, make her feel ashamed about things she couldn’t control. At first, she cared what FoxWatch said about her, but now she refused to be like that.

         “Yeah, I guess.I suppose I’m not the best version of myself yet. The only person you can control is you though. How you react to how the world sees you is in your control. Who cares what some random person on the internet says about you.” She had no idea if she was making him feel better or not. 

“I try not to make it a habit to read it,” he admits. He rubbed the back of his neck, a hint of red crawling up his neck. Guilt and embarrassment were nasty creatures, threatening to twist his words if he isn’t careful. “It’s rare occasions, and I definitely don’t want to give them extra clicks, but ---- I don’t know, saying, like, I’m checking just to make sure it’s all false sounds weird and a waste of time. And that sucks as much as the site existing, you know?”

He sits back then, listening to McKenna. the only person you can control is you. how you react to how the world sees you is in your control. And despite himself, despite how unnecessary it is in the moment, sadness aches in his chest. It’s a lesson learned from awful experiences, and while it’s a good one to have in the long journey of life, he hates that McKenna understands it.

He hates that he knows it all too well.

“That makes sense. And it aides in becoming the best version of ourselves. We can only go through life one day at a time, and knowing when to hold on to what we can control, and let go of what we can’t, is essential, yeah?”