He was not looking at Dylan.
He was looking at Mercer.
Mercer folded his arms. “Because your son wanted a relay position he had not earned.”
Aaron’s father took one step closer.
“You had children interfere with him so you could prove he was not good enough?”
“I challenged him.”
“You rigged practice.”
Mercer’s jaw tightened.
The boys on the bench stayed silent.
Then Mason, who had given Aaron the wrong count, stood.
“He told us the relay would be stronger without Aaron.”
Another boy added, “He said whoever helped expose weak swimmers was helping the team.”
The words sounded worse when nobody laughed afterward.
Aaron sat on the bench with Mara’s towel around his shoulders.
For weeks he had tried to solve the problem inside himself. Swim faster. Listen harder. Arrive earlier. Ask fewer questions. If he could just become difficult to target, maybe the targeting would stop.
Now the boys were describing a game with rules he had never been allowed to see.
He felt relieved.
He felt furious.
He also felt ashamed of the relief, as though proving the sabotage meant admitting he had not been strong enough to overcome it.
His father sat beside him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Aaron looked at the wet tiles.
“I told you I wanted to quit.”
“I know.”
“You said confidence comes back if you stay.”
“I know.”
Aaron’s father swallowed.
“I thought I was helping you not give up on yourself.”
Aaron finally looked at him.
“I wasn’t giving up on me.”
