Livia Lone (Livia Lone #1)(47)

Her growing popularity was unsettling. She was still shy. She was still afraid that no matter what she had, it could all be taken away in a sudden, horrible instant. And the secret of what she had been forced to do on the boat on the way to Portland, and what Mr. Lone was still making her do in his own house, made her feel ashamed and apart. She knew no one would understand it. And if anyone ever found out, they would treat her like something diseased and polluted. And the really horrible part was, she knew they would be right. She was polluted. Tainted. And worse, a failure, a fraud, for not having protected Nason, and even more for having incited Skull Face and his men into hurting Nason so badly that her little bird’s mind had just . . . flown away. The only way she could live with how loathsome she sometimes felt was to wall it all off and focus on school, jiu-jitsu, and wrestling. But if anyone ever learned the truth, that wall would crumble. And she could never, ever let that happen.

Most boys seemed intimidated by the wrestling—by a girl who regularly beat boys on the mat. But some didn’t seem to mind, and began to ask her out on dates. She always told them she was too busy. Sometimes they asked if she was Sean’s girlfriend. His stutter had faded away, like something he had outgrown, and nobody made fun of him anymore. She would tell them no, that wasn’t it, she and Sean were just friends and training partners. Which was true. Although sometimes she would catch Sean looking at her in a way that made her wonder. The rude ones asked if she was “maybe into chicks.” She didn’t think she was. She wasn’t into anyone. What she knew of sex was painful and humiliating and disgusting. She didn’t know why people were so fascinated by it. The only thing she wanted more than for Mr. Lone to stop was to find Nason. She would have been happy to never go near sex for the rest of her life.

She was unbeaten again in the regular season of her sophomore year. There were articles about her in the newspaper, describing her as a “phenomenon.” Reporters interviewed her at practice, always making sure to note how wonderful it was that the Lones had taken her in, and asking if she attributed at least some of her success to Mr. Lone’s hardworking example. She said as little as possible, afraid of causing a problem if she were to say the wrong thing.

Mr. Lone sometimes came to her matches. She wished he wouldn’t. It was disgusting to have him watching her do something she loved so much. And although she had grown increasingly confident that he would never see her as anything but a helpless little girl, she didn’t think it was a good idea for him to watch her beating boys, even if they were just teenagers her own size and not tall, full-grown men like him.

In fact, not only did he seem unconcerned about her wrestling prowess, he seemed to take pleasure in it. And why not? People were eager to attribute her success to him. In one of her classes, they had learned the story of the Greek King Midas, who turned everything he touched to gold. Even though the story was about a curse, not a blessing, she thought that was how Mr. Lone liked to be perceived, as someone who turned everything to gold. His businesses; his money; and now, his wrestling phenomenon, straight-A, adopted Lahu girl. It was galling to have him bask in her reflected glory, but she refused to dwell on it, ignoring him as much as possible when she saw him in the stands. She had gotten good at feeling as little as possible when he did the bathroom thing, and it was easy to do so elsewhere, too.

Livia and Sean were the only Llewellyn wrestlers to make it to the states that year—Livia at 108, Sean at 122. Sean placed fourth. Livia finished second, pinned in the third round of the finals, the loss again to a senior. When Livia walked off the mat, furious at herself and near tears not just for losing, but at the horror of having been pinned, there was a cluster of reporters waiting to talk to her. She took a deep breath to pull herself together.

When the reporters and well-wishers were gone and the next match was underway, she walked to the corner of the gym, where she started stretching to warm down. She had seen Mr. Lone in the stands, but he rarely came over to talk to her at matches, having learned that she would ignore him. Malcolm had driven her and Sean to the tournament, and she saw them approaching now.

She bent at the waist and touched her toes, taking a moment to collect herself. Seeing Malcolm and Sean was making her feel emotional again.

When she was ready, she straightened. They had stopped a few feet away and were watching her respectfully. They didn’t hug her. They knew that, off the mat, she didn’t like to be touched.

“You were amazing,” Sean said.

She didn’t feel amazing. But she couldn’t say that without implicitly putting down Sean—after all, he hadn’t even made it to the finals. So she just said, “So were you.”

“No, you were really amazing.”

He was so nice, and so earnest, she couldn’t help a little smile. “Thanks.”

“Congratulations, girl,” Malcolm said. “Thought we’d give you a minute with your adoring public before we bothered you.”

That made her smile more.

“You need anything?” Sean said.

She realized she was thirsty. “Actually, I’d love a Gatorade.”

“I’ll get one from the concession stand. Dad, you want anything?”

Malcolm shook his head. “I’m good.”

“Okay. Be right back.”

Sean walked off. Malcolm watched him for a moment, then turned back to Livia. “How you feeling?” he said.