For the rest of the week, I pretend like nothing happened. When I'm not busy at school, I'm either proving to Coach that I'm no longer a troublemaker or proving to Nico our kiss meant nothing; both of which are lies.

In my defense, they are necessary lies. My fight with Katarina is closer than ever, the gym is hanging by a thread, and the last thing I need is to fall for my coach, not least because everyone hates him. The problem is, while lying through my teeth to others is easy, I can't seem to lie to myself.

When Monday comes, I climb out of bed and pull on my gym clothes. As proud as I am of the way I fought with Maddie, it's clear I need to improve my stamina, so I've been starting each morning with a five am jog. As much as I hate it, it's working.

I pull on my sports bra, briefly remembering the way Nico's thumb had brushed across my chest. My skin burns, and it's as if his touch is imprinted on the material, another reminder of that night.

Bad, bad, Cassie. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, only opening them again when the burn is gone. I figured us forgetting about the kiss would make everything normal, but the last few days of training have been awkward. I pretty much remain silent unless he's giving me an order, and even then, I don't respond in my typical sarcastic manner. I do as I'm told, avoiding his gaze while attempting to forget, but clearly, it's verging on impossible.

With a click of my knuckles, I slip on my AirPods and head out. The street is quiet at this time of morning, as if someone pressed pause on the world. Maybe this makes me completely anti-social, but I love it.

I stand on the sidewalk, spending a few minutes stretching as I take in the sky. The sun hasn't risen yet, but a soft glow on the horizon turns the sky a pinkish orange. I take a deep breath, breathe in the cool, crisp air, and jog a few times around the block.

By the time I reach my street again, I'm dripping with sweat. I head inside, breathless and aching and wanting to die, but it's a good pain, the kind that floods you with endorphins. I head upstairs to shower and change, taking so long that by the time I'm finished, my mother is waiting in the kitchen with a long list of things I need to post to GymCon's Instagram.

I sit in front of my plate of pancakes, skimming her Ipad's checklist with one hand while pouring myself some orange juice with the other. "You want me to take a picture of Coach? He'll hate that."

She peers over my shoulder, still clutching her coffee, and frowns. "I've been researching your gym," she says, "and I think a post about the coach might garner what I like to call 'sympathy engagement.'"

I stop eating my pancakes to look at her. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," she says, sitting opposite, "there are a few key things people look for in a post: a cute animal, a hot person, or an underdog. Your coach falls into the latter."

I ignore the way she talks about him like a prop instead of a human and tell myself she's just trying to help. In fact, despite the fact it's hard to admit it, this is the longest we've gone without arguing. For once, we have something in common.

"I'll see what I can do," I say, "but I think he hates taking pictures as much as I do."

She returns to her phone, and I pull out my own before sending a good morning message to Daisy. I'll admit, I feel like I've been neglecting her lately in favor of training, so I'm trying to earn myself some brownie points. She sends a kiss face back, letting me know I've been forgiven.

When Cody walks in, he swiftly ducks away from my hand and slinks into the seat opposite. He's quieter than normal, fixated on his pancakes like they're the most fascinating thing in the world. Clearly, he's still having issues at school.

"You okay, Chipmunk?" I ask.

He nods and continues to eat his pancakes before suddenly looking up. I watch as the quiet dejection in his eyes is briefly replaced by hope. "Can I come and visit you at your gym soon?"

My eyebrows shoot up. In the corner of my eye, I feel Mom watching me as if this is my fault. "Why?"

He shrugs, avoiding my gaze as he tucks into his food. "I just wanna see what it's like."

My mother clanks her coffee cup down a little harder than intended. When our gazes meet hers, she pulls back her hair with that slightly forced smile she uses with strangers. "A boxing gym isn't the place for a child, Cody. Your sister only goes because of her anger issues."

She says anger issues as if it's been confirmed by a doctor and not through her own diagnosis. Maybe I'm not angry, or maybe I am, but it's all down to her. Maybe living with Dad, I'd be happy.

Instead of saying any of this, I straighten my shoulders and say, "Actually, I go because I enjoy it."

My mother shakes her head as if dignifying this with a response is too much effort. I turn to Cody, whose gaze has melted like butter.

"Please, Cassie," he says. "I won't do anything – I just wanna watch."

I bite my lip at his half-hopeful expression. There's an air of desperation in his tone, the kind that reminds me of the night Dad left, and I had to pick up the pieces. Not just Cody's, but Mom's too. "I don't mind taking you tomorrow. If that's okay with Mom."

We both turn to face her as her lips purse. She blames me for this, I'm sure of it, but saying no now would make her look like the bad guy, and to her, appearance is everything. "Fine, as long as you have him home by seven."

Cody breaks into an adorable grin, and it's all he can talk about on the way to school. I half-listen and half-try to navigate early LA traffic, but it's nice to see him this excited about something, even if my mother disagrees. When I drop him off, he even lets me kiss him on the cheek before he runs toward his friends.

I make it to school with minutes to spare and head toward my locker. Daisy waits beside it as usual but straightens when she sees me, looking positively giddy.

"You will never believe what Alec just told me," she says.

I open my locker before dumping my things inside. In my head, I'm already preparing to punch him after class, but then I pause. If he said something rude, why is she so damn happy? "What did he say?"

"He said he wants to ask you out," she says. "Asked me if you were seeing anyone."

I swallow hard and immediately think of Nico, which is ridiculous. According to Auden, Nico is out with someone different every week, not to mention we're erasing what happened. Why would he care who I go out with?

Why would I want him to?

"What did you say?" I ask carefully.

"That you weren't, obviously." She waits a beat, then another. Her eyes widen. "Are you?"

Avoiding her gaze proves too difficult, so I'm forced to look her in the eye. It's not like I'd intentionally not told her about the kiss, but she'd want all the details, and I'm supposed to be denying its existence. "Don't overreact, but Nico and I kissed last week."

She blinks once. Then twice. With her voice a hushed whisper, she grabs me by the hand and tugs me closer before saying, "What?"

A glance at my watch reveals the bell is about to go ay second. I briefly explain what happened and why I didn't tell her, but she's only half listening. The other half of her is staring into space, no doubt imagining her own secret kiss. If I weren't so hellbent on forgetting it happened, I'd be kind of impressed too.

"I can't believe you waited so long to tell me," she says. "There I was that night, proud of myself for nearly mastering Violin Concerto Number 23 by Pietro Locatelli, and you were out kissing boxers!"

"Not boxers," I say. "A. Singular."

The bell rings, and I've never been more relieved to get to class. I slink into my seat near the back, catching the way Alec looks over and smiles at me. I fold into my seat in a bid to deter him and quickly face the front.

For the rest of the day, I try my hardest not to daydream about Nico, but it's like when you tell a little kid not to do something, and they go and do the opposite; now my brain keeps imagining him shirtless, his hands in places they shouldn't be, and I feel hot. Scratch that, on fire.

By the time I get to the gym that evening, he's all but taken up residency in my head. I fight to push him back, instead focusing on wiping down the heavy bags as I watch Auden spar. I'd never admit it to his face – his ego is big enough – but he's getting good. Not just amateur good either, but the kind of fighter you look at think, they'll go far. If his mouth doesn't get him in trouble first.

I get back to cleaning, but every now and then, I'll look up and watch the others, studying their technique. It's funny – I figured Coach banning me from the equipment would make me worse off, but if anything, it's helped me to be better. I've spent so much time watching the rest of them train, that I feel like I know what – and what not – to do now.

When the gym starts filling up, I take a break from cleaning and snap a few pictures for Instagram. I try different angles, putting the boxers in various poses, and I swear, it's like a full-time job. Before this, I never knew how much work went into people's social media accounts, but getting the lighting right is hard; I'll just be glad when it finally pays off.

To my surprise, the picture I uploaded of Auden gets several comments in minutes. I feel myself smile, because quick reactions mean people are liking what I post. When Auden dances over, sweaty and with a towel around his neck, I shove my phone in his face.

"Looks like you're popular," I say.

His smile widens, and he looks at my phone almost disbelievingly before puffing out his chest. "Well, who can blame them?"

I roll my eyes, wondering how many likes I'd get if I posted a picture of Nico, when Coach walks over and points at me.

"You," he says gruffly.

I hold my hands up, sighing. "Whatever it is, I didn't do it."

He tilts his head, his expression sitting somewhere between amusement and agitation. "Duly noted. Are you busy? I'm giving some old equipment to charity and need help loading it into my car."

I scrunch my nose. The last thing I want to do before practice with Nico is move around some boxes, but I'm the only one standing around doing nothing, and if Coach does it himself, he'll probably pull a muscle. "Fine," I say and, with a heaving sigh, grab my jacket before following him out.

At least it will take my mind off Nico.

A/N

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