Then she stopped. Stood still. Breathed. Just breathed. For maybe 30 seconds.
Then she started again.
Delia watched for she didn't know how long. Five minutes? Ten? She lost track.
What she felt, standing in the doorway in her robe and slippers with her water fountain headache, was something she couldn't quite name. Respect, maybe. But more than that, something like: Oh. Oh, I see. I thought I understood who was living in the other bed in my room. I did not understand. I had no idea.
Eventually, Delia backed away from the door quietly and went back upstairs.
She lay in her bed. The headache was fading.
She thought about what she'd just seen. She thought about the cafeteria and the orange juice, and how Reagan had said nothing. Had just moved to another table.
She thought about the rumors going around that Reagan was there on a charity case, that she didn't really belong.
And she thought, Those people have no idea what is in this building.
She fell asleep thinking that.
* * *
In the morning, when Reagan came back from the gym at 7:00 with her hair damp and her face calm, Delia looked at her over the rim of her coffee mug for a long moment.
"I got up for water last night," Delia said.
Reagan poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the desk.
"I know," she said. "I heard you in the hall."
Delia looked at her. "How long do you train in the morning?"
"Hour and a half. Sometimes two."
"Every day?"
"Every day."
Delia wrapped both hands around her mug.
"Reagan," she said.
"Yeah?"
"I don't know exactly what's going on with that Whitfield guy, and I don't know what you're planning."
A pause.
"But for the record, I'm on your side."
Reagan looked at her. Something quiet moved across her face. Not surprise, exactly, but something close to it. The expression of someone who had learned to expect very little and was being offered more.
"Thank you," she said.
"Don't thank me," Delia said. "Just let me know if you need anything."
She took a sip of her coffee.
"Also," she added, "whatever you were doing in that gym at 5:00 in the morning, that was incredible. I don't know what it was, but it was incredible."
Reagan looked out the window for a moment.
"It's what I have," she said simply.
She said it without drama, without pride or apology. Just: This is mine. This is what I am.
Delia nodded.
Outside, the autumn morning was coming up gold over the Kentucky hills. The campus was just beginning to wake. Somewhere across the quad, a door opened and closed.
Thirty-three days until the regional championship.
The trouble hadn't really started yet. But it was coming.