“Josh, nobody knows what you’re talking about—” one guy began to say, but Joshua bulled over him.
“You went into my room!” he shrieked. His voice was bordering on crazy. “Someone went in there and stole the footage!It had to be you!”
Cam was grinning from ear-to-ear. I nodded at him and asked, “You seem to know what’s going on.”
“Davenport has been secretly recording the women he sleeps with,” Cam explained with barely-restrained excitement. He held up his phone. “Someone hacked into his computer, blurred out all the women, and posted screenshots online. Or at least, that’s what I assume happened.”
A hum of excitement passed through the cafeteria as students began looking at their phones. A school-wide text message had gone out to every student using the Emergency Notificationsystem. It was a link to a website that had still images from several videos, with the title: “CREEP ALERT - JOSHUA DAVENPORT ILLEGALLY RECORDS HIS DATES.”
“The faces are blurred out,” Cam reiterated. “And any identifying physical features. But you can tell it’s him.”
Students began booing Joshua Davenport. He shouted at them angrily, and then food was flying through the air. The star basketball player tried shielding himself from the onslaught, then decided it was better to flee. As soon as he was gone, a cheer went up among the crowded cafeteria.
“Holy shit,” Jace said, scrolling on his phone. “I’ve heard rumors that he posts videos of the women he sleeps with, but I thought he always blurred himself out.”
“There are ways to remove the blur,” Cam said. “Or so I’m told.”
He looked awfully pleased with himself. And thinking back on it, I was the one who first told Cam about the Davenport rumors.
“Whoever did this made the world a better place,” I said carefully while watching Cam.
He glanced down at his tray, seemingly realizing for the first time that he had lots of random food items. He pushed it away and leaned back in his chair, savoring the excited chatter throughout the cafeteria.
I see you, Camden, I thought to myself.
33
Lila
I was eating lunch in my office while grading exams when Professor Galloway poked his head in my doorway.
“Something is happening out in the faculty parking lot!”
I didn’t really want to stop what I was doing, but Galloway rarely looked that excited. So I got up and followed him down the hall to the faculty lounge, which overlooked the parking lot. Four professors were already pressed against the glass.
I found a spot next to them and gawked. In the parking lot down below, six students—all women—were vandalizing a silver BMW. The tires were already slashed, and they were now covering the car with spray paint.
“Geez,” I said. “Whose car is that? Which professor?”
“Not a professor,” someone mentioned. “A student. Joshua Davenport.”
“Why is his car in the faculty parking lot?”
“Because,” Galloway answered, “Davenport is the University golden boy who gets whatever he wants.”
“Until now,” another professor muttered.
“Why are we all just watching this happen?” I demanded.
The three other professors next to Galloway looked sideways at me.
“He has a reputation,” one of them said.
“Records women he bangs without their knowledge, then posts the videos online,” another added.
“And always blurs himself out. Until now.” The professor held up her phone.
I opened my phone and took it off Do Not Disturb. I quickly saw the campus-wide emergency text that went out fifteen minutes ago.
