Chapter 1 —Eva
I’d been sitting on this chair for the past two hours, pretending to listen to the lecture as though I wasn’t already bored out of my mind.
My palm rested under my chin as the projector clicked on and off, as if it, too, were as tired as the rest of us. Every now and then, my eyes flicked between Professor Wells and the phone sitting between the pages of my notebook.
The phone was half-hidden, the screen dimmed low with strings of unread messages from my friend, Emika, and some unknown numbers. I spun my pen between my fingers with practiced ease, waiting patiently for the class to be over.
I wasn’t sure why, but today, I didn’t feel like doing anything. I just wanted to lie in my bed all day, watching T—as Bruno Mars said in his song, “The Lazy Song.”That’s how I woke up this morning.
Honestly, the only reason I had to drag myself out of my dorm was because Professor Wells had strict penalties for missing his classes. The last thing I wanted was to have a problem with him.
An incoming text stole my eyes, and the content made my heart skip a beat.
“Tell your father he’s running out of time. There’s nowhere he can hide that I won’t find him.”That’s what the message said.
It was sent from an unknown number, and so far, it was the third one just this morning.
I rubbed my eyes, wondering why I wasn’t already used to these kinds of messages by now—courtesy of my father’s gambling problem. That’s just one of his many issues. I was only twenty years old, yet it felt like I was carrying the responsibilities of a forty-year-old.
A knot tightened in my stomach as I stared blankly at my phone’s screen, my fingers drumming on my table.
“Miss Harlow!”
That deep, unmistakable voice snapped me out of my thoughts in an instant. My eyes flicked back to the professor, standing in front of the class with his dark eyes fixed on me.
His gaze was intense, his expression flat. “Can you tell the class what theillusory truth effectis?” He folded his arms across his chest, his brown hair catching the light.
Of course he’d make an example out of me for not paying attention in his class. Classic Professor Wells!
Heads turned to face me, waiting for my response.
I straightened a bit and cleared my throat under the weight of his unwavering gaze. “It’s, uh….” My fingers tucked my hair behind my ear, and my voice stayed steady and controlled. “…when a person believes something is true just because they’ve heard it several times.”
His hands dropped from his chest, and one casually slipped into his pocket.
“Repetition makes things feel real even if they’re false,” I concluded.
“Correct,” he stated, maintaining the same blank expression. “Illusory truth is a useful concept, especially outside academia.” He resumed pacing the front of the lecture hall, moving his hand as he spoke. “Don’t underestimate how lies can become truth if people repeat them long enough.”
His voice boomed out cognitive bias as the rest of the class dragged on. He continued teaching, ignoring the fatigue and the tiredness etched on his students’ faces.
I leaned back in my chair, allowing my thoughts to create a window of escape from this torture. I looked right at the professor as though I was listening when, in actual fact, I wasn’t.
The minute the bell’s shrills rang out, students sprang to their feet, as if they’d been waiting for this moment a long time. Chairs scraped against the floor, and noisy chatter filled the air, drowning out Professor Wells’s voice.
He reminded us of our assignments and how they would account for 60% of our semester grades. No one seemed to pay attention. While my classmates had almost cleared out the hall, I sat back on my chair, skimming through the unread messages on my phone.
These were all text messages from my father’s creditors: about five of them. And they were all saying the same thing—to tell my father that he had limited time to pay his debts.
I locked my jaw, my eyes fixed on my phone’s screen as I tried to fight back the fear creeping into my mind.
“Miss Harlow?” Professor Wells called out, his tone a bit more tender than usual.
I raised my head, almost startled by the sound of his voice.
“Are you all right?” he asked, holding my gaze.
I hit the power button, and the screen locked with a soft click. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine.” I rose to my feet, sliding my phone into the pocket of my baggy jeans.
