She’d love nothing more than to put me down. To ruin me further in front of these people. In front of the world.
And she could do it, too. That’s the worst part. Theybelieveher. Theyloveher.
Already, Trey is circling her with questions—how does she want to be lit? Should they call in hair and makeup? Should they move the chairs? Can she walk with Dani for a few wide shots?
Just like that, no one’s looking at me anymore.
I’m not even here.
I’m just background noise to their perfect frame. A shadow in the momentarily gorgeous lighting.
Ralston gives me one final look, then a smile. With teeth.
She’s a wild animal. A panther. And they think if they walk with her, align themselves with her, they’ll be safe.
She turns away, and the crew follows her like she’s gravity.
I stand in place, invisible again, the light removed from my face.
She thinks she’s won as they quickly remove Dani from her seat and begin resetting the shot with Ralston in mind. I watch Dani, quietly misplaced, and happy to be so.
She meets my eyes just once, but it’s with pity. Not for herself; for me. She can’t see Ralston for what she is any more than they can, but they will.
I’m not giving up. I haven’t been defeated.
I’m just sharpening claws of my own. If they won’t listen yet, they will soon. They all will. I’m not the girl I once was. I won’t give up so easily this time.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When the time comes, I decide to skip the Welcome Gala. And the live episode taping of Ralston’sWho Gets the Mic Anyway?podcast. Ralston won’t notice. She probably thinks I minded her instructions, that I’m on a plane on my way back home already.
And if she doesn’t? Well, it gives me a certain type of pleasure to imagine her stressing over where I might be, what sort of trouble I might be causing when she’s momentarily incapable of stopping it. With all eyes on her for the full hour of taping, it gives me a full hour to dig, and I know just where I want to go next.
I walk across campus in the cool evening light. The banners for Ralston Week are still up, though the students handing out flyers and tote bags as if we’re attending a concert have all disappeared, likely at the evening’s event already.
I pass a few random students and feel solidarity with them. They didn’t go to Ralston’s taping either. Whatever reason they may have for missing, it’s almost treasonous on this campus.
I like them.
Piper Hall feels forgotten. Or perhaps preserved. Everything is a little older than most buildings on campus, and not in theartificially antique way most places are. Piper is run down, but not on purpose.
The lights flicker a bit extra overhead, and the stairwell hums with almost deafening silence. I take the stairs to the third floor. Most of these older buildings only have one elevator, and unless you need to use it, the stairs are faster.
Room 330 waits at the end of the hall.
I swallow, looking around. She might not even be here. For all I know, I completely misread her. For all I know, she’ll be front row for the taping, sitting right next to Ralston for the gala dinner.
Next to her door, a gold plate reads:Dr. Simone Bell. (She/her)
There’s nothing else, no title or quotes, no flair. When I attended Havenport, Ralston’s office doorplate was constantly getting updated with some new award, some new achievement. It never occurred to me that most professors don’t get the same treatment.
I knock and hold my breath, listening.
Her voice is soft. Muted. “Come in.”
I push the door open and step inside. Her office is just what I expected—shelves upon shelves of books, a large wooden desk, a few photos in mismatched frames of her, a man, and two teenage daughters on vacation. Simple. Not flashy.
She’s at her desk, writing something in a notebook. Her glasses sit low on her nose. The room smells faintly of coffee and dust. Old books. It reminds me of the library. When she looks up, her face is lit by the desk lamp. She eyes me from the shadows, looking tired, but sharp still. “Can I help you?”
