“Well, the institution isn’t fully broken,” she says in answer to a question I barely heard. “It’s wounded. And wounds need tending, not criticism and abandonment. Growing up without much money, I learned to fix what I could, rather than throw the whole thing out.”
The crowd applauds. Several people cheer. Heat climbs up my neck—a mix of anger and humiliation. Because that isn’t her story. Not much is known about Ralston’s past or where she came from, mostly because she doesn’t talk about it. She’s private, but one thing I know from being in her inner circle is that she grew up in private schools. Summering in the Hamptons. She had two nannies.
Growing up in poverty isn’t her story to tell. It’s mine. Perhaps someone else’s, too. But it doesn’t belong to her.
Among her long list of crimes, this one probably shouldn’t matter that much to me. She’s done much worse.
But it does. It all matters.
Someone behind me places a hand on my shoulder, and at first, I assume it’s someone trying to slip past, but then I hear my name, whispered loudly enough a few people turn to look my way.
“Lila.”
I freeze.
Dean Carlyle steps to my side, lowering his hand. His face is masked in shadows, expression painted with firmness over regret. “We should talk.”
My chest tightens. What on earth could he want?
I follow him away from the crowd.
“I’ve had complaints,” he says, still walking, hands in the pockets of his slacks. “About you.” As if that weren’t obvious. “People say you’re creating quite a disturbance.”
I shake my head. My breathing still hasn’t steadied. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Who talked to him? Not Naya, surely. Bell? The documentary production crew? Dani? Ralston herself?
He doesn’t look my way. “I’m hearing you’ve been confrontational since you arrived. Borderline obsessive.”
The laugh that escapes my throat is sharp. “Are you serious?”
“You and Professor Ralston always seemed so close during your time here. I thought you’d be happy to come back, to celebrate someone who meant so much to you. Who did so much for you.”
I swallow. It’s the lie I worked so hard to prove back then—that Ralston and I were close. That I was the chosen one. How can I refute it now without appearing jealous? Bitter.
“If this continues,” he says, his voice lower now. He comes to a stop, turning to face me with a sigh. “I’ll have no choice but to ask you to leave before the ceremony.”
And just like that, my throat closes. Because I don’t think he’s bluffing. Forcing me to leave Havenport would be the easiest solution to keep the peace. And it would be the one way to assure I don’t succeed, that she doesn’t get taken down.
Ralston’s voice echoes behind us. Another brilliant quote. Another lie. I’m barely listening.
Dean Carlyle’s stance softens, along with his voice, as if he wants to help me, as if he regrets his words before they’ve left his mouth. “Don’t make enemies, Lila. This is your home, too.”
I nod because I have no other choice. And with that, he’s gone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
When I wake the next morning, there’s an email waiting on my phone.
I can be at Café Blanc at nine this morning.
It takes me a few seconds to realize the email is from Hayden French, one of the students I emailed before. There’s no greeting, no pleasantries or small talk. Straight to the point.
I check the time. It’s just after eight, so I dress and get ready before walking to the small coffee shop located a few blocks from campus.
I get there early, but that’s okay. It gives me time to rehearse the conversation in my head. What I’ll say. What I’ll ask. So much is riding on this. I’ve already scared so many people away.
I need Hayden to trust me, to help me.
