“No. I’ll go.” There’s no point arguing, so I don’t. I turn away from the crowd, from their loud chanting, and retreat, the fire in my cheeks matching the one swirling in my stomach.
Like the security officer said, my bags are waiting for me in the housing office, packed neatly and resting on the floor. I trynot to think about the invasion of privacy, of someone riffling through my things, packing them up.
I knew the risks of living in student housing, agreed to them when I signed whatever forms they had me sign. I hand over my key, check to be sure I still have my laptop and phone charger, and then grab the rest of my things from the office floor while the worker watches.
I push open the door and step outside, adrenaline racing. Head spinning.
Then…I stop.
A familiar face stands waiting for me, leaning up against a nearby tree with her arms folded across her chest. She doesn’t say a word, just stares.
“I guess you heard.” I move toward her.
“I guess I did.” Professor Bell’s face is as unreadable as ever.
I nod. “You warned me.”
“I guess I did,” she repeats, slower and more meaningful this time. Her lips twist, and she tilts her head toward the road. “Where will you go?”
Until this moment, I hadn’t thought about it. I haven’t had time. I squint my eyes against the sun, looking toward the road. “The airport, I guess. I’ll have to see if I can change my flight.”
“Do you have a ride?”
“I’ll call an Uber.” At least I’ll get to go home. I picture Mom’s face, wonder if she knows what I’ve been up to, though I doubt it. She’s not someone who’s online often, especially now that she’s busy taking care of Dad.
“Come on,” Professor Bell says softly. “Let me drive you.”
I should ask her to help me, to tell me what to do next. I should tell her I’m not ready to give up, but I don’t. It’s all too raw.
Instead, I follow her in silence to a black Camry in the faculty parking lot. The inside of her car is pristine and smells of the citrus air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.
She’s still quiet as she backs out of the parking lot, and I open my flight app. The earliest flight out isn’t until tonight.
“It was my article,” she says, interrupting my thoughts.
I spin my head to face her, instantly knowing what article she means. “The one that was removed?”
She gives a small nod without looking at me. “I approached Dean Carlyle with it when it happened. I was as surprised as everyone else to learn they removed it over a decade later, no explanation.”
“Do you think he believes us?”
Her eyes find mine for just a second. “I think he’s protecting himself and Havenport however he can. It’s not about us. It’s not even about her.”
“I don’t understand. Those students, the protest… They don’t even care about what she did.”
She flips on her blinker, slows down, and turns before she answers. “I told you. It’s bigger than Althea. It’s an entire system at work here, Lila. A system that doesn’t just break women. It makes the ones who survive easier to ignore. Reshapes them into something more palatable. It decides the women who should be believed. Decides who is worthy of love. Of trust. The system chooses the women who will rise, and the ones who will get left behind. It was never about you. Or any of us.”
I swallow hard. For so long, I’ve wanted to fight against everything she’s saying. I want to believe that truth is all that matters. Kindness. Decency. Integrity. Now, I have no choice but to question it.
“My truth is inconvenient for them,” I say finally, my voice powerless. “For the system, for Ralston. For Dean Carlyle. Havenport. So, it doesn’t get a voice.Idon’t get a voice.”
Bell slows down, turning us into the parking lot of a hotel.
“I finally confronted her in the voice message,” I say. “The one I sent you. I just wanted to hear her say the words out loud, to admit she knows how badly she hurt me. It wouldn’t have solved anything, I know, but I just…needed to hear it.” I glance up at her. “It’s like she truly believes she’s done nothing wrong. That she was always trying to help me.”
She pulls the car to a stop in a parking spot and turns her head to look at me, leaning back in her seat. “That’s just it. Altheadoesn’tbelieve she’s done anything wrong. Even when confronted with the harm she’s caused and its consequences, she insists she’s just doing what she has to. Belief can be a powerful—and very dangerous—thing.”
I swallow. Nod. “You think I should take down the site, don’t you?”
