As I pass groups of students, the usual hum of conversation is tinged with unease. I head to Liza Hall, looking for Ralston’s old office, wondering what’s left of it. Part of me expects to find her still there, working in secret behind a curtain as if she’s some Ozian wizard.
Instead, interns file silently out of the once-sacred office. The last one to leave flicks off the light. I watch, holding my breath.
When they’re gone, I can’t help myself. I move forward and peek inside. A few boxes sit stacked in the corner, trophies and photos jutting out of the top.
Everything has been boxed and sealed, the room a blank canvas like the last remnants of a life wiped away. Like she was never here at all.
A group of students walks past me, and a girl mutters under her breath, almost in warning, “That’s what you get for helping too many people, I guess.”
Her words sting my skin like a scrape. Is that what it was? Helping? Is that why she took from so many? To help even more?
Maybe I’ll never have the answer to that. Maybe most people will hate me for what I’ve done, for seeking to destroy a system that helps as much as it hurts.
I hear her voice before I see her, still as loud and demanding as ever. As if she’s unaware she’s supposed to be resigning in disgrace.
“And I’ll want those photos shipped. I’ve already told Peter,” she’s saying.
When I look up, she’s walking down the hallway, staring at her phone while she talks to the young woman standing next to her. She’s wearing black today, though still her usual pantsuit. I wonder if she threw out all her purple, or if she’s holding on to it, waiting for this to inevitably be overturned so she can return home.
Her smile is calm, and you’d never know she’s a woman in crisis from the look of her. She doesn’t even seem irritated. She’s almost completely unaffected. She’s also walking faster now.
My heart sinks—she’s coming straight toward me.
There’s no time to think, only to react.
I dart forward into her office and search for a place to hide. I rush to the window as I hear her voice again.Closer now.I look out the glass pane, searching for a patio or landing to step on, but there’s nothing. We’re four floors up, so as tempting as a jump to safety might be, it isn’t possible.
When she’s so close I can hear her heels clicking against the floor, I pull the curtain aside and hide behind it. It’s foolish, like a child playing hide-and-seek, but the curtain is heavy enough, made of thick enough material, I think it’ll conceal me well should she come into the office.
Then, as if I’ve willed it to happen, as soon as the thought crosses my mind, the light in the room flicks on, and I hear her voice again. “Okay, so it’s just those few boxes left and the photos downstairs.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She lets out a softhumph. “That’s how easy it is for this place to erase you.”
“I’m sorry, Professor Ralston. For what it’s worth, I know it isn’t true. What they’re…saying about you.”
“Oh, no need to be sorry, dear. I’m a cat with nine lives. I’ll land on my feet. The world is my classroom, you know? It was never about these walls.” She’s trying to sound brave, but I know her well enough to know the truth. She’s devastated. She’s also pissed.
I hear a soft knock and then a new voice. “Could we talk?”
Dean Carlyle.
“Sure,” Ralston says in a clipped tone. “Jenny, will you give us just a moment before we worry about the boxes?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll just run down and check on a few things.”
There’s a pause, and then I hear the door close. My heart is thumping so loudly I worry they’ll hear it. And my nose is suddenly,inconveniently, itchy.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t the one to deliver the news last night. I’d planned for it to be me.”
Ralston’s voice is low, almost amused. “Yes, well, you were rather busy, weren’t you? Conveniently. You think I haven’t already heard this was planned long before the interruption in my speech? You forget I have friends here, James. Not just you. You were going to fire me even without that little stunt.”
My throat goes dry. Is that true?
His voice is heavy, dark. “It was out of my hands. All these years, all the scandals and the whispers—I was the one who protected you, don’t forget. But this time, it was too big. Theboard gave us no choice. The second that website went viral, it was over. You had to know that.”
She lets out a soft laugh. “And I suppose a little warning would’ve been too much to ask.”
