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I repeat the statement, and she nods once, like she’s confirming something already decided.

“The third one,” she says. “That’s the lie.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because the other two sound like things you did,” she says simply. “The third one sounds like something you need people to believe.”

I lean forward before I mean to. “That’s your reasoning, Miss Vitelli?”

She shrugs slightly and replies, “Yes.”

My fingers tighten slightly around the arm rest before I force them to relax. “You’re certain?”

The corner of her mouth lifts as her eyes stay on mine. “Pretty sure of my answer, Mister Caldwell.”

Is her hair different today?

A voice from the back of the room cuts through my thinking. “So… was she right or not?”

The moment breaks and I look away first. I adjust my glasses and smooth the edge of my rolled up sleeve, and sit back slowly, nodding, “Correct,” I say.

A few students shift as I stand, turning to the board. “This is what you’re looking for,” I tell them. “Not confidence or instinct. You need to look at the structure and the narrative.”

I write a single word. INTENT

When I turn back, she’s already standing, ready to return to her seat. I gesture once, dismissing her. As she passes me, I lower my voice and whisper, “Good job, Miss Vitelli, see why you’d be a good addition to my case.”

She doesn’t look at me, but her step falters before she keeps walking.

For the rest of the class, she stays quiet, even when her friends are trying to make her laugh, she’s… thinking about something.

I should’ve stayed on Saturday. This thought is persistent and so unwelcome, it returned way too many times in the past two days. It’s irritating because it serves no purpose, I barely know her.

But I can’t stop the images from coming back. The way she looked at me, the fear, the confusion and the exhaustion. I recognize that expression, and I wish I didn’t.

The course ends, and every student is leaving with a small thank you, sir, but she’s walking with her friend, hands tight, eyes empty, and the only thing I find to do is grab her arm gently.

“Miss Vitelli, can you stay a little longer? I'd like to talk to you about something.”

She looks at my fingers around her arm before smiling to her friend and telling her she’d follow them soon; Ethan Bennett, her other friend, glared at her, uncertain about her reply to the point of asking her if everything is fine.

She smiles and just lets out a small, “yes go, I’ll meet you outside.”

They leave, and we’re all alone in this classroom again.

“Keeping me around at the end of your classes is becoming a routine,” she says.

“I’m allowed to talk to my students,” I smile and then continue, “Is everything okay?”

She glances at me, tugging her hands deeper into the sleeves of her jumper. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You don’t look okay, Miss Vitelli…

I nod toward the rooftop beyond the windows. “You like high places.”

She stills for the briefest moment, as if the memory has caught up with her. “They’re quieter,” she says then. And before I can ask what she means, she adds, “The view’s not bad either.”

I hold her gaze for a second too long and something close to a smile threatens at the corner of my mouth before I push it away.