“What are you doing here?” Curiosity forces the words out of my mouth even though I’d be smarter just to stride right past him and head back to campus.
In response to my question, he takes a few steps forward and tilts his head toward the office door. “Van’s not cleared to drive yet, and Josie had a few sips of alcohol, so I’m their chauffeur tonight. They’re in the office right now, talking to the lady who owns this place. Van said something about having the twins’ birthday party here next month.”
I nod, because I’ve known Josie long enough to know she’s her younger siblings’ guardian. But after that nonverbal conversational showstopper, I’ve got nothing. I should leave, but Pete’s basically blocking my path. It’s not purposeful, he’s just that big. I could squeeze by and get to the door, but then I’d be so close to him. Too close.
“That was some article you wrote,” he says, the words hanging in the air between us.
“It was the truth,” I say, and if I happen to come off sounding defensive, it’s because I am. “Why does the truth make everybody so damn mad?” I ask, voicing my frustration out loud.
“I’m not mad,” he says. “Okay, maybe I’m a little angry.”
“Join the club,” I say. “No, really. I think there’s some big meeting on campus later this week. They’re sizing people for pitchforks, so you’ll want to get there early so you don’t get stuck with one meant for someone half your size.”
He doesn’t even crack and smile. “It’s not funny.”
“I’m fully aware of the gravity of the situation, Pete,” I say, putting my hand on my hip. “Believe me. If you calculated the amount of hate mail I’ve gotten these past few days, you’d see it’s more than twice the number of letters I’ve ever gotten forAm I the Dumbass?So, yeah, I know it’s serious. What’s also serious is how the privileged elite get away with fucking murder at this school, and no one cares. But when I dare to call them out, somehow I’m the one causing trouble.” Maybe it’s unfair, but Pete’s become the target I’m throwing all my verbal daggers at tonight. I’m so fucking pissed about this situation and the college’s non-reaction to it that my frustration is boiling over.
Pete takes a step closer to me. “I’m not saying what they did was okay. You have every right to be fucking livid, Claire, but, Jesus. Couldn’t you have just gone to the dean? I know you’re a journalist, but can’t you see how dangerous writing that article was?”
“Are you kidding me? You said it yourself, Pete. I’m a journalist. My job is to report the facts. Let’s get one thing straight. I was taking notes for a story on athletic privilege since the afternoon I arrived. When I started to see all the perks a certain set of students were privy to, I started paying attention and that’s when inspiration struck. When I found out later that Mandi and her cohorts were lifting my hard-earned work, that was just the icing on the cake I’d already baked.”
“You started the article the day you arrived?” he says, his normally bronzed skin turning pale.
“Yes,” I answer honestly. “That’s when I started taking notes.”
The look of betrayal on his handsome face kills me. “And how did I figure into it, Claire? Is that why you ran into me that first day? Or did you seek me out later,figuring you’d get a two-for-one. You could angle for some inside info and play a big fucking joke on the guy you love to hate.”
“What?” The word leaves my mouth on a breath.
“Is that why you had sex with me?” he asks, his voice low.
“No,” I answer immediately, my eyes locked on his. “I had sex with you because I wanted to. My god, Pete, do you really think that little of me?”
He shakes his head and pulls his backwards ballcap off to run a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to think. For what it’s worth, I fucking hate what you’re going through. I hope you’ve reported all the harassment to campus security, because that shit’s not right.”
“I called campus security when nasty-ass trash was dumped in front of my door the other morning. I’m not talking one or two bags, there were at least a dozen. The school cops came, but as soon as they took my name, their expressions changed. It’s complete bullshit, but I just have to keep moving forward. My editor is under pressure and though he initially liked the article, he’s regretting that decision daily, which sucks, but whatever. I’m just counting down the days to graduation right now. I step out of my dorm every morning with my headphones in and go about my day,” I say, holding up the little plastic case. “I might need a new set, though. I’ve had these since high school and the battery life isn’t what it used to be. They die on me every day around four, so the end of my day sucks, but the good news is, I’m just as tough as I look.”
I can feel the frustration come off him in waves, but I can also hear the words he isn’t saying. “You feel bad for me, Pete, but you can keep your pity. I know exactly what you’re thinking. I brought this upon myself. I made a big public stink and that means I get to smell shit for the nextfour months. Fine, that’s your opinion. You think I should have stayed quiet and safe and done as little as possible to disturb the universe while politely asking for justice. You know, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble. And to that, I say—and please know this is accompanied by all the kindness in my heart—Fuck. That. Shit.”
Before he can open his sinfully talented mouth, I grab my bag, brush right past him, and head out the door.
17
Claire
When I walked into the Campus Life Office this morning, there was a knife on my desk.
It was a teeny tiny one made of fondant, and it was sticking out of the top of a cupcake frosted with blood red icing. This creepy treat was accompanied by a note that instructed me, in perfect penmanship, to Slay the Day.
As soon as I’d looked up from my desk, I could see Barb and Linda’s eyes on me. They were so proud of their hip lingo, and the cupcake was delicious.
I’m grateful the office ladies are firmly in my cheering section, but it’s not a popular place to be. I don’t feel like walking through the Student Union right now, since every look I’m getting is a frosty glare, but part of this week’s task list is to take pictures for a charity calendar, so I’m here, camera bag in hand, following the signs that lead me to SU-231. It’s easy enough to find, but the door is locked, so I settle myself onto a bench and scroll through my phone for a bit. I’m about fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, but I’d like to start setting up so I’m not here all night.
Claire: Please tell me there’s something delicious inour fridge that I can eat for dinner. This day will not end, and I have a charity calendar shoot that’s supposed to start in a few minutes, but no one’s here yet, so I’ll probably be late.
Holland: You have a charity calendar shoot?
Claire: Yeah. It was on my task list for Campus Life. Please tell me my sweet and sour chicken is still in the fridge…you can’t see it, but I’m crossing my fingers.
