Danielle turns toward the lockers, and I hold my breath. For a second, it seems like she’s going for 282, but then her fingers descend onto the padlock for 284.
So Danielle isn’t the blackmailer. Or maybe she is, but when she saw me tagging along with her, she decided to open a different locker. Maybe she claimed two lockers right next to each other to mislead me. Whoever sent me that letter would take precautions to keep from getting caught. Danielle isn’t an idiot, that’s for sure.
In any case, I’m no closer to figuring out the identity of the blackmailer.
I also don’t know how to comply with the blackmailer’s request. I have no idea where a copy of the exam answer key might be or how to get a hold of it. I always simply demanded that my grade be changed—I never went through the fine art of cheating. For all I know, Dr. Conlon hasn’t even written the exam yet.
But if I don’t get a copy of that exam, my medical career is going to be over.
51
The next day,I come to the lab to find that the arms and legs of my cadaver have been desecrated.
My legs nearly buckle when I see it. I dissected one arm in the previous lab, but the remaining three limbs have been all but ripped apart. It’s all I can do to keep from throwing up.
The only other person from my group who showed up to lab today is Sasha, who looks equally horrified.
“What kind of sick person would do something like this?” sweet little Sasha says. She’s nearly in tears.
I feel guilty. It’s my fault that someone has done this to our cadaver. The blackmailer is sending me a message. And it’s working. I’m dealing with a sick person who has no morals.
I make some half-hearted attempt to hide the whole thing from Matt. But Sasha is having none of that. The second Matt gets to our table, little Sasha speaks up: “Dr. Conlon, somebody did something terrible!”
As Matt surveys the damage, I catch the look of growing horror on his face. “Jesus Christ, what the hell happened here?”
I have to look away. If he sees my face, he’ll know something is up.
Matt, on his part, is furious. He gets up in front of the class and makes a long, angry speech about competitive behavior. He has no clue.
He’s still fuming later that day when I come by his office.
“It’s disgusting,” he says as I sit down on his lap. “And to think, the person who did that is going to become adoctorsomeday. Disgusting.”
“Well, all med students are competitive,” I remind him. “That’s how we got here in the first place.”
“There’s a difference between being competitive andthat,” he says, shaking his head. “There are lines that can be crossed.”
Matt’s in major denial. He believes cheating is very wrong, yet he’s sleeping with the Queen of the Cheaters. He knows everything I did, but he must not really think about it. If he did, he’d be disgusted by me.
“It’s different with you, Rachel,” he says, as if reading my mind.
“Why?” I ask.
“Well,” he says, “you understand now that what you did is wrong.”
Yes, he is definitely in denial.
“Maybe it’s just different because youwantit to be different,” I suggest.
Matt looks up at me. I’m always amazed by how blue his eyes are. It always manages to catch me off-guard.
“Maybe you’re right.” He pulls me closer to him on his lap and kisses me on the lips. “Man, why couldn’t I have fallen for a girl who’s less corrupt?”
I kiss him back. “I love you,” I say softly.
Our eyes meet, and the smile fades from his face.Say it, Matt. Tell me that you love me. Remind me why this is all worth it.
“I love you too,” he says, and I nearly sigh with relief. He raises his eyebrows. “Is everything okay?”
