The Scholar and the Star

Ch. 15: Skyler

From my position on the weight bench, I can watch many gym screens airing early morning talk shows. Many are showing the picture Eric took and uploaded.

I don't bother to watch any closer. I already read the headlines this morning, and Mitchel was right. All the sympathy has turned his way.

Mitchel is still at home, 'recuperating.' I suppress a snort of laughter. I was told to lay low, but he's the one fake fainting at press conferences. I wasted my time hanging around for a couple of hours last night. On my way out, I told Mitchel to change his gate code. Again.

Turning away entirely, I focus on my shoulder presses, the conversation I had with Mitchel still playing in my head.

How am I even supposed to be on my guard? Avoid Mother at all times? I only went to see her to try and help him.

It's not like I was on a date; I didn't get a chance to explain myself.

Mother's subterfuge is reaching new heights, becoming more elaborate. I've asked Eric to give me a heads-up if he sees anything suspicious going on with her.

I've got my work to focus on. I don't need to worry about whether I'm a fool for thinking our relationship was a...little more.

And now...what are we outside of our agreement?

Mitchel said I can date whoever I want; does that mean he will date whomever he wants?

Frustration wells up inside of me. I hang up my weights and go get cleaned up. Class starts in a little while anyway.

I make it onto campus and my parking spot. Even though this is usually a busy time of day, more students are going in the same direction as me. Each one moving quickly. The ones that see me hurry away, whispering.

Although, many have been doing that since last week.

I hear the noise before I see the source. Boisterous and pulsating, a block of voices flood the air.

Coming around the sidewalk into the quad, the area is packed with young people. Posters and yelling identify them as protestors. They surround the fountain, cover the sidewalks, and fill the grass.

Looking around, I attempt to locate a different path to take. Then my eyes read the banner.

The long, white stretch of paper, spread out between ten or so of the protestors, reads in large, hand-drawn block letters: WILDERS SAY NO TO SKYLER COLLINS

"My, god." My voice breathes out. I lose more closely. The protestors range from barely old enough to be in high school to closer to my age. They are marching around the fountain, chanting and yelling too many things to process.

The signs that I can read from here say things like:

Protect Mitch Wild

Mitch is our HERO, Skyler Collins is a ZERO

Skyler Collins IS A 🚩

Bring Beau Back

Many posters have a grainy picture of my enlarged face, with a red circle and line through it.

Students and others push past me on the sidewalk to see the commotion. I turn my face away. Oh, my god.

Over the ruckus, the feedback screech of a megaphone rings out.

Warily turning back, I watch a young female climb up on the fountain's edge. I can just make out a picture of Mitchel on her tee shirt. Her long, wavy hair blows around her face as she speaks to the crowd.

"WILDERS!"

"YEAH?" The crowd thunders before settling to be quieter, waiting for her speech.

"Mitch Wild deserves better!"