Dancer's Body

Chapter 17

She leaned back in the squeaky chair at her morning lecture, her phone's audio recording app picking up every word from the professor. Why did I sign up for an eight o'clock lecture, anyway? She was still ticking off some straggling required courses, and even though there were three hundred people in the hall, the professor still took roll.

Olivia bowed her head and stifled a yawn. The girl in front of her turned around, looked at her and snickered.

"What?" Olivia asked. She'd never spoken to the girl before.

"Nothing," the girl whispered and turned back around.

Around the lecture hall, there was a fluttering of murmurs. Students were whipping out their phones like mad. One after the other, they turned to look at her. Some pointed her out to those sitting around them. What the hell?

"Ladies, gentlemen, would you please pay attention," the professor said into the microphone, but nobody listened to her.

One of the guys in the row below her turned his tablet to show his friend—she saw a photo of herself with Roman. He was holding her hands above her head. Scrambling to turn off the audio app, she watched the tell-tale red notifications start to mount.

Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook were all alive with the photo of her and Roman. It was being spread like crazy, especially in her university and dance groups. Memes were already being created, though the original was what lit the fire. When you're sleeping your way to the top, but can't remember to shut a door.

The comments were coming just as fast. "Slut," "whore," and the occasional, "Can't blame her, I'd fuck him."

The professor was yelling at everyone to calm down, but the hundreds of eyes were on Olivia. Fucking Juan. She pulled her hoodie up, stuffed her notebook in her bag and made a beeline for the exit, thankful to be in the back row.

"Going to see your sugar daddy?" a girl she'd never spoken to before called to her as she stumbled over knees and feet to the exit.

"It's always the quiet ones," said another.

"Excuse me?" the professor called from the front. "Where do you think you're going? What's your name? I'm not going to mark you as present when—"

"Olivia Baker!" someone yelled. "Her name's Olivia Baker."

Laughter and taunts were the last thing she heard before the thick door slammed shut behind her.

She took the fire escape stairwell to avoid the stares she was getting in the hallway. How far had this spread? By the time she made it to the ground floor, she knew.

"That's it, I'm calling you to J-Board," Ava texted her. "Friday. DON'T be late." She sighed and deleted the text. Of course Ava would find out about this.

Next was Wyatt's call. For a moment she thought about letting it go to voicemail, but she knew that was pointless. He'd just keep calling, or maybe even come over. "What the fuck, Olivia!" he said as soon as she picked up. "What is this? Do you know how embarrassing this is—"

"Nothing happened," she said quickly.

"I know that," he said. "Nothing ever happens with you. But do you know how this looks? What people are going to say about me? You're fucking up my entire med school career before it even starts."

She dropped her bag on the coffee table and fell onto the couch. The tears had finally come, raking down her face. She couldn't fathom how she'd managed to hold them in all the way from the lecture hall. "I'm sorry!" she said. "I didn't know anyone took the photo. It was that asshole Juan, and—"