Whistleblower ✓

40 | all in the presentation (part one)

It was midterm season—the frustratingly long and fuzzy-edged stretch of the semester that, as far as I could tell, ran from the end of syllabus week to the beginning of final exams. Consequently, Buchanan had started to resemble an outlet mall three days before Christmas.

In other words, a living hell.

All the study rooms were booked solid through the end of October, so our Human Sexuality group convened between a pair of bookshelves deep in the stacks on the fourth floor, which was usually where grad students holed themselves up while working on capstones and thesis proposals and research papers.

The carpeted floor was rough and coffee-stained, but the relative quiet sure beat the clamorous chaos of the third floor.

Tomorrow was go time.

Our paper wasn't due until the week before Thanksgiving—each group had a staggered deadline coinciding with their presentation date, to even the playing field—so today was all about throwing ourselves into running through our slides a hundred times over and delegating speaking points.

The first hour of our meeting had been incredibly productive.

Somewhere around hour two, we lost focus.

My thoughts were on Sarah.

I didn't feel too guilty about my being distracted, though. Ryan and Olivia were arguing about her ex again. I'd overheard enough in the weeks since we'd been grouped together that his name was Lewis, and that he was an asshole.

He also had an enormous penis, which seemed to be why Olivia had been unable to permanently delete his number.

"You can't just bone your way through problems—" Ryan was saying.

Bodie nudged me with his elbow.

I looked up. My hair fell across my face, a curtain I shoved aside with a little huff of frustration.

"You want a carrot?" he offered.

Bodie had a packed lunch in his backpack. I know because I caught glimpses of a brown paper bag and something wrapped in tinfoil every time he reached in to fish out a baby carrot.

"No, thanks," I mumbled.

He munched thoughtfully.

"Are you good?" he asked. "You're quiet."

I made a face like who, me? that couldn't have been very convincing.

Bodie quirked an eyebrow.

I sighed wearily.

"You should know," I said, voice lowered so only he would hear me, "that one of the women who sent in a tip to the Daily came forward. She graduated a few years ago, but she heard about the article in the news. She finally got on a plane to come out here after Garland claimed the tips were fake."

Bodie stopped chewing.

"She wants to give the police a statement," I told him.

"That's—that's amazing," he said.

I could tell that he meant it, that he was glad. But his voice cracked.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah. Yes. I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head like he was frustrated with himself. "I just—could you give me a minute?"

He pushed up off the floor and got to his feet.

He'd already disappeared off into the stacks by the time Olivia and Ryan noticed he was up and moving. They turned to me, twin expression of confusion.