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.

"Where'd St. James go?" Ryan asked.

"Bathroom," I lied.

The empty spot on the floor where he'd been sitting felt like a void. His plastic baggie of carrots was visible inside the unzipped front pocket of his backpack.

"I'll be right back," I said as I scrambled to my feet.

Ryan and Olivia didn't ask where I was going.

I found Bodie at the far end of the fourth floor, in a dimly lit corner of the stacks beside a water fountain with a piece of printer paper upon which someone had scrawled the words OUT OF ORDER with several very outraged exclamation marks.

His shoulders were tensed and his breathing was hard and fast.

"Hey," I whispered.

Bodie blew out a long, shaky breath and flicked his hands out like they'd fallen asleep or he'd jammed a finger.

"Sorry," he said, voice wobbly. "I just feel sick. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," I told him.

"I'm happy," he insisted, though he sounded close to tears. "Really. I swear to God I'm happy. This is just—"

His face scrunched.

"Bodie," I murmured. "Bodie. Hey."

"How did I not know?" he said, his voice a frantic whisper. "This is so—it's so gross, and I never did anything. I never said anything. I let it happen."

I stepped forward and caught one of his wrists in my hands.

He was shaking.

"This happened seven years ago," I pointed out. "You didn't even know Vaughn then."

Bodie's face scrunched up.

The first few tears dribbled down his cheeks and over the sharp curve of his jaw, and then it was like I'd stabbed a water balloon with a needle.

"C'mere," I whispered.

Bodie exhaled, a sound that was almost a laugh and almost a sob, and stepped forward into my arms. I locked them tight around his middle and pressed the side of my face to his shoulder.

When he inhaled, his breath caught. I felt him shudder against my cheekbone.

"Is she okay?" he asked, his nose stuffed and his voice small.

"She will be," I told him, smoothing my hand over the wide expanse of his back. "We're going to do everything we can to make sure she is."

"If there's anything I can do," he said.

I nodded. His shirt was soft on my cheek. "We'll let you know."

Bodie inhaled. Exhaled. Shivered.

He ducked his head. I was sure I felt his lips press against my shoulder.

Ryan and Olivia didn't comment on it when Bodie and I came back puffy-eyed and sniffling like we'd caught colds, but I knew they were about to implode with curiosity, so I told them both that one of the girls who'd written a tip about Vaughn had come forward to authenticate it.

Olivia pulled a travel-sized pack of tissues out of her backpack and passed them over.

"That is such a good excuse," she told us. "I thought you guys were hooking up again or something. I was going to tear you to shreds. Fuck."

We decided to call it a day after that.

Olivia, who had re-devoted herself to leading our group in an attempt to forget about CAN GO TO HELL Lewis and his massive dick, talked us through the major points of our presentation while we migrated to the elevator bank. She tore out three pages from her notebook and distributed them to us. The one she handed me had my name written across the top in purple gel pen; beneath was a numbered list of our slides, highlighted and underlined and circled.

When the elevator finally came, we all shuffled in together.

The doors opened on the third floor. A crowd of students stood outside, waiting impatiently. I slid to the side, towards Bodie, and flattened myself against the wall. The horizontal handrail was cold where it pressed into the small of my back, but Bodie's arm was warm against mine.

I couldn't help but think about the fact that the last time we'd been in an elevator together, we'd been strangers.

❖ ❖ ❖

All four of us arrived to class fifteen minutes early. We hadn't coordinated it. We were all just nervous wrecks, vibrating with adrenaline and (at least in my case) far too much caffeine.

Olivia talked us through our gameplan.

Ryan was uncharacteristically quiet. Bodie's knee was bouncing so seismically the entire front row of seats shook. I was absolutely positive I was about to throw up the Starbucks latte Hanna had gifted me as a token of good luck.

The lecture hall filled.

Nick arrived, the pony-tailed horseman of the academic apocalypse, and began class with a quick reminder about our final exam schedule that did not feel quick at all.

And then he said, "Let's get to our first presentation of the day."

I'm pretty sure I blacked out.

Here's what I do remember: the exact shade of scuffed-up yellow caution strips on the edges of the two little steps up onto the stage, because I was not going to eat shit in front of the whole class. The heat of the lights. The gold coiled snake ring on Olivia's right index finger when she reached out to pass me the mic. My first voice crack (fuck) and also my second voice crack (fuck). Bodie's easy, reassuring smile when I shoved the mic into his chest.

And as quickly as it'd begun, our thirty minutes was over.

Ryan clicked to the last slide of our presentation—an image of Dulce D'Leche in full drag, mid-dance number. A wave of tentative applause swept across the sleepy lecture hall.

Olivia lifted the mic to her lips and said, "Thank you, guys!"

We were done.

It was over.

I still felt like peeing my pants, standing up there with so many eyes peering down at me, but the relief outweighed my anxiety.

Nick returned to the stage, a clipboard of notes tucked under his arm, and congratulated us on a job well done. We were allowed to shuffle back to our seats and celebrate privately with silent thumbs-up and relieved grins.

"My voice cracked," I whispered to Olivia. "Did you hear my voice crack?"

"No, no," she said unconvincingly, "you sounded fine."

Bodie nudged me with his elbow.

"I totally heard it," he whispered.

I gave his shoulder—his very solid, well-defined shoulder—a shove.

When class was over, Ryan let out a celebratory yeah boi and leaned across our desks to high-five each of us.

I proposed we all grab lunch.

"Only if everyone's free, though," I said, glancing at Bodie.

I figured he might have some kind of team engagement, or practice, or something.

But he just smiled and said, "I'm down."

_________________

Decided to post part one of this chapter a day early as a thank you. This week has been so horrible (turns out watching women's rights burn does NOT help my anxiety and hormone-driven sense of impending doom) but every time I open Wattpad my notifications are full of nominations. It's been a really nice distraction.

Your friendly author,

Kate