Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
When I wake the next morning, there’s an email waiting on my phone.
I can be at Café Blanc at nine this morning.
It takes me a few seconds to realize the email is from Hayden French, one of the students I emailed before. There’s no greeting, no pleasantries or small talk. Straight to the point.
I check the time. It’s just after eight, so I dress and get ready before walking to the small coffee shop located a few blocks from campus.
I get there early, but that’s okay. It gives me time to rehearse the conversation in my head. What I’ll say. What I’ll ask. So much is riding on this. I’ve already scared so many people away.
I need Hayden to trust me, to help me.
My tea goes cold as I wait for her. The place is mostly empty except for a barista with wireless earbuds and a group of students in the back corner huddled over a laptop.
When she arrives, Hayden walks in as if she belongs here, her arrival announced by the bell over the door.
Confident, cool. Her short, ink-black hair falls to one side of her head in sharp, jagged layers over her harsh undercut.
She’s wearing an oversized denim jacket patched with logos and slogans I half recognize.
There’s one from a coffee place. A charity that supports LGBTQ+ youth.
A Schitt’s Creek reference. One sleeve has been hand-painted in a wildlife scene, all trees and birds.
She’s not trying to make an entrance or be noticed. She seems like the kind of person who’d never waste the energy caring what anyone thinks. She carries gravity, a magnetic pull like a thunderstorm gathering in the sky.
She spots me immediately, I guess, never taking her eyes off me from the moment she enters the café. A flicker of something passes over her face as she draws near—not warmth, necessarily, but something familiar. Like we share something unspoken. And, I suppose, we do.
“Hey,” I say, standing too quickly.
Hayden gives a look that seems to say, You don’t need to perform for me, then sits without comment. She sets down a messenger bag covered in buttons and stuffed with flyers, and a reusable water bottle covered in political stickers.
Her hands are paint-stained, eyes patient but not indulgent. I get the feeling this will be a quick meeting.
“My pronouns are she/they,” Hayden says. “Either one is fine with me. Yours?”
I swallow, incredibly intimidated by how cool and entirely herself she is. “She/her.”
She eyes me. “You look like shit. No offense.”
I let out a sharp laugh before I can stop it. “None taken.”
“You want to talk about Ralston, I’m guessing. You’re attending Ralston Week?” Hayden leans back in her chair, watching me. She slings one arm over the back of the chair, clasping her hands together in front of her chest.
I give a small nod. “Not as a fan. I’m…I’m working on something. A statement, maybe. Or an article. Something public, for whoever will listen. Maybe a newspaper. Maybe I’ll just take it online. Or social media. Or—well, I don’t know. I’ve been—”
She puts up a hand. “Hang on. Take a breath.” When I suck in a slow breath on command, she lowers her hand. “Now, go on.”
“I want to call her out. I want to tell people what she did to me. And to others. Maybe…maybe to you.”
Hayden’s mouth twitches, but it doesn’t become a smile. “Ah. Gotcha. So, the reckoning is finally fashionable.”
“What do you mean?”
“You think bringing her down will do something for you. Make you viral or whatever.”
My throat goes tight. “That’s not why I’m doing this.”
She lifts her water bottle, taking a sip, and I stare at one of the stickers. Caring about people is not political.
“Then why are you?” she asks finally. “Doing this?”
When I glance out the window, a drizzle has set in, the grayness seeping into my bones. I had an answer prepared, obviously expecting some version of her question, but the entire conversation has thrown me off.
“Because our stories matter. Just as much as hers. She doesn’t get to hurt people and get away with it.” I watch her face change just slightly, still unreadable. “She stole my stories. My words. And she made sure no one believed me when I tried to speak out. I’m guessing you have a similar story?”
Hayden grins from one corner of her mouth.
It’s sad. Distant. “I went to Ralston with the idea for a LGBTQ+ writing group. I thought it would be a good way to make sure people felt less alone, to give us a space to tell our stories without judgment. She said she wasn’t sure.
Then a few months later I heard it was happening.
Had happened. Without me.” She shrugs. “I didn’t care about the credit, but it still stung, you know?
And then when she mentioned the group on a panel later, she called it ‘a lesbian group.’ I corrected her in front of everyone. ”
Laughter fills her expression, even without the sound.
“She must’ve hated that.”
“Eh, she spun it around, like she does. Turned to the audience and said something like, ‘Kids these days are always teaching me new things.’ Like we were a TED Talk, an anecdote, rather than people.”
She doesn’t say it with any bitterness, just fact. A memory recited like an entry on a spreadsheet.
“I trusted her because she was supposed to be one of the good ones, you know? An ally who really cared. That’s how they sell her, isn’t it?
The next semester, the group was told our usual meeting space in the library had been booked.
They moved us to some musty room in Piper Hall.
We ended up just meeting in the dorms instead.
It was clear Ralston had some part in it.
Even though she bragged publicly about how we’d worked together to reform the campus for LGBTQ+ students, we never really spoke after that.
I found out later she’d had a hand in making sure I didn’t get accepted to the Master’s program. And that was that.”
“And she just got away with it,” I say softly. “Because that’s what she does. Because no one has stopped her. I came before you. I tried, but not hard enough. I wanted to trust her. I thought she cared about me, but I was just material she could use.”
Hayden exhales slowly. “Yeah, she’s good at that, isn’t she?
Who wouldn’t love a feminist icon who saves broken girls?
Who stays at a university job even though she’d make more speaking and writing full-time.
It’s really charming for a while. Until you realize the university is her farm, that she’s feeding on all of us.
Even the ones she doesn’t work closely with.
Trust me, if someone dug deep enough, I guarantee there are dozens of women with similar stories. If not more.”
I clasp my hands together on the table, kneading my thumb into my palm. “So, you’ll help me, then? Maybe we could even track down a few more girls. If more than one of us come forward at once, it’ll be harder for people to ignore.”
Hayden leans back against her chair, her face going still. “Sorry, no.”
“But—”
“I’m not interested in returning fire. War isn’t my thing.”
That stings. “Sometimes wars are justified. If that’s what it takes.”
She shrugs. “Maybe. Look, you’re hurting. And that’s valid. But Ralston isn’t just the problem. She’s the symptom. You take her down, and the machine still runs. Same gears. Same gatekeepers. They’ll just find someone else to carry the torch.”
“Someone like you, maybe,” I say gently. “Someone who actually cares about the cause.”
Her lips press together. “Maybe Ralston cared too, at one point. Power corrupts. I’m not interested in replacing her. People can do more good on the ground than on top of the mountain.”
“So what, then? We just let her get away with it? Move on and forget it happened?”
“Ralston didn’t change my path, even if she hurt me. We don’t give up. We build. We organize. We make systems that don’t require martyrs or icons or villains. That’s how you make it stop. You tear down her mountain, piece by piece. Not to hurt her, but to fix the cancer that allowed her.”
I sit with that. It’s not the answer I came for, but it’s not wrong either.
“Can’t we do both? Take her down and then work on the root?” Like a cavity.
She doesn’t seem convinced. “People believe Ralston. Trying to hurt her will just hurt you worse.”
“So, what’s the solution, then?”
“You stop caring. And you move on. And then you get to work.”
I shake my head, tucking my trembling hands into my lap. “That’s impossible.”
“No, it’s necessary,” she says. “I had to choose. Stay in the cycle, screaming at locked doors…or go build something better. Smaller, but better. I’m making differences in people’s lives every day. Maybe one person, maybe ten. It’s enough for me.”
“How can that be enough? How do you just move on?” I’m not doubting, I’m begging. For answers. For instructions.
“I’m a tech nerd who gets to spend half my days building websites for non-profits who make real differences and the other half volunteering for those same non-profits.
I never wanted much else, even if I took a different path to get here.
I’m happy.” She takes another sip of her water, tilting her head as she swallows.
Her eyes dance over my features, studying me.
I assume my face isn’t hiding my fury. “You don’t think you can be happy without hurting her back? ”
“I don’t know. She just keeps winning,” I say softly. “Keeps hurting the next generation. How can I live with that?”
“I’m not saying don’t speak out,” Hayden says.
“But ask yourself who you’re doing it for.
If it’s truly for the next generation, that’s one thing.
But if it’s about getting even with Ralston for how she hurt you…
” She watches my face, as if deciding how to finish her statement.
“That’s a harder road. And it won’t fill the hole she hollowed out. ”
I don’t know what to say. It would be a lie to say revenge isn’t driving me, but it’s not the only thing. It goes so far beyond that.
After a long silence, Hayden leans forward, hands clasped loosely.
“Look, I don’t want to relive those years.
I’ve moved on, and I’m happy now. But if you’re determined to do it, just know Ralston isn’t the only one you’ll be facing.
She might shine the brightest, but the shadows are filled with enemies too, you know? ”
I narrow my eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m just saying, it’s not only Ralston.
There are others—people who talk the talk, say all the right things, repost the right posts.
They might be ideal in every way, but they won’t hesitate to cut you down the second it benefits them.
Some of them are probably cheering you on right now.
Some are your friends. It’s like I said, Ralston is a symptom.
And she’s not the only one. If you take anything from her, take that.
The one lesson she can’t teach in a classroom. ”
“Who do you mean? People at Havenport?”
“Maybe. Probably.” Hayden’s eyes lock with mine. “That’s not the point. All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t get too comfortable with anyone, right? Even if you do get someone to help you, don’t confuse their applause for safety.”
I swallow, recognizing the fear in her eyes. “She made it impossible to trust anyone. To feel like you aren’t being used.”
“She helped me to see we’re always being used.”
A chill runs up my spine.
“So maybe allow yourself to be used for something good.” Hayden digs into her bag, pulls out a rack card, and slides it across the table.
The orange paper has a clenched fist held in the air on the center.
MUTUAL AID TRAINING:
HOUSING & FOOD JUSTICE.
EVERYONE DESERVES DIGNITY.
JOIN GLENbrOOK PEACE COALITION!
The paper has a rough texture, probably recycled. I turn it over to see an address, date, and time on the back.
“We can always use extra hands. You want to make a real difference? Help us deliver groceries to underprivileged communities. Help us fight the rezoning proposals that will mean dozens of elderly and low-income folks could lose their housing. Hell, come help us run free laundry nights and health clinics on Saturdays. Do something that matters, something that helps in the moment.”
I turn the card back over. “You want me to volunteer with you?”
“I want you to matter in a way that won’t leave you feeling empty.
You won’t be a symbol to the woman who has been dealing with a toothache for six months because she can’t afford to go to the dentist, or for the man who can’t get a job because he doesn’t have a clean shirt or a ride to the interview.
To the kids who finally get a real birthday cake on their birthday, or actual presents under their tree on Christmas morning.
To them, you’ll just be a person. Someone who shows up when no one else does. ”
Outside, the wind and rain have picked up. The sky is darkening, warning of an incoming thunderstorm.
“Look, I get what you’re saying, but…she took everything from me. I don’t have anything left to give. I have to take my power back. I have to.” I move to hand her back the card, but she holds up a hand, stopping me. “I’ve waited years to be back here. Years to face her again. I can’t wait anymore.”
“Then do what you need to. Just don’t let it be the only thing you do. Don’t stop there. You’ll be surprised how much helping…well, helps. Others, but yourself too. It matters to feel like you’re part of something.”
I pull the card back toward me. “I can’t forgive her. I wish I could.”
Hayden smiles with one corner of her mouth again.
It looks genuine this time. “Me either. But I’m building something with the ashes she tried to leave me with.
She doesn’t get to define my future, and you shouldn’t let her control yours either.
She’s just a person. One person.” She stands and throws her bag over her shoulder.
When she looks back at me, her eyes are softer.
“You have every right to be pissed at her, for the record. She’s hateful.
Vindictive. Empty. All the love in the world can’t fill whatever void she’s so desperate to hide.
She leaves rubble in her wake, behind all that bright light.
Don’t let that be your legacy too, okay? She’s not worth it.”
I don’t know what to say, so I just nod. With that, Hayden leaves. She doesn’t wave or say goodbye, just turns and moves. The bell above the door chimes, and I watch her disappear into the gray of the storm, not even ducking or jogging to avoid the rain.
I sit still for a while, my hands icy, brain swimming. For the first time since my arrival at Havenport, I feel something like clarity. Not closure. Not justice. Not even hope.
It feels like…direction.
I’m getting closer.