Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I’m lost as I rush out of my dorm and move around campus, no idea who to confront or what to do. In my whirlwind of panic, I just have to keep moving. If I’d even considered going home last night, I now know I can’t.
For one thing, I can’t give in after this. But more pressing, I can’t leave without my laptop. I can’t afford another one, and I need the evidence that’s on it—if it’s even still there.
Part of me suspects it’s been destroyed by now.
I find myself moving toward Liza Hall, where they’re hosting mentorship roundtables for Ralston Week.
Buttery, warm sunlight pours into the room from the glass ceiling of the atrium.
The room is filled with trees in oversized planters and the soft clinking of teapots and tiny teacups on porcelain plates.
Each of the many round tables is draped with white linen tablecloths, and in the center, a tower has been filled with small, triangle-shaped sandwiches and various pastries.
The whole thing is meant to be elegant—with the men and women in attendance dressed in their finest pastels, but it’s a joke.
Idol worship disguised as a brunch buffet.
The very women this place claims to have freed from oppression are all dressed in uncomfortable heels, with their hair pinned back, makeup pristine.
It’s performance art.
I’m not dressed like them, mostly because I wasn’t planning to attend. But it feels a bit like a protest, and that makes me smile.
I move from table to table, but the few empty seats left are clearly not available to me.
At one, a woman with a large pearl necklace avoids my eyes while I hover near an empty chair housing her purple handbag.
At another, a group of students wearing necklaces with Ralston’s face close ranks around an empty chair so visibly it’s as if we’re in an SNL skit.
It’s obvious then, though no one spells it out. My name is being passed around like a party favor—a warning. I’ve become someone to avoid, even by those who don’t know me.
I stop at a table titled Mentorship for the Independent Woman. It’s a phrase that once would’ve excited me, but the smile vanishes from the facilitator’s face when she glances at my name tag and then looks past me, waving a latecomer into the final seat.
I swallow, embarrassed even by the silence. Slowly, carefully, I back away.
It’s happening again.
Like before.
When I questioned Ralston and the silence began. When the smiles all turned thin. The invitations stopped arriving. My seat—literally and figuratively—was taken. As if my name was placed on lists I never saw, marked with an asterisk: difficult.
I wander to the far end of the room, lingering in the shadows, away from the chatter. As the sessions begin, I watch them lean in close, laughing knowingly, scribbling wisdom into Havenport-branded notebooks.
This is the club I was never invited to—until Ralston. For one brief, beautiful moment, I belonged. I fit in. I was wanted.
And then, with a flick of her wrist, it all went away.
Some days I have to wonder if Professor Bell is right. Is the fight really worth it? Would I have been better off to keep my mouth shut? To let Ralston steal from me in exchange for what she was offering?
Most days, I don’t think so. Today though? I’m not sure.
“They’re so good, aren’t they?”
I hear her voice in the distance, and the sound hits me like a brick someone’s thrown, rattling around in my ribs, making it impossible to get a full breath. At once, I turn. Dani is seated at a table with a small sign: Art as Radical Self-Care.
She’s shiny here. Bright, thoughtful, and glowing with that eager brilliance Ralston always seems to find. She belongs in a way I never did. Fits in.
I don’t even make the conscious decision to approach her. My feet move before my thoughts have caught up. By the time I reach her table, she’s mid-sentence, unaware of me.
Can’t she feel me like I feel her? Like we’re connected by the same invisible piece of thread. The same person, living the same events in different times.
A few heads turn as I stand and wait.
Slowly, her eyes lift and register me. They flicker in warning. In fear, maybe. I’ve caught her here, and she can’t run like she did last night.
“Can we talk?” I say, my eyes locked on hers.
She looks down, cheeks going pinker than her already peach blush. “We’re in the middle of something.”
“I don’t really care.” My voice is sharper than I mean for it to be. “It’s important.”
Around us, the room has fallen mostly silent.
People are watching us—not just from this table, but from others around hers.
A few murmur to each other, whispering in horror, wondering what’s happening over here.
One woman at the table pushes her seat back and away from me, as if whatever this is might be contagious.
Slowly, Dani stands. She gives a soft smile to her table. “I’m very sorry about this. I’ll be right back.”
She leads me off to the side, walking several feet in front of me until we reach a quiet alcove framed by two matching magnolia trees. We’re just out of earshot, but I can still feel eyes on us.
“What could you possibly want from me?” she asks, her voice tight and exhausted.
“Why did you do the interview?”
She blinks, clearly not expecting that. “What?”
“You know what she did, who she is. You believe me, I know you do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t change your book to cut out my words. So why would you say those things? Why would you help her?”
She exhales slowly, crossing her arms. “I don’t know anything. I’d already agreed to the interview. I couldn’t exactly change my mind without giving her a reason.”
“So you give her a reason. You tell her you’re feeling shy. Or talk to Stella, ask her to cut the interview.”
She chews the inside of her lip, eyes drilling into mine. “I’m not going to do that. I’m sorry. Whoever you think I am, I’m not.”
“Don’t do that.” Once, I told myself that same lie. That I wasn’t enough—strong enough, smart enough, important enough—to stand up to her.
“Professor Ralston isn’t my enemy, okay? She’s never done anything to hurt me.”
“Except set you up to get called out for plagiarism.”
She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Something has changed in her face, ever since the art exhibit. For the first time, I see it.
She’s been warned about me, too.
“What did she say to you? What did she tell you about me?”
Dani flinches. Just barely. “Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
She twists her mouth, fidgeting with the collar of her shirt. “I need to get back to my table.”
“She wrote about me in her book. Do you know that? Said I was sad. That I mistook her mentorship for manipulation, made her question her work. She stole from me, used my words, and then she painted me as a villain for questioning her. If she’s not already doing the same thing to you, she will.
I’m not the first, and you won’t be the last.” I watch her face, seeing that she’s registering my words, even if she won’t meet my eyes.
“She knows how to twist the knife directly into your vulnerabilities. To make you feel chosen. Like she’s the only one who would choose you.
The only one who can see you. But what she sees are your weaknesses.
She lifts you up until you’re high enough to mistake it for flight—and then she moves her hand and watches you fall.
You’re safe, for now, but that’s just until she needs someone else.
Until you’re dried up and useless to her. ”
My words are harsh—probably too harsh—but they’re true. I need her to see this. I wish someone had done this for me. That Jade would’ve tried harder. Kept coming back. Offered me proof. Refused to be ignored.
When Dani’s eyes finally meet mine, her voice is calm and measured. She’s not even listening. “You thought she was your friend, not your mentor. That’s where you went wrong. I know the truth. I’m not delusional about what I am to her. It’s enough for me.”
Her words hit harder than I expected—a punch to the gut. I swallow, clenching my jaw.
“Delusional.” The word is soft on my lips, almost inaudible. “That’s what she told you I am.”
“You are the cautionary tale, Lila. The one we all get warned about, even if we don’t get a face or a name. You are what we strive not to become. Bitter. Jealous. Unable to let go.”
I step back as if she’s slapped me. Honestly, a slap would’ve been less painful.
That’s what I am now. What my legacy has become. A whisper passed down. A warning. Don’t do what Lila did.
I can’t breathe. The small alcove is suddenly too small, too cold.
“She’s just…she’s going to keep winning, isn’t she?” My voice is thin, hollow. My chest feels empty.
Dani’s eyes soften, just slightly. “Someone has to win. It should be someone who’s fought for her place. For all of our places. Our seats at the table. Even while you try to bring her down, she fights for you.”
The statement sounds media-trained. Something she’s been coached on. Something she’s heard over and over again.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She shakes her head, dropping her hands to her sides. “Sometimes the battle isn’t worth whatever you’re hoping to win. Maybe it’s time you put down your weapons and realize we’re all in this together. We don’t need infighting. Professor Ralston understands that.”
“I’m not trying to win.” My voice is cold, dry. It doesn’t even sound like mine. “I’m fighting because someone has to. Or else she’ll never stop. We are not in this together with her.”
Dani presses her lips together. There’s something real in her face now—something sad that wasn’t there before. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not. Ralston should’ve protected me, but instead she became the villain.
There were girls before me who should’ve stopped her, and they didn’t.
And then I didn’t protect the girls who came after me.
I didn’t protect you. Sometimes the women who should protect you are the first to turn away, but that won’t be me.
You think she’s fighting for you, but that’s me, Dani.
I’m fighting for you. And I won’t stop.”
“I don’t need you to fight for me,” she says, brows drawn together. “Don’t you get that?” Glancing down at her hands, she laces her fingers together. “I need this. I need her. I need what she gives me. The doors she opens.”
“And what about when they slam shut?”
“Then my time will be up, and I’ll accept that.”
A bitter weight settles in my chest, against my ribcage.
“I remember how powerful it feels to stand next to her. Sometimes, it’s still intoxicating.
Sometimes, I still miss it. But, Dani, look at me.
It’s not real. Don’t you get that? She’ll use you until you start to shine too brightly.
To believe in yourself too much. She can’t have that.
She needs us broken. Quiet. The second you step out of line, she’ll cut your light off at the source. ”
Still, she says nothing. I’m not getting through. My voice will never be enough.
I exhale, then turn and leave her behind. She can stay there in her imaginary safe zone, fearing this cautionary tale. I’m not going to keep waiting for her.
I walk out of the shadows of our alcove, fully stepping into the villain storyline they’ve given me. As I go, I take the attention with me like a lit match, drawing every eye, burning up the oxygen until there’s no air left in the room.
I have to be bigger, louder. And that’s exactly what I’ll do. No more waiting.