Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Professor Bell leaves me at the hotel with a promise that she’ll be in touch, and a warning that I should lie low until then.
I order my dinner under a fake name—I’m probably paranoid, but I can’t risk any of Ralston’s fans finding me—and when night falls, I barely sleep a wink.
I lie awake listening to every footstep in the hall, every door that slams closed.
As the hours pass, I’m less and less sure this isn’t all a setup somehow.
I can’t stop wondering if there are new posters with my face on them, and if so, how many are now littering the campus.
How many people will be on the lookout for me?
By the next morning, I’ve moved past anxiety into full-blown panic. My mind races with questions about whether I should reach out to Professor Bell.
It’s the day of Ralston’s award ceremony, and I can’t stop picturing her standing on that stage, smiling humbly, fake tears in her eyes. This time, she’ll be garnering sympathy on top of the love and appreciation. I’ll bet she’s thrilled.
It feels as if armies of ants are moving underneath my skin. I can’t get comfortable. Can’t sit still.
I wonder what story is being spun. About her. About me. About all the accusations and Professor Bell’s paper that was removed.
The HEAR US ROAR website is still up, and I haven’t heard from Ralston’s attorney yet, though there are still a few hours left on the twenty-four-hour countdown. She probably assumes it’ll be gone on time. I’m sure she can’t fathom that I’d defy her when faced with legal action.
Then again, maybe they’ll struggle to find me and serve anything else in my new hiding place.
When my phone buzzes, I jump from the bed.
Mom.
My heart sinks.
“Hello?” I try my hardest to sound normal.
“Honey?” Her voice is urgent and filled with panic. An image of Dad’s lifeless body fills my mind. “What’s going on?”
Relief. Then devastation.
She knows.
“What do you mean?”
“Theresa called me.” Mom’s neighbor. “She says your name is all over the internet. Says people are throwing a fit about some website. Someone says you created it. I think they’re impersonating you, honey. Have you been online?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I know. Look, it’s all going to be okay. It’s just kind of complicated, I—”
“Do you know who did it? It wasn’t you.”
I suck in a deep breath, trying to compose myself. To let my mother down. To reveal everything I’ve kept from her. “I…well… It was, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s complicated. I promise I’ll explain it all when I get home.”
“Theresa said it’s about Althea Ralston.” When I don’t respond, she goes on, “But you love her.” I don’t know what to say or how to explain when or how that changed. “We love her.”
She’s right. It was Mom’s obsession with her books and speeches that led to mine. Perhaps that’s why this truth has always felt like a betrayal to my family.
“Mom, she…she isn’t who she claims to be,” is all I can manage to say.
“What do you mean?”
My throat tightens. Where do I even begin?
“It’s a lot to explain over the phone, but…
she stole from me. Back at Havenport. I never told you because…
well, I don’t even know why, really. Because it felt silly.
Because I wanted to forget. Because it really, really hurt, and I didn’t want to have to talk about it. ”
“What do you mean she stole from you?”
I relay the story, just the important stuff, and then catch her up to date on the events since arriving back at Havenport.
It’s painful and awkward, but there’s a sort of peace that comes from sharing this with my mom after all these years.
Besides, it’s not like I can keep it a secret now that she knows about the website.
When I’m finished, Mom’s voice is sad. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t. I don’t know why. It was just…I don’t know. I know you were always a fan of hers.”
“Oh, but honey, I’m an even bigger fan of yours.” Her voice cracks, and I realize she’s crying, and I hate that it’s come to this. I should’ve told her. There were so many times when I tried, when I opened my mouth to say the words and nothing would come out.
“I knew something happened,” Mom says thoughtfully, sniffling.
“Back then. You were never quite the same after coming home from Havenport. And when I talked about her, you always changed the subject. I should’ve asked more questions.
I should’ve… I knew it was something, but I guess I just… I didn’t want to see it.”
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I wish the story was different.”
“The story is the story,” she says softly. “And there’s no one I trust more than you to tell it.” She sniffles again, clearing her throat. “So, are you coming home now? How long are you staying at the hotel? Are you sure you can trust this Professor Bell?”
“I don’t know yet,” I admit. I’m not sure I’ll ever trust anyone again, not in the way I trusted before. She broke that part of me, and I don’t think I want it back.
“You’re safe though, right? You’re being careful.”
“Of course.”
She doesn’t sound reassured, but eventually, she exhales. “Please be careful with this, Lila. You’re just my little girl.” Her voice cracks again, and I feel it deep in my chest. “I wish I could protect you from the world.”
Tears prick my eyes without warning, and I fight them off, refusing to cry. “I’ll be fine,” I swear to her. “Look, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
When we end the call, there’s a new email on my phone. I open it fast, hoping it will be an update from Professor Bell.
Instead, I suck in a sharp breath when I see Hayden’s name.
The message is simple and mysterious. Three words: See you there.
I draw my brows together, thinking. There’s an attachment at the bottom of the email without a title. I click it.
The walls close in around me.
My heart stalls.
I stare at the purple image with yellow lettering. It’s a pass to Ralston’s award ceremony tonight purchased under a fake name. Sophia Black.
I’m assuming Lila Parks will have been crossed off of any guest list by now.
A thousand thoughts race through my mind: It’s risky.
People know my face by now. Surely security will be told to look out for me.
But this is my chance. I have no idea what Hayden is planning, but if I’ve asked her to trust me, I have to trust her.
Even if it’s just enough to attend this while keeping my guard up. Right?
And that’s all the thinking I require. I’m going.
I have to.
At six that evening, I join the crowd of people waiting in line to attend the ceremony. Everyone’s dressed in formal wear—dresses and suits, all with pops of purple. A few people have Ralston’s compass pin attached to their clothing.
This is the night. It’s the big event, for her and for me.
My disguise is the best I could throw together with an Uber order and a dream.
My dress is floor-length and a deep, eggplant purple.
Lila Parks would’ve shown up in jeans just to make a point.
Sophia Black is wearing her hair back in a tight bun—a hairstyle I hate, which means it’s one that won’t match any of my photos.
I’m also wearing fake glasses, bright red lipstick, and silver eyeshadow.
I look nothing like myself, which is exactly the point.
Still, as I get closer to the front of the line, my heart ratchets up, sweat gathering at the nape of my neck. I feel as if I’m going to be sick.
This is it. This is it. This is it.
The security officers watch the crowd, scanning passes and waving people forward. I’m next, and my heart is in my throat. I’m going to vomit.
“Next.” The tallest guard waves the woman in front of me forward, holding out his hand for me to step up.
I turn my phone around so he can scan the barcode. As he does, I pretend to notice something on my sweater and put all my focus into wiping it away.
I hold my breath, praying. Please. Please. Please.
“Next.”
I let out a breath, and the world goes fuzzy. He directs me forward, turning his gaze from my phone to the next person in line, and I move without a word, disappearing into the auditorium.
My hands are still trembling as I take a seat in the third row from the back, near the middle. My skin is pure ice, lined with goose bumps, and my lips are too dry.
My heart thuds as I wait to catch someone staring at me, wait for someone to shout my name, to point me out. I imagine them all standing, screaming, rushing forward. I imagine chaos.
Would they drag me out of here?
Or worse, attack me in Ralston’s name? Would they tear my clothing, break my glasses? Would someone film it and upload it to social media with a clever caption? Would anyone stop them? Try to help me?
Would anyone care?
That’s the hardest part. Wondering if I’d be alone again. Feeling like I already am.
Wondering if it was a mistake to come here.
As the last of the crowd filters inside, I keep an eye out for Hayden—expecting to see her, expecting her to find me—but she’s not here. Or if she is, she’s blending into the crowd as well as I’m attempting to.
The applause comes before the words, just as the auditorium dims. A spotlight fills the stage, awkwardly flitting around at first until it lands on Dean Carlyle.
He waves to the cheering crowd as he crosses the stage to reach the lectern, his smile polished, suit pressed.
“Good evening, everyone. I’m James Carlyle, Havenport’s Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. And it is my great honor to welcome you all to a very special Lifetime Achievement Ceremony.”
He pauses as cheers erupt. A few people even begin to pound their feet against the floor like a drumroll, adding to the chaos.