7. June #3
Her eyes land on me and then widen like she knows me. She stands abruptly, gathering a messenger bag covered in enamel pins, and moves toward us with the kind of purposeful hesitation that makes my stomach tighten.
“Are you June Belrose?” She’s maybe a junior, with box braids and worried eyes. “You had a piece in the student exhibit, right?”
I don’t know her, and I’m certain I’ve never seen her before. I glance at Dorien, who’s watching the interaction with quiet curiosity, then back at the woman.
“Yeah. That’s me.”
She looks uncomfortable now, fidgeting with the strap of her bag.
“Okay. Um. I just wanted you to know...” She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a bright orange folded paper.
“Sorry. These have been scattered everywhere in the history building. I grabbed one in case I saw you around, so I could show you. If you didn’t already know. ” She holds it out to me.
I take it, still not understanding, and unfold it.
My face stares back at me. It’s a photo from my social media, one I posted last spring, cropped and blown up to fill half the page. Below it, in bold black letters:
JUNE BELROSE SUCKS COCK FOR ATTENTION. Ask how she REALLY got into the exhibition (hint: it wasn’t through merit).
I read it a few times, just to make sure I’m actually reading the words correctly.
“I’m really sorry.” The woman’s voice sounds far away. “I don’t know who’s doing it, but you can report it to the school. I think you could go to the main office, or I think there’s a way to report bullying on the website. I just thought you should know.”
“Thanks.” The word comes out flat and automatic.
She nods, clearly relieved to have delivered the message, and heads for the exit. The door swings shut behind her.
I’m still staring at the flyer. At my own face and the words beneath it.
Dorien snatches the paper from my grasp. His eyes scan the page and I watch his expression darken. The easy calm from moments ago hardens into a fierceness that tightens his jaw and makes his eyes narrow.
“What the fuck is this?” Fury is rumbling just under his words. “June, this is—who would—”
I take the flyer back. My fingers feel numb. “See you in class.”
“June—”
I’m already walking away. I’m out the door, down the stone steps, into the bright afternoon light that feels too cheerful for what just happened.
I don’t look back to see if Dorien is following.
It’s awful enough that someone is spreading these flyers around; I don’t want Dorien seeing.
Strangely, I’m embarrassed about it and don’t want him to know.
I pull my phone out to text Cinna.
Me: SOS.
I hit send and keep walking. The cobblestones blur beneath my feet. One step, then another. Just keep moving.
My phone buzzes.
Cinna: ??? I’m in class what happened
Cinna: hold on I’m ditching
Cinna: meet me at Aldridge
Cinna: Aubrey is there I’m texting her now
Aldridge Hall. Okay. I can do that. I can walk to Aldridge Hall.
I cross the main quad on autopilot, and everything inside me, including my brain, feels blank.
Then the thoughts start swirling: Aubrey said there were rumors. Someone went on my social media and grabbed my picture. Someone made a flyer. Who? Why would anyone do this? Why?
A pair of students pass me on the path and glance over. That’s normal. People glance at each other all the time. Except they keep looking. One of them leans toward the other and says something I can’t hear. Then they both look back at me over their shoulders.
My skin prickles.
There’s another group, sitting on a bench near the fountain. One of them nudges his friend. They stare. They don’t even try to hide it.
Oh God.
How many of those flyers are out there? How many people have seen it? How many people are looking at me right now and thinking—
The panic is building in my chest, a pressure that makes it hard to breathe, so I walk faster. My face feels hot. I’m a nobody. I’m a sophomore who paints things and goes to class and doesn’t matter to anyone outside her small circle of people. Why would someone target me? What did I do?
I have no enemies, unless you count Dorien, and I one hundred percent know he’d never be so lame as to spread rumors about me.
I spot Aubrey before she spots me. She’s standing outside Aldridge Hall, arms crossed, one combat boot tapping impatiently against the stone steps. When she sees my face, her expression shifts from annoyed to alert in half a second.
“What happened?”
I hand her the flyer.
She unfolds it. Reads it. Her eyes narrow in a way I’ve only seen a few times, usually right before she destroys someone in a debate.
“What the fuck?” She looks up at me, jaw set. “Who did this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m going to find out. Spreading rumors—okay, a lot of simps do that. But this is fucking way too far. So when I find this person, I’m going to end them.”
“Aubrey—”
“No. This is bullshit. This is actual, actionable harassment. Someone printed your face on a goddamn flyer and accused you of—” She stops, takes a breath, visibly reeling herself in. “We’ll figure out who it is, and we’ll handle it.”
Before I can respond, Cinna appears, jogging toward us.
Her hair is escaping from its clip and she’s slightly out of breath, like she actually ran here.
When she reaches us, she takes one look at my face and pulls me into a tight hug.
I haven’t even told her what the SOS is, she just knows I need support.
Aubrey jumping to my defense and Cinna just being here without knowing why, makes tears pool along my rims.
“What happened?” Cinna asks when she pulls back.
I sniffle as Aubrey hands her the flyer.
Cinna reads it quickly, and her face crumples, the color draining from her cheeks. For a second, I think she might cry too. Her eyes are glassy when she looks at me.
“First Nancy,” she says quietly. “Then you. What is going on?”
Nancy. That’s right. The name clicks into place. Nancy, the photography major. People have been saying she bought her portfolio, basically paid for someone else’s work and then passed it off as her own.
“Wait.” I look between them. “Nancy was in the exhibition too.”
Cinna nods slowly. Aubrey’s eyes narrow.
“Do you think someone is targeting everyone who got in?” I ask. The theory feels absurd even as I say it, but it’s the only thing that makes any kind of sense. First Nancy, then me, and our only connecting thread is that exhibition.
“We’d have to see if another rumor pops up about someone else from it,” Aubrey says. She’s already thinking strategically, I can tell. I love that about her because I can be scattered sometimes; Aubrey is always ready to get shit done. “There were like, what, fifteen artists total?”
“Sixteen.” I know because I memorized the program; I was terrified of being the weakest one. “Including Dorien.”
If someone is targeting exhibition artists, eventually there will be a rumor about him too. Or maybe there already is, and we just haven’t heard it yet.
“We need to keep track,” Cinna says. Her voice has steadied, though she still looks shaken. “If we notice another rumor about someone from the exhibition, that confirms the pattern. Then we can figure out who’s doing this.”
“And destroy them,” Aubrey adds.
“And report them to the administration,” Cinna corrects her.
“Destroying will be more satisfying.”
They keep talking, and I’m grateful I have such good friends who are ready to defend me like this. But I’m only half-listening because my heart is aching a little too much.
This semester was supposed to be good. It had a wonderful start: my piece got into the exhibition; the faculty is talking about my work. I was finally starting to feel like maybe I belonged here, like maybe my art meant something.
And now someone is trying to tear that down.
What started out good is just a mess now. I’m stuck in a class with Dorien for the rest of the semester, someone is spreading lies about me—printing them on flyers so everyone sees—and I don’t know who’s doing this, why they’re doing it, or how to make it stop.
I fold the flyer carefully, creasing it along the lines, and slip it into my bag. I feel like I’m watching my life from somewhere outside, dreading what happens next.