CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
JORI
I heard my own voice coming from Tessa’s phone before I made it through the classroom door Friday morning.
“Ari’s entire life is a crisis if a picture looks wrong...”
Somebody laughed.
Tessa snatched the phone against her chest when she saw me.
Too late.
The room went quiet in layers. First, the people closest to the sound. Then, the ones who noticed them looking at me. By the time I reached my seat, everybody was suddenly interested in notebooks, water bottles, and the blank screen at the front of the room.
I placed my bag under the desk. “You can keep playing it,” I said.
Tessa’s face reddened. “I wasn’t—”
“You were. Just don’t act scared now.”
Professor Hargrove walked in before the conversation could become something else.
I opened my dosage packet and tried to read the first question.
A patient weighs 176 pounds. The prescribed dose is 2.5 milligrams per kilogram.
My brain converted pounds to kilograms automatically.
Eighty.
Multiply by 2.5.
Two hundred milligrams.
My phone vibrating inside my bag was not.
I kept it there until class ended.
Professor Hargrove called my name as people filed out.
Of course, she did.
I stayed seated.
She waited until the door closed. “Is there something happening that may affect your exam Monday?”
“Something personal got posted online.”
“Did you post it?”
“No. I sent a voice note to a friend. Somebody accessed her account and leaked it.”
“Do you need to contact campus security?”
“It isn’t a campus threat. We think it’s her ex-boyfriend. She’s documenting everything and going to the police.”
Professor Hargrove leaned against the desk. “And the content?”
I looked at her.
“Was the recording altered?”
“It was cut up. The words are mine.”
She nodded once. “Then, there are two problems. One is the unauthorized release. The other is what you said. Handle both. Don’t use one to hide from the other.”
Her answer irritated me because it left me nowhere to stand except the truth.
“I’m not hiding.”
“Good. Your exam is still Monday.”
“I know.”
“You can be humiliated and prepared at the same time, Jordyn. Life will ask that of you more than once.”
I packed my folder. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No. It’s supposed to help you pass pharmacology.”
That almost made me smile.
Almost.
Outside, I opened my phone.
One hundred and fourteen notifications.
The group chat had four messages.
NAE: I saw it.
KYE: I changed every password. It came from that old device or Trell saved it Friday.
JORI: I’m going to the police with you.
ARI: Don’t put my name in anything else.
Her message had come last.
I read it three times. Then, I typed privately.
ME: I won’t. The recording was mine. I said it angry and sent it to Kye. Somebody leaked it, but that doesn’t change that I said it.
Ari did not answer.
Nae did.
NAE: Malik commented that he the only stable parent.
ME: Screenshot it. Don’t argue with him online.
NAE: I know how to handle my child.
I stared at the words.
Advice had become my reflex so completely, I had not noticed I was still doing it during an apology.
ME: You’re right. Sorry.
The message stayed delivered without a response.
Kye called while I crossed campus.
“My suite landlord just called,” she said. Her voice sounded thin. “People sending the salon page screenshots of my old messages to Cam.”
“What old messages?”
“The ones Trell had. From senior year. They’re on the gossip page now too.”
I stopped near the student center. “Where are you?”
“At home with my mom.”
“Stay there. I’m coming after class.”
“We need the police first.”
“Yes.”
“And don’t say it like you already told me to do this.”
I closed my eyes. “I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking it loud.”
“Probably.”
She gave a short laugh that broke before it finished.
“Jori, people are calling me a homewrecker.”
“You did something wrong at seventeen. That doesn’t give Trell the right to stalk you at twenty-one.”
“The internet don’t care about two things being true.”
Neither did most people.
They wanted a victim with no mistakes or a villain with no pain. Anything in between required too much attention.
“Don’t read the comments,” I said.
“Too late.”
“Then, stop now.”
“There you go.”
I pressed my lips together. “I’m coming at noon,” I said. “That’s all.”
When we ended the call, I went to the library instead of my next class. I found a quiet corner, opened the gossip post, and listened to the full leaked clip with headphones.
The editing made me sound calm.
In the original voice note, I stumbled. Took things back. Admitted I loved them. Said I did not know where I got to be weak.
The posted version cut out every piece of uncertainty and stitched together the sharpest lines.
It was manipulated.
I opened my notes app and drafted three separate messages.
To Ari:
I was tired of feeling like I had to be the strong one and, instead of saying that, I blamed your insecurity for the pressure I put on myself. You didn’t deserve to hear it from strangers.
To Nae:
I made your real struggle sound like an inconvenience to me. I was resentful that you needed help because I was scared to admit I did too. That was ugly.
To Kye:
I used the worst thing happening to you as proof that you were difficult to love. I knew you were scared, and I still said it like your fear was exhausting me.
I read each message twice.
They sounded honest.
They also sounded organized enough to be another way of controlling the response.
I deleted them.
Instead, I sent shorter versions that did not explain me before naming what I did.
ME TO ARI: I said cruel things about your insecurity. You didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry.
ME TO NAE: I talked about you and Amir like y’all were a burden. That was wrong. I’m sorry.
ME TO KYE: I used your abuse against you in anger. There is no excuse for that. I’m sorry.
Kye read hers first.
KYE: I heard you.
Nae responded twenty minutes later.
NAE: Okay.
Ari never replied.
At noon, I met Kye and her mother at the police station. Kye carried a thick folder, a charger, two phones, and the kind of fear that made her keep checking every parked car.
An officer took the report in a small interview room.
Kye explained the assault Friday, Trell’s repeated calls, him sitting outside her mother’s house, the old iPad, the anonymous messages, and the leaked recordings.
She did not make jokes.
I had never heard her speak that long without one.
The officer copied screenshots and asked whether Trell had threatened to kill her.
“No,” Kye said.
“Threatened serious bodily harm?”
“Not in those words.”
“Any weapons?”
“He has a gun. Legal, I think. He keeps it in his bedroom safe.”
Her mother’s hand tightened around mine.
The officer’s attention sharpened. “Does he carry it?”
“Sometimes. Not around me lately.”
The questions continued.
Dates.
Addresses.
Witnesses.
The color of his Charger.
What hand he used when he grabbed her.
Whether he had keys to the salon.
Kye answered everything she could.
When she could not remember, she said she could not remember instead of filling the silence with what sounded right.
By the end, the officer had given her a report number and information about applying for a temporary restraining order.
“You should go today,” he said. “Especially with the firearm and the recent escalation.”
Kye nodded.
Outside, she bent forward with both hands on her knees.
Her mother rubbed her back.
“You okay?” I asked.
Kye looked up at me. Her eyes were wet and angry.
“No. And don’t give me no steps right now.”
I put my hands into my coat pockets. “Okay.”
We stood there until she straightened on her own.
My phone buzzed.
The anonymous account had sent one final message.
ANONYMOUS: Y’all wanted honesty. Now everybody got it.
Before I could screenshot the profile, it disappeared.
The message stayed.
So did everything it had already broken.