Chapter 16 #2
Not a question.
Me: Yes.
Kane: I didn’t give them your name.
Me: I saw.
Kane: I won’t.
My chest tightens.
Another message appears.
Kane: Not unless you decide you want them to know.
Noor reads my face, not the screen.
“What did he say?”
I hand her the phone.
She reads, then gives it back.
“He asked.”
“In his bossy way.”
“He still asked.”
I look at the picture circulating online.
Tortoiseshell glasses.
Twizzler.
Kane grinning at me like the rest of the arena vanished.
Maybe the attention isn’t the most frightening part.
Maybe it is that, for one second, I liked being the person he searched for.
I type slowly.
Me: I don’t want to be content for gossip accounts.
Kane: Understood.
Me: And I’m not sitting in that section again.
Kane: We’ll discuss that.
I roll my eyes.
Then his next message arrives.
Kane: But no pictures. No names. Nothing you don’t choose.
I read it twice.
Ryan never asked what I chose.
Most of Dad’s players didn’t either.
Kane argues with every boundary before respecting it, but he does respect it.
Eventually.
Me: Thank you.
Three dots.
Kane: Are you wearing the glasses today?
I glance at Noor.
“No.”
She laughs.
I answer him.
Me: I look completely different.
Kane: Why?
Me: Witness protection.
Kane: Send proof.
Me: Absolutely not.
Kane: Then I’ll find you.
My pulse jumps.
Noor sees it.
“You’re smiling.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
I place the phone in my pocket and lift the old trade-route book.
“I found this for four dollars.”
“Excellent subject change.”
“I’m buying it.”
“You should.”
We stand.
At the end of the aisle, Lila appears holding six romance novels and one book about emotional boundaries.
“I found something for Hannah.”
She holds up the boundaries book.
I stare at her.
Noor starts laughing.
“You two are unbearable.”
Lila drops it into my basket.
“Bookstore therapy.”
I carry it to the register with the archaeology book.
Careful without disappearing.
Interested without being useful.
Seen without becoming a story that belongs to everyone else.
I don’t know how to do any of that yet.
But for the first time, I wonder whether Kane might let me learn.
* * *
Despite our flirty texts, I didn’t see him for the rest of the weekend.
My glasses are armor.
That is what I tell myself while standing at the front of Professor Aldridge’s seminar room with twelve pages of notes, four sharpened pencils, and a point guard who looks like he dressed specifically to ruin my concentration.
Kane walks in two minutes before class.
Backward black cap.
White T-shirt stretched across his shoulders.
Black athletic pants slung low on his hips.
Fresh from practice, judging by the damp ends of his hair and the duffel hanging from one hand.
His gaze finds me before he acknowledges anyone else.
Then his mouth curves.
Not the camera smile.
The one that belongs to me now.
Private. Arrogant. Dangerous.
“Morning, Footnote.”
I straighten my glasses.
“You’re late.”
“I’m early by twenty-three seconds.”
“You smell like a locker room.”
“I showered.”
“Then something went wrong.”
He drops his bag beside the first row and comes to stand near me.
Too near.
Soap. Clean skin. Faint muscle rub. Kane.
My body recognizes him before my mind can reinforce the walls.
His eyes travel over my face.
“You wore the glasses.”
“They help me read.”
“I told you I like them.”
“That had no impact on my decision.”
“Liar.”
The word lands differently after the dorm room.
His hand in my hair.
His mouth firm against mine.
The way he paused long enough to let me stop him, knowing I wouldn’t.
I turn toward the board before my cheeks expose me.
Professor Aldridge enters carrying his coffee and a stack of grading sheets.
His gaze shifts from Kane to me.
“You both appear eager.”
“He’s looming,” I say.
“I’m standing.”
“In my oxygen.”
Aldridge sets down his papers.
“Try to preserve enough oxygen for your classmates.”
Several people laugh.
Kane leans toward me.
“You nervous?”
“About dismantling your argument?”
“About doing it while I watch.”
I look up at him.
“That implies your attention has value.”
“You came to my game.”
“For research.”
“You winked.”
“A neurological event.”
“You kissed me twice.”
My pencil snaps.
The sound cuts through the room.
Kane’s grin deepens.
Professor Aldridge removes his glasses.
“Are we ready?”
“Yes,” I say.
Kane picks up the broken pencil and places it beside my notes.
“Very.”
Our question is projected across the board.
CAN PUBLIC INFLUENCE EXIST WITHOUT BECOMING COERCIVE?
I argue first.
“Influence is rarely neutral when one party controls access, status, or opportunity. A powerful person may never issue a direct threat. The imbalance exists before the conversation begins.”
I move away from the lectern, forcing myself to address the class rather than Kane.
“If refusing someone carries social, financial, or professional consequences, consent becomes difficult to measure.”
Kane sits on the edge of the professor’s desk, arms folded.
Watching me.
I ignore him.
“Institutions protect themselves by pretending choice exists simply because no one states the punishment aloud.”
Professor Aldridge nods toward Kane.
“Response?”
Kane pushes off the desk.
“Good theory.”
I narrow my eyes.
He crosses the space between us without hurrying.
“But she built the argument on the assumption that influence and coercion are inseparable.”
“Not inseparable. Closely connected.”
“Your thesis uses the word inevitable.”
He stops several feet away.
I can feel the room notice the distance shrinking.
“Power creates access,” he continues. “Scholarships. Mentorship. Community programs. Legal advocacy. None of those remove choice.”
“They attach conditions.”
“Every opportunity has conditions.”
“That doesn’t make them ethical.”
“It doesn’t make them coercive either.”
His voice remains calm, but his eyes are alive.
This is the version of Kane I saw in the library. Fast. Focused. Fully present.
He turns toward the class.
“Influence becomes coercion when refusal is punished. Until then, the individual still has agency.”
I step closer.
“Punishment doesn’t need to be spoken.”
“Neither does attraction.”
A few people inhale.
Professor Aldridge’s pen stops moving.
I stare at Kane.
He lifts one brow.
The traitor is enjoying himself.
“Stay on topic, Haverhill.”
“I am.”
“No, you’re flirting with the premise.”
“Maybe the premise started it.”
Someone near the window whispers, “This is insane.”
I hear the quiet vibration of a phone camera beginning to record.
Professor Aldridge hears it too.
“Devices down.”
Two students lower their phones.
A third angles hers beneath the desk.
I return to the argument.
“A person with influence decides what refusal costs. That alone changes the decision.”
Kane tilts his head.
“You refused me.”
My pulse jumps.
“This is not about us.”
“You made it about unequal power.”
“Academically.”
“Then consider it a case study.”
The class goes silent.
He steps closer.
“You refused my invitation to the library.”
“I went.”
“After negotiating.”
“You were threatening our grade.”
“You refused to tell me where you were going.”
“You followed me.”
Laughter breaks across the room.
Kane waits for it to fade.
“You refused to let me drive you.”
“You opened the car door and stood there.”
“You still chose to get in.”
“Because the bus took over an hour.”
“So I created a better option.”
“You made yourself impossible to avoid.”
“That isn’t coercion.”
“It’s exhausting.”
More laughter.
Kane’s mouth threatens a smile.
He turns toward the class again.
“She said no repeatedly. I argued. She maintained control over every final decision.”
I fold my arms.
“You followed me to a private gym.”
“I stayed when you told me to be useful.”
“You invited yourself into my practice.”
“And you put me to work.”
“You kissed me afterward.”
The room erupts.
My mouth closes.
Too late.
Kane goes still.
Professor Aldridge presses two fingers against his temple.
“Ms. Goodwin.”
Heat climbs from my chest to my face.
A girl near the front fans herself with her notebook.
Someone behind me whispers, “I knew it.”
Kane recovers first.
He moves close enough that I can see the darker ring around his brown eyes.
“And you kissed me back.”
The air vanishes.
I grip the edge of the lectern.
“That has no relevance to the argument.”
“It proves you retained agency.”
“It proves poor judgment.”
His gaze drops to my mouth.
“Twice?”
The entire class loses control.
Laughter. Gasps. Someone smacks a hand against a desk.
Professor Aldridge raises his voice.
“Enough.”
The room settles reluctantly.
He looks at Kane.
“Return to the theoretical framework.”
Kane steps back, though his attention remains on me.
“Yes, Professor.”
I straighten my notes.
My hands are steady.
Mostly.
“Mr. Haverhill is confusing persistence with ethical influence.”
Kane folds his arms.
“Ms. Goodwin is pretending persistence removes her ability to choose.”
“It can wear someone down.”
“Did I wear you down?”
“No.”
“Then your example fails.”
“You are not my example.”
“You keep using my behavior.”
“Your behavior keeps volunteering.”
Several students laugh again.
Aldridge makes no effort to stop them this time.
I take a breath.
“Public influence creates a distorted environment. Attention from someone with status is never received privately. It carries spectators, expectations, and assumptions.”
That quiets the room.
Kane knows what I mean.
The online poll.
The photo of my glasses.
H&T.
Classmate or crush.
His expression loses some of its teasing.
I continue.
“The person without status bears consequences they never requested. Their clothes are analyzed. Their motives are questioned. Their identity becomes public property.”
Kane’s jaw tightens.
The debate shifts.
No longer playful.
Real.
He looks toward the students holding their phones.
Then back at me.
“That isn’t influence,” he says. “That’s intrusion.”
“An intrusion created by proximity to power.”
“Then blame the spectators.”
“The powerful person still benefits from them.”
“Not always.”
His answer comes sharper.