Chapter 19 — The Leak （Nora）
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I kicked the dorm door shut behind me and dropped my bag hard against my bed, and the thump rattled straight through my teeth.
The night tilted sideways the second I saw Priya's face in the laptop glow. I sank onto our rug while she stayed perched on the desk chair, both of us staring at the unopened Kennel episode.
Rain on brick seeped through our cracked window with old radiator dust, sour and warm and wrong. My phone felt like cold glass in my sweaty palm, and I kept flipping it over and over. Laptop-white lit our faces from below, and the rest of the room stayed black around us.
I kicked off my sneakers without untying them, and one smacked my bed leg. A wet leaf clung to the left sole, dark and flat and stuck fast. I stared at it, told myself to pick it off, and couldn't make my fingers move.
My bag sat half open with the real notebook buried under my sweatshirt inside. Grid pages, numbered one through ninety-six, heavier than paper should be. The decoy still sat in his locker like it meant nothing, and my stomach turned slow and hard.
Sunday sat between us too, but not as a secret.
Beck had texted me the second he found his old picture cards in Cole's locker, and we had spent half the night comparing that clue with the decoy phrase and Priya's early file stamps.
We knew someone had used Cole. We still didn't know how far it went.
“Talk to me,” I said to Priya, and my voice came out thin. “You've got that look. Just say it.”
“Kip dropped an emergency episode,” Priya said, and she didn't look away from the screen. “Like ten minutes ago. It's already everywhere, Nora.”
“How bad?” I asked, and I wedged my cold hands between my knees. “Dumb rumor bad, or —”
“Worse,” Priya said, and she turned the laptop up. “You need to hear it straight. No filter.”
“Okay,” I said, and my knee started bouncing. “Okay. Hit it.”
She hit play, and Kip's pod intro static crackled through my little speakers. Then the room went dead quiet around it. I went still with my phone in my hand, thumb frozen mid-swipe.
“With nineteen days till the Frost Bowl, we've got a problem in the QB room.” Kip's voice filled our dark room, too loud and too sure, intro music thumping under him. I stopped breathing for a full beat.
“Pause it,” I whispered to Priya, hugging my knees till they ached. “God. Did he really just —”
“He did,” Priya whispered back, her hand on my shoulder. “Keep listening. It gets worse, I swear.”
“Great,” I said, and a shaky laugh escaped me. “Love that for us. Keep going.”
“Someone in that building got paid, and everybody knows what that means.” Kip barreled on, voice rising over the music. “Clearwater didn't guess those looks. Somebody handed them over.”
“Stop,” I said to Priya, hand up, sick to my stomach. “Did he just say paid? Like cash paid?”
“He did,” Priya said grimly, eyes locked on me. “Don't spiral. Stay here with me, okay?”
Kip rolled on, fast and hungry, like he'd waited all season for this night. He said folks inside the building had started talking. He said money had changed hands before the rivalry game. He said the Bears had a traitor in the most important room on campus, and my skin went cold inch by inch.
“You don't pay me to be nice, Kennel,” Kip said, swagger all over his voice. “You pay me to be right. And I've never been more right than tonight.”
“Turn it off,” I said to Priya, pressing my palms to my ears. “I can't breathe with him talking. Pause it one second.”
“I've got you,” Priya said, slapping the space bar fast. “Paused. Breathe. Look at me, Nora.”
“I'm looking,” I said, gasping shallow, tears burning. “Is this real? Tell me this isn't real.”
“It's a pod,” Priya said fiercely, gripping my knee. “It's Kip running his mouth. That's all it is till we hear more.”
“Skip the buildup,” I said to Priya, knee shaking the rug. “I can't do this part. Get to it.”
“I'm trying,” Priya muttered, dragging the bar forward. “Here. This is it. Listen.”
“Sources say Hale sold the playbook, and I've seen the pages.” Kip let it hang there, pleased with himself, and I lunged for the laptop like I could shove the words back in his mouth.
“No,” I said, hitting rewind with a shaking finger. “No way. Back it up.”
“Nora, don't,” Priya said, catching my wrist. “You heard it right the first time.”
“Back it up,” I said, shaking her off gently. “Please. I need it word for word.”
She dragged it back, and we listened again in the dark with laptop-white trembling on our faces. “—and I've seen the pages.” He sounded like he was smiling on that last part, and my throat closed tight.
“Tell me he didn't,” I said, voice cracking, grabbing Priya's arm hard. “Tell me I'm hearing things. Please.”
“You're not,” Priya said quietly, covering my hand with hers. “I hear it too. I'm so sorry.”
“Again?” Priya asked softly, watching my face. “Or are you good?”
“I'm good,” I lied, rubbing my hands hard on my jeans. “I've got it burned in. God.”
My hands went cold and I couldn't get them warm. I blew into them, tucked them under my legs, and nothing helped. I kept staring at my phone like it'd ring if I wanted it enough.
“Text him,” Priya said, nudging my knee with her foot. “Right now. Don't sit in this alone.”
“I am,” I said, thumbs fumbling on cold glass. “Hold on. I've got it.”
I typed that I was hearing it and it was garbage and I was right here. I deleted half of it, typed I wasn't going anywhere, and hit send. No dots. No reply. Nothing.
“Sent?” Priya asked, leaning in. “What'd you say?”
“That I'm here,” I said, staring at the screen. “Short. Plain. Delivered, but — nothing back.”
I called, and it rang into hollow silence. My chest went tight and shallow, air stuck halfway down. I stood and paced our little rug with my hands pressed over my mouth.
“Come on, pick up. Don't pull this silent thing tonight.” My voice cracked on the last word, and I hated how small it sounded. “I'm serious. Pick up.”
Voicemail cut in, low and brief, and I hung up and dialed again. Priya watched from the chair, lips flat. The radiator hissed. A draft lifted the blinds an inch and dropped them.
“No. No, no — pick up, please,” I whispered it pacing past my scattered pens and back. “Please. Come on.”
Nothing. No buzz, no dots. I texted twice more, short and plain, that I believed him and to tell me where he was. Delivered. Still nothing. My eyes burned.
“He always picks up,” I said to Priya, arms locked around my ribs. “Even late. Even after a loss. He always — okay. I can't sit here.”
“Where are you going?” Priya asked, standing fast. “It's nasty out. Rained all afternoon and it's freezing.”
“Whitmore,” I said, shoving my feet into my sneakers, leaf and all. “He might go to Room 214 out of habit. Or someone there knows where he is.”
“Room 214 at this hour?” Priya said, grabbing my sleeve. “Nora, be smart. Text me, okay?”
“Every few minutes,” I promised, grabbing my bag because I couldn't leave the real notebook alone. “Don't wait up. Actually — wait up. Please.”
“Always,” Priya said, voice wobbling. “Go. Hurry back to me.”
? ? ?
I half ran across campus with my bag thumping my hip and cold rain spitting in my face. Wet leaves slicked the brick walks, and low gray cloud had burned off to black. Whitmore glowed yellow at the corners, every window too bright.
The second-floor hall smelled like wet coats and floor wax. My sneakers squeaked, and the wet leaf on my left sole made a soft tacky sound each step. I checked over my shoulder twice, nerves shot.
Room 214 stood open, light spilling out, and my desk looked wrong. My pens lay scattered everywhere, caps off, rolling wild. Things stayed squared and neat when he was around, and the mess hit me in the chest. I stared at my own scattered pens and left them that way, hands shaking.
Footsteps came fast, and Deon Marsh stopped short at the sight of me. His practice shirt clung damp at the collar, and his friendly face shut the second our eyes met.
“Deon,” I said, stepping forward with both hands up. “Thank God. Have you talked to him?”
“I can't talk in the hallway,” Deon said, glancing both ways. “Coaches ordered everybody quiet until compliance finishes the first pass.”
“You believe Beck. Say it.”
His eyes snapped to mine. “Of course I believe him. He's my brother. That's why you need to go home before somebody records you and turns support into conspiracy.”
Relief hurt almost as much as fear. “Is he safe?”
“Pruitt had him in the office. He's benched for now, not alone.” Deon's jaw worked. “I'm going back in there as soon as I can do it without making this worse. Tell him I haven't moved.”
“Tell him yourself.”
“I will.” He squeezed my shoulder once, hard. “Keep your head down, Quinn. Not because I'm ashamed of you. Because I need both of you standing when this breaks.”
He moved toward the stairs, then looked back. “And Nora? Nobody in that room gets to erase what he is. Not while I'm there.”
Then he was gone, shoes squeaking down the hall, leaving me scared but no longer abandoned.
A door banged, and Cole Danner rounded the corner with his gear bag slung high. Hair damp, eyes hitting mine then sliding past like glass. He sped up, head down.
“Cole,” I called, hurrying after him. “Wait. One minute. Please.”
“Can't,” Cole muttered, hitching his bag, never slowing. “Not here. Not tonight.”
“You heard it?” I asked, falling in beside him, breath fast. “Everyone heard it, right? Cole, look at me.”
“Don't,” Cole said, voice cracking clean in two. “Please. I can't fix this. I've already said too much.”
He glanced over, eyes red-rimmed and miserable in the hall light. My chest caved. I'd never seen him look like that through all the season's noise.
“Said too much to who?” I asked, grabbing his sleeve. “What does that mean? What did you say?”
“Forget it,” he said, pulling free gently, like he hated it. “Just stay away from the facility a while. Both of you. Safer.”
“Safer from what?” I pressed, following two steps. “Cole, you're scaring me. Talk to me.”