Chapter 25
Ivy was flustered when she entered her office, more so when she saw that Tristan was seated behind his desk. She wanted to be alone.
“Dr. Reeves? You alright?”
“Yeah.”
Her head hurt. Felt two sizes too big.
“Zeke’s an asshole,” Tristan said. “He’s unpredictable.”
Ivy nodded.
“You talk to Dr. Moorehead about him?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
Ivy shrugged. She still didn’t feel like talking.
“Shit. He’s an asshole, too. I can go to Moorehead, if you want. Tell him that—”
“No, that’s okay.”
Ivy didn’t want to think about Zeke anymore. Zeke or Blake or Rebecca. What she wanted to do was lie down and take a nap, wake up tomorrow for a fresh start.
Damn you, Abs.
“I know this isn’t a great time, Dr. Reeves, but there’s—there’s something you gotta see.”
“What is it?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
No shit.
“Show me.”
Tristan got up from his desk and passed his phone to her. Ivy made a face.
“TikTok?”
“Click play.”
With every second that passed, Ivy felt the hangover knot in her stomach tighten.
“You have to be kidding me,” she whispered. “Bae-sian Prof? Who the hell posted this?”
Ivy kept her eyes trained on the phone as heat rose in her cheeks.
“No idea. It’s a new account, no other posts.”
“How many people have seen it?”
Ivy wasn’t a TikToker. Didn’t know how to interpret the heart, the weird badge, or the curved arrow symbols.
The extent of her social media knowledge started and stopped with an old Instagram account that she only rarely logged into.
When Tristan didn’t answer, Ivy raised her gaze. The TA’s lips had curved downward.
“It’s blowing up.”
“What does that mean? A hundred people?”
Tristan’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
“More.”
“Like how many—”
“150k.”
Ivy’s eyes bulged.
“One hundred and fifty thousand?”
“Yeah,” Tristan said dryly.
“How the fu—we need to take this down.”
“I’ve already reported it.”
“Who recorded it?”
“Like I said, it’s a new account—”
“I know, but the students didn’t have their phones!”
Zeke—it had to be Zeke. He was pissed at her for reporting him for cheating, thought he could post a video of her to .
. . what? Embarrass Ivy? Was he planning on posting lewd comments and, when the video took off, he just let it run?
Well, if that was his goal, it had worked.
Or perhaps Zeke knew that a professor posting a video of one of their lectures without departmental consent went against university policy.
Sure, Ivy hadn’t been the one who had posted it, but the department would still hate it.
As for taking his phone, a guy like him probably had every iPhone iteration since inception.
Likely had three or four burners in his possession at any given moment.
“I dunno if you can take it down, but if enough people report it . . .”
This nightmare was getting worse.
Ivy handed Tristan his phone back and took out her own. Navigated to the app store and downloaded TikTok. Took a minute or so to create an account. She used a made-up name—Euclid314—and skipped all the annoying questions.
She searched for “Bae-sian Prof” and the video of her immediately popped up. Tristan had been wrong. The video, posted by User999123, had 172,000 views and growing. The knot in her stomach was like an iron fist now. An iron fist wrapped in barbed wire.
This is the last thing I need.
As a liberal institution, Princeton was fully and completely progressive, but it was still a traditional establishment—the math department in particular.
And then there was the code of conduct she’d signed when she’d won the Clay Fellowship.
Had she broken the rules? Was using an STI analogy off-limits?
“How do you report it?”
“Click the share button, then report.”
Ivy did. A dozen or so different reasons came up. Everything from suicide and self-harm to shocking and graphic content. No reason fit perfectly, so she just selected one at random. A check mark appeared thanking her for the report and telling her that a moderation team would review the video.
“That’s it?”
Ivy closed the app, opened it again. Searched for “Bae-sian Prof.” 180,000 views now.
“Yep.”
“It’s still there,” she said desperately.
“Yeah, they’ll have to review it. If enough people report it, then—”
A knock on the door startled them both.
Oh, fuck. Dr. Moorehead. He saw the video.
But it wasn’t Dr. Moorehead. Through the frosted glass, she saw the outlines of two figures, both about the same height, one considerably thicker around the middle. Neither were bald.
“Open it,” Ivy instructed.
Tristan opened the door and the thinner man who was standing slightly in front of the other spoke first.
“I’m Detective Ryan, and this is Detective Sacker with the PPD. We’re looking for Dr. Ivy Reeves.”
Ivy dropped her phone.
“Is it my dad? Please tell me my dad’s okay.”