Page 56 of The Deal
I stand there for a second, not sure what to do with my body. The world has snapped back into motion: a kid on a skateboardwipes out on the curb, a group of fratty bros talk too loud about the Super Bowl, the smell of burned coffee drifts in from the café cart by the bus stop. But the silence around me stays, a little radius of chill.
The stares don’t stop. I can feel them all the way down to my toes—furtive, hungry, almost… triumphant. Like everyone else got the punchline, and I’m still waiting for the joke.
I want to run, or maybe just disappear. I tighten the strap of my tote, take a shaky breath, and force myself down the stairs. I make it as far as the courtyard before my phone buzzes, a bright digital shriek that nearly makes me drop the whole bag.
I fish it out, hands trembling, and see the name:
Kayleigh.
My stomach drops, the same way it did that time I saw my own face tagged in a photo from a party I didn’t even remember going to.
The message is short, desperate:SOS. Can we meet? Like now?
I don’t answer right away. I just stand there, surrounded by the hum of students and the brittle winter light, and try to decide whether the world is ending, or if this is just another Tuesday after all.
Kayleigh picks the place,but I get there first. Grounds & Glory is barely more than a storefront tacked onto the end of a half-vacant strip mall, but it’s the unofficial off-campus headquarters for anyone who ever nursed a grudge against Starbucks. It’salways weirdly warm inside, like the HVAC’s broken and the only way to cool down is to open the front door every ten minutes and let the cold slap you in the face. The windows are constantly fogged, as if the baristas exhale their own anxiety into the air. I love it here. Usually. But today, I’m on edge because what the hell is going on? Why is everyone treating me like a leper?
I stake out the corner table farthest from the door—closest to the radiator, shielded by the towering bookshelf that doubles as a privacy screen. I order a latte with oat milk, more because it gives me something to do with my hands than for the taste. My hands are shaking. I try to hold the cup with both palms, but the heat just makes them sweat.
Kayleigh’s ten minutes late. She comes in with her hair still wet, a beanie pulled low over her brow, a parka zipped up to her chin. Her boots are dusted with a spray of rock salt and dirty snow, and she doesn’t take them off or even stamp her feet—just makes a beeline for my table, drops her messenger bag on the seat, and slides in without a word.
She looks at me. Really looks, the way she did when she thought her mom had cancer, the way she looked at her parents that time her brother got expelled from prep school and nobody knew why.
“Thanks for coming,” I say, before she can even open her mouth. “Did you have class?”
She ignores the question, yanks off the beanie, and shakes her hair loose. “So girlfriend,” she says, voice clipped. “Are you okay?”
I laugh, but it’s brittle, like I’m coughing up glass. “Yes? Why? How are you?”
She gives me the look. The you-are-an-idiot-and-it’s-cute look, but there’s no humor in it.
“I’m fine,” she says. “But… you haven’t seen anything? Online?”
My heart plummets, cold and electric, but I keep my face neutral. “What? Did I forget to turn in an assignment or something?”
She drops her voice, leans in. “MK. Seriously. You know, right?”
I squint at her.
“Honestly, Idon’tknow. All I know is that while I was walking around on campus today, people were staring and whispering like I’d grown two heads. Doyouknow something?”
Kayleigh nods slowly and then lowers her voice.
“Are you sleeping with multiple guys, MK?”
The world tilts. I almost spit out my latte, but manage to swallow instead, the hot milk burning all the way down.
“Why, is this an intervention?” I say, aiming for a laugh, but it comes out shaky.
My pretty friend winces, glances at the other tables. There’s a pair of guys in the window seat arguing about some bullshit, and an elderly couple pretending to read the paper but obviously eavesdropping. Kayleigh waits until their attention drifts, then whispers: “I’m serious. Have you been seeing anyone besides your ‘doctor’?”
I’m confused for a second, then realize she means Kent, and the label makes me want to giggle and scream at the same time.
“No,” I say, honest. “Just him. Why? Is something going down?”
She hesitates, then flips her phone onto the table and spins it with her finger. “There’s stuff on Snapchat,” she says. “And TikTok, but mostly Snap. Of you.”
My skin goes cold. I feel every inch of exposed flesh, every thread of the t-shirt under my jacket. “Of me?”
