Page 78 of Final Drive

“My designation was registered as Undifferentiated at the time of my transfer.” My voice comes out steady, because Tyler drilled me on this last night until the words ran on their own. “My medical records, which Ms. Adams accessed improperly, reflect a subsequent update that occurred after my enrollment. I did not misrepresent my status during the admissions or transfer process.”

It’s true. Technically.

My father filed that registration when I was sixteen. The suppressants kept my biology ambiguous enough to get through medical screening, and by the time the status was formally updated I was already enrolled and racing.

The lawyer leans in. “And when exactly was that update made?”

“That’s a question for the registrar, not for this hearing,” Okafor says. “We’re here to address the complaint Ms. Callahan filed against Ms. Adams. Not the reverse.”

The damage is done anyway. I can see it on all four faces. Kinsley just put something in the ground that’s going to grow no matter what gets decided in this room today.

The hearing runs another forty minutes. The lawyer works each piece of evidence in turn. The restaurant footage was taken in a public place. The morning photograph was taken from a public road. The post was commentary. Every argument is thin and Okafor takes each one apart without raising her voice, and after a while I stop listening.

I watch the panel instead. Warren keeps glancing at his phone under the table. The faculty rep hasn’t spoken in twenty minutes. Carmine is looking at me the way she looked at our crew through those observed practices, measuring and filing it away for a report I will never read.

They’re going to rule for me. The evidence is overwhelming and Kinsley torpedoed whatever her lawyer was building the second she stood up. They’re also going to flag my designation for review, and I can feel that coming as clearly as I can feel the chair under me.

The win is going to cost me.

“Based on the findings of Dr. Okafor’s investigation,” Warren says at last, “this panel finds that Ms. Adams engaged in a sustained pattern of harassment and retaliation against Ms. Callahan, in violation of the university’s harassment, retaliation, privacy, and student conduct policies.”

Kinsley goes white.

“The recommended sanctions are immediate suspension from all university athletics, a no-contact order covering Ms. Callahan and every member of the men’s varsity crew, and referral to the student conduct board for additional sanctions.”

“You can’t do this.” Her voice has gone thin. “My mother is on the alumni board. My family has donated⁠—”

“Ms. Adams.” Warren’s tone closes the door. “Your family’s contributions are not relevant to conduct findings. You are suspended from competition effective immediately. The no-contact order takes effect the moment you leave this room. Your counsel receives the written decision within forty-eight hours.”

The lawyer stands, already assembling the appeal in his head. Kinsley doesn’t move. She stares at me the way you’d stare at a bill you were certain somebody else was paying.

I meet her eyes for the first time all afternoon.

I don’t gloat and I don’t smile and I don’t say anything. I just let her see that I’m still here. That the photographs and the dead animal and the whispering and the public humiliation weren’t enough.

Her lawyer walks her out. The door closes.

“Ms. Callahan,” Okafor says. “A word before you go.”

The others file out. Carmine pauses at the door, looks back at me, and leaves without saying anything. Warren nods at Okafor and follows.

When it’s the two of us, Okafor sets her pen down.

“You handled that well.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m going to be direct.” She meets my eyes. “Ms. Adams’s comments about your designation are on the record now, and I can’t unring that. Carmine reports to the athletics department, and they will have questions.”

“I know.”

“The university’s position on mixed-designation team dynamics is still developing. The current policy wasn’t written for a situation like yours. There may be further inquiries.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” She leans forward slightly. “Because what I’m telling you off the record is that winning this may have opened a different door, and that one is harder to close.”

I sit with it. Through the window I can see the quad three floors down, students crossing between classes with no idea any of this is happening above their heads.