Chapter 4 - Brooke Filed It
Brooke was waiting for me in the student center café.
She had chosen public.
Of course.
She saw me through the glass and didn't stand.
I sat opposite her.
“Lena says she never filed.”
Brooke looked at her coffee.
“She didn't.”
“Who did?”
Brooke met my eyes.
“I did.”
The café noise seemed to move farther away.
“You.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You were shaking.”
I stared.
“That night.”
North Hall.
Lena had grabbed my wrist.
I had a red mark.
A bruise by morning.
I remembered sitting on Brooke's dorm floor afterward, furious.
Brooke giving me ice.
Me saying:
She cannot do that and walk away.
Brooke had agreed.
“You told me to send the clip.”
“I told you to keep it.”
“No.”
Brooke shook her head.
“You said, ‘Make sure somebody sees what she did.’”
I laughed.
“That is not ‘file a complaint.’”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because I thought I was protecting you.”
I stared.
Brooke continued.
“You were crying.”
“I was angry.”
“You were both.”
“I didn't ask you to file.”
“No.”
“Did you use your name?”
“Anonymous portal.”
I almost stood.
Brooke’s eyes stayed on mine.
“Do not pretend the anonymous part is the problem.”
I sat back.
“What did you send?”
“The clip.”
“Which clip?”
She hesitated.
There.
“The forty-eight seconds.”
I stared.
“What was before it?”
Brooke looked down.
I already knew some.
Lena entering my room.
Me blocking the door.
Me telling her she wasn't getting the laptop until she admitted she had been spreading rumors about me.
Lena demanding I move.
Me refusing.
Lena reaching around me.
My hand catching her sleeve.
Then her grabbing my wrist.
The public clip began there.
With Lena’s hand on me.
“What was after?”
Brooke answered quietly.
“You laughing.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“After she left.”
I remembered that less clearly.
Brooke continued.
“You said, ‘Now she finally gave me something useful.’”
My stomach tightened.
I had said it.
I heard my own eighteen—no, twenty-one-year-old voice.
Not eighteen.
Old enough.
Brooke said:
“I cut that too.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted the video to help you.”
I stared at her.
“You edited it.”
“Yes.”
“Then filed it.”
“Yes.”
“And let me think Lena did.”
Her face tightened.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Brooke took a breath.
“Because when the conduct office contacted you, you assumed it was Lena.”
“And you said nothing.”
“Yes.”
“Two years.”
“Yes.”
I laughed.
People at the next table glanced over.
I lowered my voice.
“You spent two years letting me hate her for something you did.”
Brooke's face hardened.
“You already hated her.”
“Not the point.”
“No.”
She nodded.
“It's not.”
I sat back.
“What happened to Lena after?”
“You know.”
“She withdrew.”
“Why?”
“She says because she couldn't stay on the floor.”
“Not because of the complaint?”
“Partly.”
Brooke looked at me.
“The investigation didn't expel her. It didn't suspend her. It gave both of you no-contact orders and moved her room.”
I knew.
I had spent two years describing it as if Lena had almost destroyed me.
The actual consequence had been inconvenient.
Embarrassing.
Nothing like the story I told.
“What did she lose?”
Brooke looked toward the window.
“Her scholarship review was delayed.”
I frowned.
“I didn't know that.”
“No.”
“Did the video cause it?”
“Her advisor says maybe.”
“Maybe isn't yes.”
“No.”
Good.
No magical catastrophe.
Brooke continued:
“She was already struggling financially. She left at the end of the semester.”
“And blamed me.”
“Not exactly.”
I stared.
Brooke almost smiled.
“That's another thing you've been assuming.”
I hated this conversation.
“What does Rachel have to do with Lena?”
Brooke looked at me.
“They became friends last year.”
“How?”
“Community tutoring program.”
Of course.
Ordinary.
No secret sister.
No hidden bloodline.
Rachel had simply met someone I had spent two years reducing to an enemy.
“What did Lena tell her?”
“Enough.”
“So Rachel came after me.”
“No.”
Brooke’s answer was immediate.
“She asked you one question at the spring concert.”
I remembered.
Did you ever watch the whole North Hall video?
I had told her to mind her business.
Then she asked again two weeks later.
I called it harassment.
Brooke continued:
“You decided she was building a case against you.”
“She was talking to people.”
“She was asking what happened.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
Brooke looked tired now.
“You made it the same because then you knew what to do.”
My jaw tightened.
“Which was?”
“Create a clip.”
There.
The method had become automatic.
I looked at her phone on the table.
“Who else watched today?”
Brooke put her hand over it.
“No.”
“You betrayed me. I get names.”
“No.”
“Brooke.”
She stared.
“Three people you made me crop out.”
My stomach tightened.
“Lena.”
“Yes.”
“Who else?”
She did not answer.
Then my own phone buzzed.
A message from a campus number.
REQUEST FOR ORIGINAL MEDIA — EAST QUAD INCIDENT.
Brooke looked at it.
“So did mine.”
I looked up.
“Are you giving them the full video?”
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
“If you do that—”
“What?”
I stopped.
Brooke leaned forward.
“If I give them the whole thing, what?”
I knew the answer.
May you like
The current clip would no longer be mine to frame.
And that terrified me more than any punishment.
