SEVEN - AFTER

Hanna beats me to the student center. I spot her over at one of the big window tables with a view of the quad, her fingers moving at lightning speed across the keyboard of her brand-new MacBook (her last splash-out purchase with the Davidson Prize money). With headphones over her ears, she's completely absorbed—and doesn't notice me until I've walked right up to her table.

She's calm as she removes the headphones, setting them down on the table. "Morgan. Hey."

Already it's too casual, and a flicker of irritation ignites within me. I want her to feel more awkward: now everything's out in the open, she should find it uncomfortable that I'm even standing in front of her. That she doesn't is a hint of defiant confidence in itself.

"Hello," I say quietly.

She closes her laptop, gesturing toward the free spot opposite her. "You don't have to stand there. Have a seat."

Like usual, she's taking control of the situation. The habit has never really bothered me before—in fact, it's mostly been a blessing—but right now, I can't stand it. "I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

"Oh, you're not," she says, waving a dismissive hand as I settle into my seat. "I was just trying to get a head start on an article for next month's issue, but I'm having such bad writer's block that I can't stand a single word on the page right now. So if anything, you're doing me a favor."

"Well," I say, keeping my voice level, "it's probably hard to write when somebody's reputation hangs on every word."

That's it: the atmosphere is shattered. It's clear from the flicker of alarm in her eyes and the way she tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear that she didn't expect it to happen this quickly. But I don't care, because I can't take this polite small talk any longer.

"Morgan," she begins, a frown creasing her forehead.

"You could've warned me," I say, before she can get any further. "Or even asked if I thought this was a good idea. Did you really think the best time for me to stumble across it was when the entire campus was sharing it on Twitter?"

She's already shaking her head, dismissing me. Like I'm a total drama queen getting worked up over nothing. "I knew you'd react like this. I knew you'd try to stop me."

"He's been gone six months, Hanna," I say. "Would it have been so bad to just leave his memory in peace?"

The look of disgust on her face is a knife through my gut; it's like she can't believe I've said it. When she speaks, her voice is so low it almost comes out as a hiss. "Being dead doesn't make him a saint. You know that, right? It doesn't give him a free pass for all the shitty things he did when he was alive. The same would apply to any of us."

"That's not—"

"Look, I know it's hard to hear because you were his girlfriend," she says. "But don't you dare tell me I should've stayed silent on this. Just because he didn't do anything like this to you, doesn't mean he couldn't have had another side to him. And it's only right that the truth comes out. If a victim wants to make their story heard, the least we can do as a community is listen."

I know I shouldn't go there, but the words come barreling out before I can stop them. "How do you know it's the truth?"

"Jesus, Morgan." Hanna slams one hand down on the edge of the table, and the louder-than-expected noise startles both of us. "You've no right to question my sources. That's between me and the person who chose to share this information. If you're here to get a name out of me, don't bother. This was shared in confidence, and I'm not about to betray everything GXRL—everything I—stand for. Not even for you."

I don't have a response. I know I've overstepped the mark, and I can tell the damage to our friendship will long outlast the words still ringing in my head. There's no going back from "How do you know it's the truth?"; I've already drawn the line in the sand, and now I'm staring at Hanna from the other side.

"I'm sorry," I say, even though it's too late. "That's not what I meant."

Hanna's eyes narrow challengingly. "It sure seemed like it."

"I just wish you would've talked to me about it first," I say instead. Because that's why I'm mad, isn't it? "I know things have been weird between us these last few months, but I never thought it meant we couldn't talk."

She's looking at me in a way I've never seen before; I want to be wrong, but it feels like there's a trace of pity swimming among the scrutiny. Suddenly, I feel like I'm six inches tall. "Honestly," she says slowly, "I haven't been sure."

"What?"

"I don't want you to take this the wrong way," she says, like I'm not already wary enough. "I know it's been a rough time. But that's exactly it. I was supposed to be there for you all through that, and I wanted to be... except it seemed like you wanted the exact opposite."

"It wasn't personal," I say, and I hate the way my voice sounds almost pleading. "I wasn't in a place to—I didn't want to talk to anyone."

"It was more than that," she continues. "It wasn't just not talking. It was months of shutting me out completely, like you wanted to cut all ties. Like I'd said or done something horribly wrong."

"You hadn't," I tell her, but it sounds weak even to me.

"I know, Morgan, but what was I supposed to think?" Her eyes shift away, dropping to the table, where fingers are laced together on top of the laptop. "In the end, I went to Europe, because you'd pretty much ghosted me—what difference did it make if I was on the other side of the world? I didn't book a return flight, though. Because I thought, any day, you might call—and I would've come home as soon as you did."

But that never happened. She doesn't need to say it aloud for the words to hang in the air between us. I can't even understand why I didn't, let alone come up with an explanation for Hanna that might make this all okay. I'm watching our friendship crumble in front of my eyes, and for some reason I'm not even trying to fix it.

When I don't answer, she shakes her head. "Is it really a surprise that things have ended up like this?"

"You still should've talked to me," I say.

Hanna's matte-pink lips curl into a hollow smile. "Yeah. Me and you both."

And that's it: we're done here. As much as I want to keep going, to cling onto the hope that I can still salvage this, I know the opportunity has vanished. And I can't seem to bring myself to do it anyway. For months now, there's been this strange disconnect between my brain and body—like I know what I should be doing, but can't force myself to go through the motions. I'm just sitting here, frozen.

When the silence stretches too long to bear, I get to my feet. Hanna's flat expression is unreadable; I can't tell whether she wants me to stay or go. Which makes two of us.

"I should go," I say.

"Okay."

"Better get a head start on the reading for biochemistry," I continue, even though she didn't ask for an explanation. "Get ahead while I've got the chance."

An empty smile. "Sure."

There's a lump forming in my throat as I sling my bag over my shoulder, and all of a sudden, getting away as fast as possible seems like the best idea in the world. The only thing that can make this worse is if Hanna notices the tears welling in my eyes. I don't want her to see how much this conversation has got to me—not when she's sitting there as calm and collected as ever. It'll only make me feel like more of an emotional wreck, and I've had enough of that lately.

"I'll see you around?" I say quickly.

"Yeah," she replies, with an unconvincing nod. "See you, Morgan."

I've turned away from the table and made it halfway through the labyrinth of tables when the first drop rolls down my cheek. I swipe it away, ducking my head as I narrowly avoid colliding with a couple in matching Davidson hoodies coming in the opposite direction. By now, the panicked breaths are coming thick and fast, and all I know is that I need to get out of here.

It doesn't stop me taking one last glance over my shoulder, though. The door is in sight, and I'm seconds away from bursting out of the building, almost in the clear—but for some reason, I can't resist.

Hanna hasn't moved from her spot at the table. But what she has done is open her laptop, put her headphones back on and resumed typing.

Like nothing's changed at all.

The sob rises up my throat and catches me by surprise; it's only a gust of wind flying past as I emerge outside that carries the sound away. It's like usual nowadays: the sadness creeps up on me faster than I'm ever expecting, always managing to catch me at the worst moments. You'd think I would be used to it by now, after Caleb and then Josh—but it never gets any easier.

How have things ended up like this? It almost seems like punishment from the universe, payback for something horrible I must've done... except I can't think of anything that would even come close. It's nothing but a coincidence, and that somehow makes things seem worse. This cruel twist of events has managed to bypass so many others, only to stab me through the chest more than once.

"Whoa!"

My mind's so frazzled and my vision so blurred as I power walk across the quad that I don't even notice the guy turning the corner until it's too late. We collide with unexpected force; in the space of a second, our bodies slam together and my balance wobbles and an arm reaches out to steady me.

"Sorry," I begin, wiping tears from my cheeks. The last thing I want is for this guy to see what a mess I am—then I'll have to deal with his concern, and his insistence, and it'll make this encounter last so much longer than it needs to. All that will help right now is getting back to my dorm room so I can cry in peace. "That was my fault, I wasn't looking—"

But my sentence goes unfinished, because that's when I stop. And freeze. And feel a lurch of my heart and chest and stomach so violent that I think I might throw up.

Because Josh is standing in front of me.

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Ahh! What just happened?! Sorry for the cliffhanger, but you should know by now that I like to keep you guys on your toes.

Question of the chapter: how do you think Morgan handled the conversation with Hanna? Was she in the right, or did she go too far by questioning Hanna's sources?

As always, I reply to all comments and I'd love to discuss the story with you below. Please don't be a silent reader as your comments spur me on so much! <3

- Leigh