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“Hold that thought,” I tell Oliver, and press the green answer key.
“Hey,” I barely get out before Shelby’s voice cuts me off.
“Oh, my god, Harlow! Our dorm it’s been… it’s…” There’s muffled crying, followed by a shriek. Instantly, I stand, ready to make my way toward the door, needing to make sure that Shelby is okay.
“What happened, are you okay?” The words come out in a panic.
“I’m fine, but our room is not. Get here soon, please,” Shelby pleads.
“I’m on my way. I’ll be there soon.” I hang up the phone and notice that Oliver and Caroline are both standing now. They look at me confused, and I know I have to explain.
“Shelby said something’s happened to our room.” Fear radiates down my spine like a never-ending trickle of ice water.
“What do you mean?” Oliver questions, as I grab my bag, and we walk out of the coffee shop.
“I don’t know,” I answer, my distress evident in the three simple words. “She just said something has happened to our dorm.”
“God, I have a bad feeling about this.” Caroline sounds like she might be sick.
“Me too.”
It doesn’t take long for us to make it to the dorm, and when we arrive, Banks and Sullivan are standing outside the building, waiting for us. Oliver called them on the way, and they got here in record time.
“What’s going on?” They both ask with equal amounts of fear in their eyes. Oliver opens his mouth, answering for me.
“We don’t know, but we’re going to find out.” Entering the building, dread fills my gut, and it only mounts with every step I take, until it’s damn near suffocating me. By the time I make it to the room, I think I’m going to vomit. I’m about to open the door when it is pulled open by Shelby, her tear-stained cheeks and somber face greeting me.
“Harlow!” She cries and pulls me into her chest, wrapping her arms around me. It’s then that I notice all of my stuff destroyed, my bed flipped over, my belongings thrown around the room. But nothing could have prepared me for what I see next; the word SLUT spray-painted across my mattress in bright red paint, the same color as the one that was used to make the banner. I remember seeing the same word… in almost identical writing before. Someone wrote it on my T-shirts when I was doing laundry.
“I think it was Tiffany and her friends, it has to be,” Shelby cries. “Look at the handwriting, the paint, it’s all the same.”
“Fuck!” I hear Banks say.
“Bitch,” Sullivan says at the same time.
“She will pay for this, no doubt about it. I’m going to make her life hell,” Oliver says next, but I don’t even feel the effect of his words. I know he’ll do exactly as he says, but right now I feel humiliated, so damn humiliated.
“I….” I pull from Shelby’s embrace, my chest rattling, as I suck air into my lungs. I’m angry, but I’m sad too. I hate these people. Say what you will about me, but don’t touch my things, and don’t mess with the people I care about.
“I’m sorry, Harlow. I don’t know how she got in,” Shelby says, and I can tell that this is all affecting her on a deeper level. “I’ve let you down,” she confesses a moment later.
“Shh, it’s going to be okay,” I tell her because I know it will be. “You didn’t let me down, never.”
“Should we call the cops? Or at least campus security?” Caroline asks.
“You think they would do anything? Investigate a prank, even if it was taken way too far?” Banks has a good point. What are the cops going to do?
“Let us clean this up, you and Caroline can go back to the house,” Oliver suggests, but I don’t want to leave yet. I want to help. I need to help. Those bitches may have hurt me, but they didn’t break me. I’m not going to go home and hide.
“No, I’ll help. Shelby needs me, she’s always been there for me, and I can’t leave her now, especially since it’s my fault our room got destroyed.”
“Okay,” Sullivan responds this time, and I can tell he’s unhappy with my answer but doesn’t push for me to leave. He knows I need this right now.
As we all clean up the room, I plot my revenge knowing someday soon I’ll make the bitch wish she never knew my name.
12
“Why can’t I just sit in this class?” Banks is basically yelling at this point, his hands clenched at his sides. The professor looks beyond annoyed, his almost always calm face starting to turn red with anger, while my own is becoming red for an entirely different reason.
“Because you are not enrolled in this class anymore, Mr. Bishop,” Professor Brown barks, his voice strained, like he’s about to lose his last thread of patience. “You need to leave my classroom now, or I will call campus security, and have you removed.”
