“But you have to!”
“I don’t have to do anything.” Alex crosses her arms and turns away from me. I came here right away, and after checking in to make sure she was alive I suggested she tell the administration the boys were just taking care of her. I thought she would say of course, even say she’d already called and told them.
Which is why I was so taken aback by her “No way in hell!”
“They’re going to lose their house.”
“And I’m really sorry about that.” She turns back to me. “But you know I can’t tell the school.”
“Why not? They already know you got fucked up and were taken to the hospital.”
“They already know a female undergrad was transported from the house.” She plops down into the beanbag chair. “Only the hospital knows my name, and they won’t release it.”
“Oh.” I chew my lip for a second, considering this. “Okay, so you get into trouble with the school, but c’mon, it can’t be that big a deal.”
“I’m on scholarship, Cassie. I literally go here for free. And that money’s from Warren. I don’t have anyone like Stevenson supporting me. If I get in trouble with the school, I’m fucked.”
“They’re not gonna take away your scholarship, that’s—No, people get drunk all the time.”
She exhales. “So they won’t kick me out on the street. But will they approve my grant for my next show or a semester abroad?”
“Who cares? Dude, it was your fault. The house shouldn’t take the fall for this.”
“Yeah, because it’s this that’s bringing them down, not years of bullshit.”
“But they’re beginning to learn, Alex.” I run my hands through my hair. “Most of them are really smart and thoughtful—they just didn’t know before. And now, if we take away their house, they’ll associate feminism with this moment when they were kicked out of their home for helping you. And you probably will be able to get funding for Paris still even if—”
“Nice, Cassie. You of all people telling me to risk my funding for them.”
I step back, feeling like her words actually hit me.
“It doesn’t matter what the hell I do,” she says, “seeing as you’re about to publish a takedown piece on them.”
“It’s not a takedown piece.” I walk toward the window before spinning on my heel; the room is really too small for pacing. “It’s—it’s a story of progress, of how cultures can change, how knowing someone different from you—living with someone different from you—can help you become open-minded.”
“That’s a rose-colored way to look at it.” She pushes herself off the beanbag chair.
“But you see my point. There’s forward momentum, and that has to count for something.”
She squats down in front of a small dresser she’s painted baby blue. “I’m supposed to be quitting,” she mumbles, yanking open a drawer, then pulling out a pack of Marlboro Reds and a white lighter.
“Bad luck, you know, the solid white lighter.”
“I know.” She flicks her thumb, and a flame shoots up. “But the way I think about it, the smoke’s more likely to kill me.” She taps the pack on the windowsill, pulls one out and lights up.
After the first drag, she turns back to me. The sun shines through her hair and illuminates the wall behind her, the silvery words shining. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. You’re kind of right. The story, no matter what, it’s not gonna be good for them. I just... I feel trapped.”
She flicks ash out the window. “Shit, dude.”
“What if...” I breathe in. “I think...”
She raises her eyebrows, her eyes telling me to hurry up and spit it out.
“The thing is, so many people want the story, I have some control, right? So what if we turn this into a story like the admittedly cheesy one I just told about growth?” I’m talking quickly now, excited. The more I hear myself say it, this idea that’s been bouncing around in my head, the more it sounds like reality. “But seriously, like them or not, I can’t think of anything that would send them in a worse direction than just kicking them out, and we’ve seen—I’ve documented—that there’s a better way. And I can talk to Dr. Price, because there’s no way she’ll let my entries run without a single peer review or any analysis of the last part of the data.”
“Will the Stevenson people be down for that?” Her voice is higher.
“Do they have a choice? It’s the truth.”
“I guess so.” She puts out her cigarette.
“Yes, this is good,” I say. “I have a plan. It’ll be fine.” I don’t even convince myself.
“Fine.” She exhales the last of the smoke. “I’ll think about going to the Dean of Alcohol and Whatever to tell the story. Not because I give a fuck about those frat boys, but because they helped me, and I have enough honor to take the fall for my own stupidity.”
“Thank you!” She stumbles back when I hug her, then wraps her arms around me, too.
When I step back, she looks at me seriously. “But, dude, you better make sure it counts for something.”