Chapter 12: On the Record

The article ran at six, and by nine the whole campus had read it.

There were my photographs, cropped to my face and his, and a headline in black type.

The comments under it said things I will not repeat.

I did not sleep.

At noon on Tuesday, a hundred students stood on the library steps in the cold, holding coffee and phones.

The girl with the camera had posted a notice that morning.

It said only, "Knox Holloway will make a statement."

I stood at the back, beside my mother, who had put on her good flannel.

"You don't have to be here," she said.

"I know."

"You want me to hit anyone?"

"Not yet."

Knox came out of the library doors in his charcoal sweater with a single sheet of paper in his left hand.

He looked like he had not eaten since Sunday.

He walked to the top of the steps and the murmuring stopped.

Yvonne stood at the bottom with the dean and two board members, her mouth pressed into a line.

Tripp was behind her, in sunglasses.

"My name is Knox Holloway," he said.

His voice was not loud, and it carried anyway.

"I'm the director of the Reading Desk. As of this morning I've resigned that post."

"I've also resigned my residency, and my seat on the fellowship."

A whisper went through the crowd.

"The article you read last night says I took advantage of an applicant."

"That's wrong in one way and right in another. I'm going to tell you both."

He looked down at the page.

"For two years I wrote the notes signed N.W. Every one. Every margin, every chapter, to one student."

I felt my mother go still at my side.

"That student is Siri Lindqvist."

"My brother took the credit, and I let him. It has cost her a home and a prize, and I stood by."

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