Chapter 5: The Floor

The fourth floor went quiet when I came out of the stairwell.

Forty people sat at their desks with their phones in their hands.

Nobody looked at me, and everybody was looking at me.

I walked down the middle aisle to my desk by the window.

A man two rows over snickered into his coffee.

A woman near the printer whispered, and I heard the word intern and the word bed.

The photo glowed on three screens as I passed.

I stopped at my desk and looked at my plant, which was dying, and at the empty glass office across the aisle.

Dale's name was still on the door.

I could sit down.

I could say nothing, and in a week the picture would be old.

In a month they would call me the girl who got lucky.

I thought of my mother, who had never once sat down when somebody was talking about her.

I did not sit.

I climbed onto my chair, and then onto my desk, in my boots, with the sweater still over my arm.

Forty heads turned at once.

"Good morning," I said.

My voice shook, and I kept going.

"I'm Hattie Moser, and I'm the intern in the picture.

"Since everyone has seen it, I'm going to tell you what it shows."

Nobody laughed now.

"Last night Dale Brower cornered me in that office," I said, and I pointed at the glass.

"I recorded him, and I took the recording to Mr. Whitaker.

"This morning Dale was placed on leave."

A chair creaked.

"After that," I said, "I went home with him.

"I'm twenty-three.

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