Chapter 8: The Doorway

I watched it once.

Every single second of it.

The water. The laughing. My own legs kicking at nothing.

The boy in the doorway with his hand on the frame.

Then I put the phone face down and got dressed for my nine o'clock.

Anne was in the front hall in her robe with her own phone in her hand.

Her face was white.

"You've seen it," she said.

"Yes."

"I've called our lawyer. I've called the platform. I've called that girl's..." She stopped. "Maisie, you don't have to go in today."

"I have a quiz."

"Maisie."

"If I stay home today, I'll have to go in tomorrow," I said. "It'll be the same video tomorrow."

She looked at me for a long time.

Then she took her own scarf off the hook and wound it around my neck.

"It's cold," she said. "Go on, then."

Thatcher came down the stairs behind her, dressed, his hair still wet.

Anne turned around.

She didn't shout.

Anne never shouted.

"You were in the doorway," she said to her son. "I've watched it six times. You were in the doorway and you did nothing."

"I know, Mom."

"Then I don't know what I raised."

She walked into the kitchen and shut the door.

Thatcher stood on the bottom step.

I left before he could say anything to me.

Campus was worse than I'd expected and exactly what I'd expected.

People looked up when I passed. Then down at their phones. Then up again.

A girl in my econ section started to laugh and was elbowed by her friend.

Somebody behind me in the coffee line said, "Washing off that gold dig," in a high voice, and somebody else snorted.

I took my quiz.

I got every answer right.

I know because I checked them twice, so I wouldn't have to look up.

At noon I went to the dining hall because I was hungry and because I'd be damned if I'd eat in a bathroom.

It was packed.

I took a tray to a table by the window and sat alone.

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