Will watched Andrew still pleading his case and pressed two fingers to the corner of his mouth. Stung. His jaw was swollen, a couple teeth felt loose, and his lower back — where that black shoe had made contact — was still radiating a dull, vicious ache.
He looked at Andrew with murder in his eyes.
Today had started very simply. He'd whispered. Quietly. One person, kept voice low, practically inaudible to anyone else. That had been the plan.
And then Andrew had yelled.
After that, Andrew had followed him. Down the hallway, around a corner, tugging at his sleeve — more details, tell me more, I need to know exactly what you saw — and Will had tried to walk away twice. Both times, Andrew had caught up. Eventually, unable to shake the man, Will had stopped and started explaining again — quietly, again, for the second time — and that was when the Odom brothers had materialized out of thin air and started listening in.
Three people knowing a secret meant the secret was over. Four people meant the whole school. Which was exactly what had happened, except by the time it circulated back to Will's ears, the story had transformed into something he barely recognized.
He'd spent the rest of the morning in quiet dread, waiting for the inevitable. Then Andrew had opened his mouth in front of Maya and proceeded to dump the entire responsibility on him.
That's why Will had tackled him.
Any reasonable person would have done the same.
Now, watching Andrew finish his account — the version where Andrew was a principled hero defending Maya's good name — Will felt the last ember of hope go quietly out.
No version of this ended well for him.
When Maya's gaze shifted over, Will didn't wait to be asked.
"Saturday afternoon," he said. "I was going to the corner store to buy some adult magazines — so I'd have something to read at home later. I ran into President Hansen at the same store. I panicked and thought I'd get caught, so I hid. You didn't notice me." He paused, pressing his lips together. "And then I watched you pass over the editions marketed toward women and toward gay men, and only pick up the kind that I..." He trailed off briefly. "The kind I personally read. Plus a copy of that society magazine — the special edition."
A beat of silence.
The cafeteria crowd let out a collective sound.
Maya's expression remained unchanged. Not a flicker of color in her face, not a single twitch of discomfort. The onlookers exchanged disappointed looks.
Will continued, visibly deflated. "I figured if you were buying that kind of material, you must be attracted to women. Then this morning at the gate, I overheard Andrew talking with his brother and realized he was your neighbor, so I thought I'd ask him quietly about it." He glanced at Andrew. "I was being quiet. I was keeping my voice down. Andrew was the one who—"
The crack of Maya's knuckles, quiet and deliberate, was the only interruption.
"—and then the Odom brothers came by and heard," Will finished, smaller now. "After that it was out of my hands."
Listening to Will's account, Maya quietly reconstructed the chain of events.
Point one: No one had targeted her. This wasn't deliberate, wasn't calculated. Just a string of stupid accidents — curiosity, a big mouth, bad timing.
Point two: Will was the origin, but he hadn't technically lied. He'd seen something unusual and drawn the only conclusion that occurred to him. That was incompetence, not malice. Andrew, on the other hand, was not innocent. He'd been the loud one, the one who'd kept pushing, whose volume had brought in the Odom brothers. His excuse about defending her honor was perhaps ten percent genuine.
Point three: Everyone now knew the whole chain of events. And the fact that she'd been in that store, buying that content, was not going away. She needed to give people a good explanation — or the image she'd spent years carefully maintaining would take a hit.
For point one: good. She could put that concern down.
For point two: Will and Andrew would be dealt with. Just not now. She couldn't abuse her position — neither of them had technically broken a rule. Her methods required patience and the right moment.
Right now, the only thing that mattered was damage control.
Will was still wrapping up his account. Maya had already stopped listening and shifted entirely to strategy.
Option one: deny outright. Claim she'd never bought any such thing, that the whole story was invented. — No. Half the school had heard this from multiple sources. A flat denial would only confirm suspicion. These students weren't geniuses, but they weren't fools either.
Option two: say nothing. Let the rumor run its course. — Also no. Rumors left unaddressed grew teeth. She'd spent four years carefully building a certain image, and she was not going to watch it get dismantled.
Option three: tell the truth directly. She'd been buying it for someone else. Simple and accurate. — And yet it sounded like a desperate excuse even when she ran the true version through her head. It wasn't for me, I was buying it for someone — no one would believe that.
She thought about how things like this were handled. From memory, from a different life.
Celebrities caught in scandals: call a press conference, cry, promise to do better, generate sympathy. Then arrange for some paparazzi shots — taking the kid to the park, buying groceries with the spouse, looking tired but wholesome. A few weeks of that and the public forgives you.
That approach required playing the victim. Her image didn't allow for playing the victim.
Struggling writers who'd fallen behind on updates: post a haggard-looking photo, mention some health problems, lean on goodwill. Readers with kind hearts rally around you.
— Not that this was any kind of hint. Absolutely not a hint.
Same problem anyway. Playing for sympathy required a certain kind of persona, and hers wasn't it. That path would destroy everything she'd built. That would be a complete image collapse.
Inner Maya tapped her chin. Think harder. Selling misery? No. Absolutely not. That's a catastrophic persona mismatch. Think.
Will was coming to the end of his account.
Maya was running out of time. She had to decide now.