The first thing Maya noticed the next morning was that people were looking at her and then looking away too quickly. Riverton's main atrium was brighter than the day before. Sunlight poured through the two-story windows and flashed across the polished floor, but the warmth stopped somewhere near the entrance. Maya felt the shift before she understood it. Two students near the vending machines whispered over a phone.
A man in a Riverton nursing program jacket glanced at her, smiled awkwardly, then lowered his eyes. By the time Maya reached the cafeteria, she knew something had happened. Lena Brooks found her at a small table near the far wall. You've seen it? Maya looked up from her oatmeal.
Seen what? Lena hesitated. That was answer enough. She sat across from Maya and turned her phone around. A photograph filled the screen.
Maya alone at a cafeteria table the previous afternoon. Her head was bent over a textbook. Her old black sports bag rested beside her chair. Across the top, someone had added the caption, "Riverton's new charity admission looks thrilled to be here." Below it were laughing reactions.
Someone had written, "Maybe Witmore Foundation should buy her lunch, too." Another. She looks like she's waiting for somebody to explain indoor plumbing. Lena's thumb hovered above the screen. I reported it.
Maya kept looking. A strange thing happened when humiliation arrived quietly. There was no single blow to react to. No raised voice, no hand on your shoulder, just a room full of people who suddenly knew a joke you had never agreed to be part of. Maya picked up her spoon.
Who posted it? Anonymous account, meaning Evan. I didn't say that. You didn't have to. Lena studied her face.
You should report this to student affairs. Maya took another bite. Then what? Then there's a record. There'll also be three more posts about how I can't take a joke.
So, so I don't want them choosing what I spend my day thinking about. Lena leaned forward. You know, ignoring people doesn't always make them stop. Maya's hand paused. For the briefest second, Denise's voice came back to her.
Handling pain and hiding it aren't the same thing. Maya looked toward the cafeteria windows. Outside, students crossed the courtyard beneath red maples, beginning to turn with early autumn. I know, she said, but she did nothing. That was the first cut.
The second came before noon. Professor Collins's business class had been assigned a short group presentation on local consumer behavior. Maya had spent most of the previous night finishing the slides after Denise went to bed. When Professor Collins called her group forward, Mia opened the shared drive. The folder was empty.
She frowned, clicked back, opened it again. Nothing. Her notes were there. The presentation wasn't. A few people shifted impatiently in their seats.
Tyler sat in the back row, Mason beside him. Evan had his elbows on the desk watching. Professor Collins approached. Problem? The file's gone.
Did you save it to the correct folder? Yes. Maya searched again. The loading icon spun. Nothing.
Tyler spoke from the back. Technology can be rough. A few students laughed. Maya looked over her shoulder. He was smiling.