If you push it too soon, you risk permanent damage. I'm noting my recommendations here." She scribbled on a separate pad. "Keep this copy for yourself." The door swung open before Danielle could respond. Dean Holloway strode in, his tailored blazer still perfect despite the long day. His smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Ms. Brooks, how are we feeling? Just a little tumble, I hear." Nurse Patel stiffened. "I was just explaining her care instructions." "Excellent. Excellent." Dean Holloway said, dismissing the nurse with a nod.
"I'll take a moment with our student, if you don't mind." When the door closed, his smile vanished. "Ms. Brooks, I understand you've had a rough start here at Langford." Danielle met his gaze directly. "I was dropped deliberately." Dean Holloway's expression hardened. "That's a serious accusation.
One I hope you won't be making publicly during Foundation Week." "It's the truth." "Truth is subjective, Ms. Brooks." He placed his hands in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. "What I see is an older transfer student struggling to fit in with a well-established team. Perhaps the routines here are more challenging than you expected." The insult was thinly veiled. Danielle kept her voice steady.
"I've been performing since I was 15. I know when I'm dropped." "Listen carefully." His voice dropped lower. "You're new here. You don't understand how things work. Foundation week brings in millions in alumni donations that fund scholarships, including yours." The threat hung in the air between them.
"The medical report says muscle strain," he continued. "That's what happened. Unless you want to find yourself suddenly unable to meet the academic requirements for your scholarship." Danielle felt a cold anger settling in her chest, familiar and clarifying. "Are you threatening me?" "I'm advising you." His smile returned, empty and practiced. "Rest up.
Take some time and think very carefully about the story you want to tell." After he left, Danielle sat motionless for several minutes, digesting what had just happened. The clinic released her with minimal painkillers and the official paperwork that downplayed her injury. The walk back to her dorm seemed endless. Each step sent jolts of pain through her shoulder. The campus was oddly quiet.
Most students still at the game or post-game celebrations. She could hear distant cheering. Langford had probably won. Inside her dorm room, Danielle confronted her first real challenge. Simple tasks became monumental.
Removing her shirt one-handed proved nearly impossible. Showering required propping her arm awkwardly while trying not to wet the sling. She couldn't reach to wash her hair properly. After 20 frustrating minutes, she emerged from the bathroom exhausted and still not properly clean. She grabbed her phone, wincing as she reached across the bed.
The screen lit up with notifications, dozens of them. Not messages of concern, but mockery. Anonymous accounts had shared edited clips of her fall with captions like, "When you try to show off but gravity says no." And, "Old lady can't hang with the real cheerleaders." Someone had even created a meme comparing her fall to cartoon characters getting knocked down. Tears of frustration pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back. Crying would only make her shoulder hurt worse.