“Apparently logic is not the current theme.”
“Did I make her dump garbage behind Miguel?”
“No.”
“Did I make her violate no-contact?”
“No.”
“Then I have statistics homework.”
Asha smiled.
“That sounded emotionally healthy.”
Jordan pointed at the door.
“Leave.”
Three nights later, Jordan received an anonymous message.
HOPE YOU ENJOYED WINNING.
She screenshotted it.
The next evening:
EVERYBODY KNOWS WHAT YOU ARE.
Then:
STOP WALKING AROUND CAMPUS LIKE YOU’RE SAFE.
That one changed everything.
Jordan forwarded the messages to Campus Safety.
The account had been created recently using a privacy service.
Investigators interviewed Savannah and Brooke.
Both denied involvement.
The university could not connect the messages to either woman.
Jordan was offered evening escorts between late classes and her residence hall.
She refused the first night.
Then spent twenty minutes walking from the library while checking every person behind her.
The next evening, she accepted.
That bothered her more than she expected.
She had spent years leaving warehouse shifts after midnight without thinking twice.
Now somebody had reduced three familiar campus blocks into a route she needed security to cross.
By March, the anonymous account had disappeared.
No explanation.
No identification.
No dramatic climax.
Jordan was simply tired.
The afternoon everything finally became visible happened on April 8.
Jordan finished a presentation in Local Government Finance shortly after two and walked toward the student center. It was warm, bright, and windy enough for students to crowd outdoor tables.
She wore black jeans, heavy boots, a white fitted shirt beneath her dark denim jacket, and her braids tied behind her shoulders.
For once, Savannah and Brooke were nowhere in her thoughts.
She was deciding whether to buy tacos or eat leftover pasta.
Behind her, the two women stepped onto the same walkway.
Several witnesses later said they noticed because Savannah was laughing before she reached Jordan.
Jordan did not hear them clearly at first.
Halfway toward the union stood a round metal garbage barrel packed beyond the rim after a student-club lunch.
Savannah saw it.
Then looked toward Brooke.
Brooke smiled.
Savannah moved faster.
She placed both hands on the rim.
Paige—no, Brooke—stared for half a second as if unsure whether Savannah would actually do it.
Then she started laughing.
Savannah tipped the barrel.
Garbage poured onto Jordan.
A drink cup struck her shoulder.
Another bounced off her back.
Napkins tangled in her braids.
Food containers slid across her jacket.
A paper bag caught briefly on top of her head before falling.
Several students gasped.
Savannah laughed harder.
Brooke covered her mouth.
Jordan stopped walking.
She removed the bag.
Then a napkin.
Then a plastic fork caught near her collar.
Her hands had gone cold.
She could hear people reacting around her but not individual words.
She wanted to turn around and scream.
She wanted to cry.
She wanted to walk directly into the student center and lock herself in the facilities office.
Instead, she breathed.
Then turned.
“You finished?”
Savannah smiled.