Page 9

Everything’s ready, so I let out a breath of relief and check the time on my phone. Still plenty of time before class, which is good, because I want a few minutes to settle my nerves before I have to do this in front of everyone.

It was a little windy outside, and my hair’s a mess, so I decide to run to the bathroom and freshen up, since it’s better to deal with it now than wonder if someone in the front row is staring at my hair the whole time I talk.

The bathroom’s just down the hallway, and it’s empty too. I splash some water over my face, then fix my hair, tucking the stray strands behind my ears. I take one more breath, square my shoulders, and head back out.

Before I can reach the lecture hall, the door swings open, and a guy in a black hoodie rushes out with the hood pulled up over his head. He moves fast, his head down, but I catch a glimpse of his face before he storms off.

Jayden? It really looks like him, or at least a lot like him. Huh. Weird.

This is a history class intended only for freshmen, and there’s no reason why he’d be anywhere near it. He’s studying political science or something like that, so this isn’t the right hallway and definitely not his class. Maybe he got confused and ended up in the wrong room, which happens more than people like to admit, especially in a place this big.

He probably came in, figured out it wasn’t where he was supposed to be, and bolted before the professor showed up and called him out in front of everyone. Maybe he’s hungover or something.

Still, it’s super weird, because why come early? If he was partying all night, he wouldn’t even be up yet. But I’ve got way more important things to worry about than figuring out why Jayden was where he wasn’t supposed to be, so I push the thought out of my mind and go back inside.

The room starts filling up. A bunch of students take seats around the middle and the back, talking about a reading. My title slide’s still up on the screen, so I get my note cards out of my bag and set them on the desk. I wrote them out, with the main point for each slide jotted down so I won’t go blank the moment everyone’s eyes are on me.

I flip through them one last time, lining them up in order. Okay, I’ve got this. I really do. I just have to get through the first few minutes, and I’ll be able to breathe again.

When the professor comes in, most of the seats are full, and the chatter dies down as she glances around the room. Then she gives me a small nod, and I gather my note cards in one hand and pick up the little remote that clicks through the slides with the other. My mouth is a bit dry, so I swallow hard and try not to think about all the faces turned toward me.

“Whenever you’re ready, Veronica,” the professor says, taking her seat in the front row.

Oh hell. Let’s do this! I press the button on the remote to bring up the first slide, but nothing happens. The screen doesn’t change at all. My title slide’s just up there, and the slideshow won’t start no matter how I aim the remote.

I press the button again, harder this time, but still nothing happens. Great. Naturally, it decides to act up now, with the whole class watching me press the remote like an idiot. I can feel the heat creeping up my face as someone in the back coughs and a couple of people shift around in their seats and start to whisper.

I jab the button one more time, and my first slide finally shows up, making me breathe out a sigh of relief. Phew, it’s working. Whatever the glitch was, it sorted itself out. I clear my throat, glancing down at my first card, and start in on my introduction.

The professor jots something on her pad, which I figure is a good sign. This isn’t so bad. I worried over nothing. I can do this, and once I’m through, I’ll wonder why I was so nervous in the first place.

But when I press the next slide, someone laughs. A whisper starts up, and more heads dip together as people lean in to talk to each other. Are they laughing at me? I don’t think I said anything funny, so I try to ignore it, because maybe it’s just someone’s phone or some joke that has nothing to do with me at all.

But the room becomes noisier, and a couple of people point right past me at the screen. I glance back over my shoulder to see what’s so hilarious, and my stomach flips. The screen is covered in screenshots, and it takes me a moment to make out what I’m even looking at.

They’re social media profiles. Actual screenshots of people’s accounts, with their profile photos and their names and bits of their posts. I spot a face I recognize from my classes, then another. Their pages have little sections circled in red like some kind of report, as if I went digging through all of them on purpose. My eyes skip from one to the next, and my brain can’t catch up, because this isn’t mine. Where’s my presentation? How the hell did this happen?

“Stalker!” a guy shouts from the back, and a whole bunch of people burst out laughing.

Heat floods my face and I whip back around to face the room. My mouth opens, but I can’t get a word out. Everyone’s looking at me now, some still laughing, some with their phones up and aimed at me and the screen behind me. A girl near the front crosses her arms and glares straight at me. I want to disappear. I want the floor to open up and swallow me. Is this a nightmare? Am I going to wake up? Please, please, please be a nightmare!

“Veronica.” The professor gets to her feet, her brow furrowed as she looks between the screen full of profiles and me. “What is this? What’s going on here?”

“I don’t know,” I choke out. “That’s not mine. I have no idea how it got up there. I swear!”

But I can tell from the looks on everyone’s faces that no one believes me. And why would they? They all saw my slide come up first. As far as everyone here is concerned, my presentation started exactly as it should have, and then turned into a wall of people’s profiles. They probably think I made it all and put it up there on purpose or by mistake.

My face is on fire. I set up the whole thing myself, checked it, and it was fine. Someone must have messed with it while I was out of the room. The remote slips out of my grip and clatters onto the desk, and a few people snicker at me.

The professor holds up a hand to quiet the room, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “I think you’d better step outside. We’ll sort this out later. Please take your things and go.”

There’s nothing I can say to that, so I grab my note cards and shove them into my bag while my face burns hotter than ever. I yank my flash drive out of the computer and jam it into my pocket, and the whole time I can feel every pair of eyes in the room fixed on me. I head for the door without looking at anyone, and the laughing and whispering trail me out into the hallway.

Once the door shuts behind me, I lean against the wall and try to catch my breath. Through the door, I can still hear bits of the laughing, whispering, and the professor’s voice trying to bring the room back to order.

What the fuck just happened in there? One moment I was doing fine and finally relaxing, and the next, I got thrown out for putting people’s profiles up on the screen, which I would never do in a million years.

I worked so hard to get here, and now it could all go up in flames. They’re going to call me in for a hearing. I’m sure of it. Stuff like this doesn’t just get brushed off and forgotten, not when it’s people’s personal accounts displayed in a classroom for everyone to gawk at. Someone’s going to want a full explanation and probably a punishment to go with it.