I found out later how she did it.

On a Tuesday afternoon, Viviana Crawford walked into the electronics shop on Walnut Street. She bought a miniature earpiece. It was flesh-colored and smaller than a pea. She paid with her sorority's credit card, because it wasn't her money and nobody ever checked.

Then she built me a past.

She made an email account under my name. She made a payment record to a tutor named Kyle Brandt. He was famous on campus for selling old exams. She made scanned answer sheets with slanted sevens and looped *g*'s, just like his handwriting. Every file had a date. Every date made sense.

It was beautiful work. It was all a lie.

---

The Econometrics final was on Monday. I sat in seat 14C, like I always did.

Forty minutes in, the proctor stopped beside me. He bent down and picked something up from under my chair. He held it up to the light.

The room went silent. Then forty phones came out.

"Miss Carpenter," he said. "Is this yours?"

"N-n—" My throat locked. "N-no. I— I've n-n-never—"

"Pencil down, please."

I put it down. My hand was shaking so hard it rolled off the desk.

---

The hearing was on Thursday, in a conference room on the fourth floor. The radiator hissed. The windows were fogged. Five professors sat at a long table. I sat alone in a single chair in front of them.

The department chair, Dr. Hollis, slid the folder across the table. Emails. Payments. Answer sheets with slanted sevens.

"These came from your account," he said. "Can you explain them?"

I knew what I wanted to say. *I've never met Kyle Brandt. I don't need anyone's answers. Check my grades. Check my whole life.*

"I— I d-d-didn't— Th-that acc— acc—"

One professor checked his watch. Another wrote something down and didn't look up.

"Take your time," Hollis said. But his pen was tapping.

"S-s-someone—" My voice was almost a whisper now. "S-someone m-made—"

The door opened behind me.

I turned. My heart jumped before I could stop it.

Bryce stood in the doorway. Navy blazer. Hair pushed back. The silver watch with the dark blue face on his wrist.

For one stupid second, I thought he had come for me.

"Mr. Elliott asked to give a statement," Hollis said. "As someone who knows Miss Carpenter personally."

Bryce didn't look at me. He looked at the panel.

"I've known Sloane since we were kids," he said. "She's under a lot of pressure. Her speech makes school hard for her. Harder than she lets people see."

I stared at him. *Say it,* I begged inside. *Say I'd never do this. You know I'd never.*

"So honestly?" He shrugged a little. "I wouldn't be surprised if she resorted to desperate measures."

The radiator hissed.

I looked up at him. I let him see my face. All of it. Ten years of it. One last little light, still burning somewhere behind my eyes.

He finally met my gaze. Just for a second.

Then he checked his watch.

Something in me went out. Quietly, like a candle at the end of a long night.

"Thank you, Mr. Elliott," Hollis said.

Bryce nodded and left. He didn't close the door all the way. Through the gap, I saw a flash of perfect blonde hair waiting at the end of the hallway. A hand with nude nails reached out and squeezed his arm.

The panel talked in low voices. It didn't take long.

"Miss Carpenter, we find the evidence sufficient. Your honors standing is revoked, effective immediately. A notation will be placed in your permanent file."

I didn't argue. I couldn't.

I just nodded. My nails dug into my palm until the scar under my sleeve burned.

---

I was still in the chair when the door banged open.

Professor Nelson came in fast. Her gray hair was falling out of its clip. She was out of breath, and she held a thick manila folder against her chest.

"Is it over?" she asked.

"Four minutes ago, Eleanor," Hollis said.

"Then reopen it." She dropped the folder on the table. "Credit card receipts. The earpiece was bought at Campus Tech on Walnut, nine days ago. Charged to the Kappa Theta house account. Viviana Crawford is the treasurer."

Nobody spoke. Hollis didn't even touch the folder.

"That's circumstantial," he said.

"It's a receipt with a time stamp. That's the opposite of circumstantial."

"The panel has ruled."

"The panel ruled on forged evidence." Her voice stayed flat and calm, but her knuckles were white on the table's edge. "You know who's behind this, Martin."

Hollis took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"The Elliott family is funding the new wing," he said quietly. "Construction starts in June. Mr. Elliott just made a statement on the record. Do you understand what you're asking me to do?"

"I'm asking you to do your job."

He looked at her for a long moment. Then he picked up the folder, opened his desk drawer, and slid it inside.

The drawer closed with a soft click.

That was all. A small sound. Like a lock.

Professor Nelson turned to me. Her eyes were wet. She didn't hide it.

"Sloane," she said. "I'm so sorry. I was too late."

I wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault. I wanted to thank her. She was the only one who had come running.

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out. Not even the first sound.

I stood up and walked out. Down the hall, past the window where Bryce had stood. I took the stairs.

But not down.

I kept climbing, and I didn't know why yet.