Chapter 39: The Official
The letter from the student conduct office arrived on a Tuesday.
Not an email. An actual letter, slid under my door sometime between seven and eight in the morning while I was in the shower. I found it when I came back to my room with my towel still in my hair and my coffee going cold on the desk.
I sat on my bed and read it twice.
The language was formal and careful the way official things always were — measured sentences, institutional weight. But the content was clear. Following a review of my report and witness statements gathered over the past five working days, the student conduct committee had found sufficient evidence to issue formal warnings to both Amber Liu and Jade Summers for conduct violations relating to physical intimidation and the unauthorized recording and public distribution of a fellow student in a distressing situation. Both students had been notified. Both had been placed on behavioral contracts for the remainder of the academic year. Any further violations would result in escalated disciplinary action including potential suspension.
I put the letter on my desk.
Sat there for a moment.
It was not a perfect outcome. They were not expelled. The photos were still online — Amber had taken them down two days after I filed the report but screenshots existed and the internet had a long memory. Nothing fully undid what had already happened.
But it was on record. Officially. With both their names attached to it.
Four years of Tyler. Months of Amber. And now — on record.
I took a photo of the letter and sent it to Priya.
She replied in four seconds.
Priya: ZARA.
Priya: BEHAVIORAL CONTRACTS.
Priya: ON RECORD.
Priya: I need to sit down I am already sitting down but I need to sit down again.
I sent it to Chase next.
He called instead of texting. Picked up before I even heard it ring on my end.
"Good," he said. Just that. One word. But the way he said it — low and certain and completely satisfied — was the most complete response anyone had given me.
"It's not everything," I said.
"It's something," he said. "It's official and it's real and it has their names on it. That matters."
He was right. It mattered.
I folded the letter and put it in the front pocket of my journal. Not to look at every day. Just to know it was there. Just because some things needed to be kept.
— — —
That evening Priya texted at nine forty-seven.
Priya: Riley is at my door.
Priya: she just knocked. she's standing in my doorway RIGHT NOW.
Priya: Zara what do I do.
Me: open the door wider and let her in.
Priya: I did that already she's inside now.
Priya: she has her sketchbook. she said she finished something and wanted me to see it.
Priya: Zara she's sitting on my bed looking at me. I cannot text anymore goodbye.
I put my phone down and looked at the ceiling and smiled.
Forty minutes passed.
Then: Priya sent me a single photo. No caption. No words.
It was the sketch Riley had finished. A new one — not the portrait from before. This one was the two of them, drawn from memory or imagination or both, sitting side by side somewhere with their shoulders touching and Priya's head turned slightly toward Riley and Riley looking straight ahead but with the smile that was always deciding whether to arrive fully present on her face.
Underneath it in Riley's handwriting: for Priya. who I kept thinking about.
I stared at the photo for a long time.
Then Priya sent one more message.
Priya: she kissed me.
Priya: Zara she kissed me and I cried. I actually cried. she wiped my face and laughed and kissed me again.
Priya: I don't know what I am or what any of this means yet but I know that it felt like the truest thing.
Priya: I just wanted you to know.
I read that message four times.
Then I typed back: I'm so happy for you. I mean that completely.
She sent back a single heart and went offline.
I lay back on my bed in the dark and thought about Priya in her room right now with Riley and the sketch and whatever was just beginning between them, figuring itself out in real time without a map or a guarantee.
And I thought: good. Finally. Good.