Epilogue

In the end, five fraternities are suspended. Two of the five lose their national charters. And twelve students, including eight fraternity brothers, are expelled. One of the remaining four is Ellie.

She did end up calling me back. I got a long, rambling voicemail where she threatened to kick my ass multiple times, then two more voicemails from guys I've never met threatening worse. I took everything to the police, and even though they weren't happy that Three and I ran the drug story without notifying them first, I was able to get a restraining order. Even better—so was Three.

And eventually, there were arrests, the most surprising being two alumni who were supplying—information Three and I were able to get through some of the former fraternity brothers we reached out to on social media. That, the police were happy to accept from us.

To top it all off, Two Minute News, against all odds, made sure the story was heard far and wide across campus. I guess they wanted to make amends for fumbling the counterfeit Adderall story last year. They did a weeklong series called "Two Minute Breakdown" where they covered everyone involved, from powerful alumni all the way down to Ellie. One of the contributors even reached out to the Torch to fact-check some new details, which nearly sent Christopher's head rolling across the newsroom floor from the shock.

As for the outcome, well, we know far more people were involved than we were able to pinpoint ourselves. But it could have taken us years to prove who knew what and how deep into the organizations it really went. Three and I are happy with what we ended up with. It's the police's job to finish it now. We can only hope that anyone else who slipped by is caught during the investigation.

It shouldn't surprise me that after all the excitement of busting up a campus drug ring with my boyfriend, returning to our regular lives and stories feels sort of anticlimactic.

"I hope I'm not turning into an adrenaline junkie," I say to Dara and Madison over lunch one afternoon. We're meeting between classes, and the dining hall is packed and loud. "But no one has threatened to beat my ass in at least two months, and I'm kind of bored."

Dara tosses a fry at me. "If you keep flaunting your boyfriend around our room, I'll threaten to beat your ass."

Madison giggles, covering her mouth when I turn my wide-eyed look on her.

"Madison! You aren't supposed to condone violence!"

"You're absolutely right." She picks up her sandwich, hiding the remnants of her grin. "Besides, Dara, I thought you said you're too busy for dating now."

Dara straightens in her seat, squaring her shoulders. "That's true. I might die a virgin, but at least I'll have the BSM to keep me occupied."

Last month, Dara started a campus organization called Black Students in Marketing for the other Black students in her major. They use it for networking, but they've also been going to Black-owned businesses around Columbus to offer free consultations on fresh marketing strategies. Three covered a story on them for Campus Life a few weeks ago.

"But that doesn't mean I'm totally off the sauce," Dara adds, grabbing her phone when it vibrates. "Buckonnect still might give me my love connection before the end of the year. If the usership keeps increasing, my odds can only get better, right? I mean, even Madison was on Buckonnect for a minute."

"A literal minute," I say with a laugh. "But at least long enough to help me with this story." I pat my bag. "Don't forget to answer the follow-up questions I sent you both by tonight, okay? I need to get this to Sabina tomorrow, or I might have to worry about her beating my ass."

"Oh, please." Dara snorts. "She wouldn't touch her protégé. Especially when the Focus Lens is keeping the Torch on everyone's radar."

I flush with pride. The human-interest pieces I've been doing for the Torch for the last month and a half have been a big hit. We rode the wave of success off the drug-ring scandal while we got the Focus Lens up and running, and now that it's established, I think our instincts were right—people like to read about other people.

As we near the last month of the semester, I've shifted to my next story—"Buckonnect: A Year in Review," an exploration of the different experiences people have had using the app, from serious couples to hookups to ghosting. Racism, sexism, unsolicited nudes. The highs and lows of dating apps, especially an anonymous one. And what that looks like through the narrow lens of a college campus, where the pool of possibilities is so much smaller than what you'd find on a regular dating app—meaning the great experiences are especially nice, and the terrible experiences are especially disappointing.

It's the first story Three ever did, but with my twist on it—a focused lens, just like the Focus Lens calls for with every story.

Dara's phone buzzes again, and she swears. "I forgot I have to meet Kayla. She's planning this thing for her and Yasmin's six-month anniversary, and I promised I'd help." She grabs her bag off the back of her chair and shoulders it, balancing her tray on one hand. "I'll see you at home!"

Madison smiles to herself as Dara rushes off. "I love that we call it home."

I do too. Because even though we still call our parents' houses "home," our suite feels the same. A place where we can retreat from the stresses of the day. Where we can relax—sometimes alone, and sometimes with each other.

Speaking of parents, things with mine have been steadily improving. Over spring break, we planned our summer vacation—a week at Ancient Lore Village in Knoxville. It's technically a compromise, but I think I might be looking forward to it even more than they are. I love that my parents are big nerds, that they get excited over things like the Renaissance Faire and Comic-Con, and I've realized that occasionally, it's fun to share in that with them.

"Oh hey," Dara says quickly, stopping back at our table on her way out. "We should talk about next year soon. Most people pick fall housing by the end of the semester. Do either of you have other plans?"

"Other housing plans?" I ask.

Dara gives me a look. "Yeah, like are you planning to shack up in sin with your boyfriend, or should the three of us start looking for an apartment?"

Madison beams. "I'd love to live with you next year."

I tilt my head, sending Dara a sly grin. "As long as you don't mind me flaunting my boyfriend around our apartment."

Dara rolls her eyes. "Why not prolong my personal hellscape another year?" She shoots me little finger guns. "I love to suffer!" She smiles and gives a big wave as she runs off. "See you later, roomies!"

"How do I nicely tell her that I hate the word ‘roomies'?" I ask Madison.

Madison smiles. "Don't ruin her fun. I think she loves saying it."

When I get to the Torch office, the Logans are locked in a heated argument, as is customary. They're our new grunts: Logan Day, hired first and trained by me when she and I were sharing the grunt desk, and Logan Takano, who was hired just before I started working on the Focus Lens and trained by Logan Day, who has never once, for a single second, let him forget it.

We call them Day and Takano separately, but together, they are the Logans. No one even calls them "the grunts."

Today, Day looms over Takano, hands on her hips. "You said you'd handle transcribing those interviews for Mel—"

"No, that's not what I said," Takano replies, forever calm in response to Day's admittedly terrible temper. "If you'd pull out those Takano-specific ear plugs you've got, you'd know—"

She cuts him off. "Ear plugs? Oh my god, you're insufferable!"

"Were we that adorable when we fought?" a voice says in my ear.

I smile, twisting around to face Three, who's just come in the door behind me. He's wearing his work clothes—jeans with a red polo shirt from the indie movie theater across the street from campus. He landed a job there a couple of months ago, and his free-ticket perk means we spend a lot of date nights watching movies no one has ever heard of.

"?‘Fought'?" I ask him. "Like, past tense?" I tuck my fingertips into the waist of his jeans, tugging him closer. Everyone at the Torch knows we're dating, but we still try to keep things subtle in the office. Though we sometimes make out on the grunt desk when the newsroom is empty, for old times' sake. "Did you forget yesterday, when you were complaining that I monopolize the Logans' time for my stories?"

Three frowns. "Well, that was yesterday. So… past tense."

I give him a sweet smile. "We're about to have a present-tense fight if you keep being so annoying."

"Oh no, not a present-tense fight." He squeezes my hand briefly, leaning in to whisper, "You know how I feel about those." The look he gives me is pure heat as he runs a finger down the center of my palm.

I feel that touch everywhere.

Three grins, all boyish innocence as he steps past me and starts toward his desk.

"You're evil," I say, following.

"Yeah, but you'd be bored if I wasn't," he replies.

The Logans' fight gains momentum, until Christopher has to step in and threaten to separate them.

Three slides into his seat while I drop into the one across from him. Rather than sharing a single desk, we now sit face-to-face—Three at Mel's old desk, and me at a spare we moved in from another office. Mine is slightly smaller, but his wobbles, so it feels fair.

I'm looking over my notes from my initial interview with Madison about Buckonnect when my email pings. When I click over to my inbox, I nearly choke.

I lock eyes with Three. "Did you just…?"

"Yeah." His face has paled. "Should we…"

"On three?"

He smiles. "That's your favorite number, isn't it?"

Some of the nerves twisting my stomach ease. "One," I say.

"Two," says Three.

"Three."

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried when I submitted my journalism school application nearly two months ago. The Focus Lens was just up and running with only one story on it, and I didn't have any awards or scholarships to pad my résumé. My biggest article had a shared byline. And I had competition not only in Three but in the podcasters, Two Minute News contributors, and YouTube channel broadcasters who'd spent the year covering their own stories, adding each crumb to their portfolios, same as me. Many of them likely had even more of their own work to choose from than I did in the end.

But apparently the faculty board saw merit in everything I'd done this year—the porn ban story sweeping campus and inspiring opposition from a fraternity, the impact Kate and her daughter had on my journalism path, the letters I was able to get from some of the restaurant owners that run Claude's Holidays for Everyone after they got an influx of volunteers from a philanthropic group on campus. And of course, even though I shared the byline with a cowriter, the Dirty Five story was huge.

I look up, trying to rein in my excitement. But Three is already looking at me, a wide grin on his face.

"Never go to Vegas, Evans." He tosses a crumpled sticky note at me, and it nails me in the forehead. "Congratulations."

I pick up the sticky note and lob it back at him. "And? Will we be fighting for the best journalism professors when we pick our fall schedules?"

"Fight?" He blows out a raspberry. "I won't need to fight with you. My GPA is better, which means I'll get to pick first."

I glower at him. "You really know how to fuck up a good moment."

"Congratulate me."

"Congratulations," I grumble begrudgingly. "You know, my GPA would be fine if it weren't for that stupid statistics class last semester!"

Three gives a noncommittal shrug.

"You are so annoying." I drop my gaze to my computer, clicking hard as I navigate away from my email.

"Hey," he says after a minute. "Evans. I got you a gift."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, right."

"No, seriously. Look."

When I drag my gaze up, he's hunched over, reaching under his desk.

I crane to see, but my expression flattens when he pulls his empty hand from beneath the desk, middle finger pointed at me.

I pucker sourly, but I'm fighting a smile.

He grins, knowing he's caught me. "Just my way of saying…" He leans in, hiding his face from the other half of the room as he mouths, I love you.

"Hey, I've got something for you too." I reach under my desk, then lift both hands, double middle fingers pointed back at him.

Three grins, settling in his chair as he returns to his work.

He knows, of course, exactly what I mean.

I love you too.