21. Position of Authority

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Position of Authority

I 'm filled with a sense of well-being, despite everything. The stone bench warms me from underneath like I'm a lizard. A light breeze keeps me from overheating. The sun plays hide and seek behind the clouds, casting an ever-changing pattern of light and shadow over the quad.

Daisy and I are hanging out for a few minutes, after my class and before hers. "I like it," she says of the class, sounding surprised. "I'm making some interesting connections to engineering."

"Really?" I took the same class—and made connections to literature. I suppose we can't ever really disconnect from our majors. They're more than a path of study. They're the lens through which we see the world.

"Like the socio and political factors that influence discovery. We want progress, but science doesn't happen in a vacuum. I'd like to study it more. "

As she continues, I can't help but notice a group of students at a nearby table snickering, their eyes darting in our direction. Weird. I give a subtle glance behind me. Nope, no one there. I look down at my clothes, but my jeans and T-shirt don't have any coffee stains.

"What's wrong?" Daisy asks.

I nod to them. "Do I have the imprint of a book on my face or something? I did fall asleep studying last night. I'm so behind on chemistry."

She glances over, frowning. "No, you're fine. They're being assholes."

"Do you know them?"

"No, but I wouldn't mind going over and introducing myself. It would give me a chance to tell them what I think about—"

"Never mind," I say hastily. "Tell me more about the vacuum thing."

We try to go back to our conversation, but the laughter is hard to ignore. It's like a mosquito buzzing around your head—annoying and persistent. Then, two girls saunter by, not even attempting to stifle their giggles as they stare at us.

"Okay," she says. "Are we being hazed?"

I shake my head, feeling a mix of confusion and embarrassment—though I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be embarrassed about. "I don't know, but we should get going."

She agrees, and we hug before splitting up.

Without the warmth of the stone, the day feels colder. Trees line the path ahead of me like soldiers, their leaves rustling with warning.

A few minutes later, another group of people laugh and point.

Okay, so it was definitely me they're targeting.

What the heck is going on?

The group passes, and that's when I hear it—a snippet of conversation that sends a chill down my spine. "Did you see the latest tea post?" one of them says, followed by a burst of laughter.

My heart skips a beat. Tanglewood Tea.

I duck into the shelter of a building entrance, hands trembling as I pull out my phone. The blood drains from my face as I'm met with Professor Stratford's faculty photo, his stern features twisted into something sinister by a black-and-red filter. The caption reads like a scandal sheet headline: " HOTTEST TEA EVER : Professor Stratford Caught Sleeping with a Student!"

My mind races, replaying every moment I've spent with Stratford in the library, the secluded corners where our passion for Shakespeare—and each other—ignited. Was there a camera? Did I let something slip?

I read the entire post, but it doesn't name me.

Except something made those strangers point and giggle.

I scroll down to the comments.

Students debate Stratford's fate with a mix of moral outrage and lurid fascination. Some demand his dismissal, invoking a morality clause, while others seem more concerned with the professor's undeniable allure.

Then I see it.

The social media app recommends another post, this one referencing the Tanglewood Tea and claiming to work in the administrator's office. They helped create the mentorship schedule for the Tempest Prize, they say.

My name is there, in black and white, for everyone to see.

Anne Hill.

The student most likely to be getting fucked. They can put that under my picture on the yearbook.

The world spins.

My shoulders hit the cold stone of the building. It's out. The secret that could shatter my reputation, my future. Everything.

Do they expel students for that?

Though even if I'm allowed to stay, my name will forever be linked with scandal. Mockery will follow me like a shadow, leaving me cold. If being a woman in academia is hard, being one who fucked a professor will be impossible. The bright future I've envisioned for myself collapses in the span of seconds.

With trembling fingers, I close the app and tuck my phone back into my pocket. I take a deep breath, steeling myself against the whispers and stares that are sure to come. I have to act, to find a way to mitigate the damage, to protect both Stratford and me. But how? I can't even think.

I'm closer to Mayfair than Hathaway. I duck inside the nice dorm, keeping my head down like I'm trying to avoid an unseen threat. Each step feels heavier as I make my way to Carlisle's room.

I knock on the door, half-hoping she's not there. I'm almost too ashamed to face her. She swings the door open. Her eyes go wide with concern. Well, it's clear she's seen the Tanglewood Tea post.

She pulls me inside and shuts the door, her grip firm but gentle.

"Hey," I mumble, not meeting her gaze.

"How are you?" The worry in her voice wraps around me like a warm blanket, but it only makes me feel more exposed .

My voice trembles. "I don't even know."

She guides me to the couch in her suite, sitting me down and then joining me. A soda appears in my hand. I can't even taste the sweetness. But I feel the bubbly effervescence burn down my throat.

"How did this happen?"

Her dark eyes flash on my behalf. "Some asshole in the admin office who wanted to get views, naming you as if that proves anything. He had no right to do that. And he probably violated an NDA, too."

A random post is not proof.

The fact that he mentored me isn't proof, either.

Then again, they don't need proof. It looks like I'm already indicted by the court of public opinion. And I can't even deny it without lying.

"Everyone already believes it. They were pointing. Laughing."

Carlisle swears under her breath. "Those assholes."

"I'm more mad at Tanglewood Tea than anything," I say, my stomach churning with anger. "They're the ones who started this. The other guy wouldn't have even known what to post if they hadn't called out Stratford. "

"Maybe they were trying to help." Her voice is contemplative.

"By humiliating me? By ruining my academic reputation?"

"No, by stopping Professor Stratford. What he's doing isn't right."

I can't help a bitter laugh. "So, you aren't even going to ask if it's true? That I'm the one having an affair with him?"

She shakes her head slowly. "I'm not going to ask."

"Because you already believe it. Like everyone else."

"Listen, if you slept with him, that doesn't reflect on you at all. He's the person in a position of authority. He's the one who took advantage of you."

Even though I understand the argument, even though I might make it if our situations were reversed, something inside me rebels at the idea. It also realizes that this might be really bad for him.

Maybe not in the long term. Men's careers aren't usually penalized for sleeping with young women. But in the short term? Yes.

They might fire him, as the comments suggest.

And it could keep him from exposing the Shakespeare Society.

Is that why they did it?

"Hey, do you think someone paid the Tanglewood Tea to post this? He's been working against this underground society. Maybe if we find out who—"

"I told you last time, there's no breaking through the anonymity. Besides, it doesn't matter. They can't undo it. We need to focus on you right now."

"I'd rather not. It doesn't sound like a great time."

"Listen, I'm going to get my PR person on the phone. She's a big deal. Huge. Like she works for Justin Bieber and Ariana Grande."

"There's no fixing this."

She ignores that and grabs her phone.

I drop back against the couch and bury my face in a pillow as she dials and murmurs to someone on the other end. The reality of everything settles on my chest. I curl up on the couch, my face buried in a pillow.

I'm in the same room but I can't even hear what Carlisle is saying above the dull roar in my head. I can't bring myself to lift my head, to engage with the outside world. It's like I'm trapped in a bubble, the noise of the world around me muffled and distorted.

She returns to me, off the phone now, and takes my hand. "Okay. She says you keep it simple. Don't talk about it. If you're asked about it, don't answer. Or if you really have to, deny it. Say nothing happened."

"But that would be lying."

"Anne. Sweetheart. I love you and your adorable self, but this is not the time for honesty. As long as you don't admit it, you have deniability."

I sigh, not sure I can do it. Not just lie. I'm not sure I can survive being asked. I might just crumble into dust. Actually, that sounds better.

"Though you don't want to lie. The words no comment are your best friends right now. Or just say nothing. Like they ask a question? And silence. Or a sidestep. The less you say, the less ammunition they have."

"Maybe I could do the silence thing, since I don't want to talk to any of them. Forever. I'm just going to climb into a hole."

"You're going to get through this. Don't confirm anything, not to friends, not to the press, and for the love of God, not to the university administration."

My heart thuds. "You think they're going to question me? "

"Maybe. It depends on how Stratford plays this."

I shiver at the idea of being questioned by Dean Morris. I have a thing about authority, especially in academic places.

I'm not sure I can lie to him.

"What if Stratford sues the Tanglewood Tea? He can find out their source. Or at least get them to take their post down."

"He could try, but it's tricky. It's only libel if it's true. And the source might be covered under the freedom of press."

Frustration makes my cheeks warm. "They're not the freaking New York Times. Most of what they post is who's dating who."

Her voice turns gentle. "The damage is probably already done."

"You're right." I drop my head, unable to hold it up. "They could take down the post right now, and everyone would still believe it. Maybe it would even prove it to some of the skeptics."

She pulls me in to a tight hug. "I believe in you."

"I don't know what I would do without you."

"You're not alone in this. We'll get through it, okay?"

I nod against her shoulder, grateful for her support. And her expert knowledge of PR, something I've never dealt with. I never imagined it would even be part of my life. Now I'm caught in a whirlwind of scandal, my future hanging by a thread.