This could've been my home for the year.
Of everything that could be racing through my mind as I climb the stairs of Hanna's apartment block, it's this that keeps ringing over and over. Back in the spring, this had been a clear winner in the mediocre bunch we traipsed round to view. A new-ish building, with twenty-four-hour security, only a ten-minute walk from campus. Slightly more expensive than both Hanna and I had in mind, but, like we told ourselves, miles better value than our overpriced first-year dorms.
Needless to say, that stings a little more now.
The apartment is only on the second floor, and barely a minute after being buzzed in, I'm standing at her front door. I take a deep breath, reach up, and press the doorbell.
After the echo fades, there's a slightly-too-long window of silence: the perfect length of time to second guess myself. To wonder whether I should've abandoned my stuff and saved myself the awkwardness of this encounter altogether. But then, slippered footsteps on a laminate floor, the rattle of a chain being unhooked...
And Hanna is right there, looking at me. Dressed in gray sweats and a baggy T-shirt—but also with a gorgeous golden tan, freshly curled hair, and meticulously applied false lashes. She must be going out tonight.
"Oh!" she says, with a slight squeak to her voice, as she pulls the door open fully. "Morgan. Hey."
"Hi." I clear my throat after it comes out croaky. "Uh... how's it going?"
"It's going good, yeah!" Her words come out in a rush; I also notice the rapid movement of her eyes, darting across my face as if searching for a trace of something. When her gaze meets mine once more, I can't tell whether she's found it or not. "God, it's been a while. How are you?"
A loaded question—one I could probably spend all evening answering. But I don't think that's what she has in mind. So I settle for, "Yeah, I'm okay."
"Good!" She smiles slightly too widely, then glances over her shoulder. "That's, uh... really good to hear. Well, don't feel like you have to stand in the hall—come in."
For a moment, I hesitate, wondering if it's a good idea to follow. There's something about her I can't put my finger on—and not just awkwardness, because I expected that from the outset. After all, we've become strangers over the summer, our years of friendship fading to a high-school memory, both of us having grown up faster than expected in the time spent apart. We're way past the point of going back to normal in a heartbeat.
But there's still something off, somehow.
I have no choice but to follow her through the doorway. Inside, the apartment is as bland as I remember it, all easy-clean laminate and cheap IKEA furniture, although it's improved now it's filled with Hanna's stuff instead of a stranger's. Her vast shoe collection is piled up by the front door, a multitude of feminist quote posters are pinned up on the walls, and her favorite perfume wafts in the air; she can't have been here more than a couple of weeks, but she's already made a bigger mark on her home than I know I'll do all year.
"Drink?" she asks, as we head for the kitchen. "Devon brought this fancy coffee machine with her from home, and Anna's got the world's biggest collection of green tea, or there are plenty of cans of soda in the fridge..."
I don't really want anything, but it's an opportunity to stave off the awkward silence for a moment longer. "A glass of water would be great, actually."
"Sure." Hanna turns her back and reaches into one of the cupboards. I tap one hand rhythmically—one, two, three, one, two, three—against the side of my leg to distract myself until she places the glass on the counter in front of me. "Here."
I take a sip. "Thanks."
The silence I've been afraid of ensues. Hanna's looking at me, clearly racking her brains for something to say, but comes up short. For the first time in our friendship, I'm the one to speak up.
"How was Europe?"
Her eyes spark to life, and I see her relax. "It was great!" she says. "The trip of a lifetime, you know? Beautiful cities, incredible food... and maybe also a little too much alcohol. But so totally worth blowing all that prize money instead of saving."
I manage a smile. Honestly, I can't blame her; if anyone deserves a whirlwind overseas adventure, it's Hanna. For as long as I've known her, she and her mom have never had a lot of money to spare. She's been working from the minute she was old enough to get a part-time job, picking up shifts left, right and center to help out. Even when her mom insisted she keep the money for herself, Hanna would secretly slip twenties into her wallet one at a time—saying all she wanted was to make life a little easier.
She got a full ride to Davidson on a literary scholarship, and her writing talent has buoyed her ever since. Between essay contests, freelance copywriting, and the advertising she's now managed to pull in on the GXRL website, Hanna has well and truly embraced the art of the side hustle.
So when she was awarded the Davidson Prize for her outstanding contribution to campus journalism at the end of last year, with a grant of several thousand dollars, I couldn't blame her for not wanting to be sensible.
"Sounds amazing," I say. "But also terrifying. I don't think I could do that alone."
"You get used to it pretty quickly," she tells me. "And there are a lot of people out there in the same boat. Turns out there's no bonding experience quite like staying in a twelve-person dorm."
I laugh politely. "Right."
Hanna looks down at her hands, fiddling with an acrylic nail. "Yeah," she breathes. "Two months, and now it's all over. Just a whole year of crazy hard work ahead of me."
I nod, not sure how to continue the conversation, and there's a beat of silence before Hanna's eyes flicker back up to me.
"You've been okay, then?" she asks. "I did try to reach out, to check in, but..."
"I know," I cut in, because I don't want to hear her say it. "I wasn't really in a place to talk to anyone. It wasn't personal. It's just... it's been a rough few months."
"I get it," Hanna says quietly, warily. "But now you're back. That's progress, right?"
"Yeah. It is."
Once again, we fall into silence. There's something uncomfortable about the way she keeps her eyes on me; they're full of heavy-duty concern, like if I suddenly fall apart in the middle of her kitchen, it will be her fault.
There's so much I want to say. So much I feel like I have to say if I want to stop the rift between us widening any further. I should be explaining how the last six months have been the worst of my life, how Josh's death caused me to spiral so far down that dark hole that no well-meaning hand could reach in and pull me out. I know Hanna tried, and I also know she wouldn't have hesitated to abandon her summer plans and stay home with me if only I'd confessed how bad things were.
But I hadn't. And now we're here, like this, with no one to blame but me.
"I should probably get my stuff," I say. "I'm guessing you need to finish getting ready."
"Oh!" She emerges from a daze, like she's forgotten she's half dressed up. "You're right. First big party of the year—I probably shouldn't turn up in sweats." She laughs half-heartedly.
"Yeah," I say, forcing yet another smile. "Maybe not."
If I was any other person, she probably would ask if I was coming—maybe even insist I tag along. But despite the distance, she knows me better than anyone, and therefore doesn't bother.
"Well," she continues, "your stuff's in my room. Mostly just books, and I think some old class notes. It only ended up being a couple of bags, so it shouldn't be too horrible to carry back. It's just through here..."
And that's it: our conversation is over. There's nothing left to do but follow Hanna into her room and remove the last traces of me from her apartment. As I sling the bags over my shoulder, wobbling a little under their unexpected weight, I assume there's nothing more to come. And it certainly seems that way—right up until the moment we get to the front door again.
We're supposed to be saying goodbye, but Hanna's wary eyes are back on me like a spotlight, and the expression on her face tells me there's something much, much bigger going on.
"What?" I ask. "Is there something wrong?"
Her brows edge together in a frown, and I'm sure I can see a bead of sweat on her bronzed forehead. "Look... I know I've said a few things about Josh in the past," she begins slowly. "Things you haven't always agreed with. But... you know I wasn't doing it to be nasty, don't you? It was always because I was trying to look out for you."
What?
"I don't understand—"
"Believe me," she interjects. "I was only trying to do the right thing."
My mouth moves, but no words come out; I can't understand what's happening. Why she's bringing up Josh now, when we were so close to making it out of this conversation relatively unscathed. All this time we hadn't mentioned his name, we still stood a chance of pretending everything hadn't happened—that his death wasn't still sending shockwaves through campus all these months later, and that I was returning for this semester as something other than severely damaged goods.
I don't understand why she would try to derail me now.
"Hanna..."
She smiles, closed-lipped, like we've reached some kind of agreement I don't know about. "I'm really happy you're back, Morgan," she says. "I think it'll be good for you. For both of us."
"Yeah," I say, even though I'm no longer sure what we're talking about. "Me, too."
***
I don't realize what our exchange truly meant until later that night. By then, I'm curled up under stiff new bedsheets, trying to ignore the muffled sound of a freshman party on the other side of the door, scrolling through my Twitter feed so I don't have to let my thoughts wander unsupervised in the dark. I must've refreshed my timeline fifty times already. I keep doing it, over and over until my eyes blur and I'm barely reading the words onscreen—but as I hit the button once more, a new Tweet pops up that makes my vision focus and my heart lurch.
It's from a girl who was in one of my classes last year: a link to an article from the GXRL website. She's captioned it: Shocking. Everyone on campus needs to see this.
In the article preview, the headline is cut off, but it's the photo attached that drives a knife through my gut. A smiling Josh, the picture taken straight from his Facebook profile, his teeth white and his hair windswept and his eyes crinkled with a laugh I'll never get to hear again.
My thumb trembles as I click the link.
The screen is blank for a second as the page loads. Then, the story is laid bare in front of me.
JOSH KELLEY: THE UNPOLISHED TRUTH ABOUT CAMPUS' GOLDEN BOY, the headline reads.
And underneath, a brief introduction to what looks like a full-length feature:
EXCLUSIVE: Six months after sophomore Josh Kelley's death rocked the university, and tributes poured in for the popular engineering student and dedicated volunteer, an investigation by GXRL reveals there's a darker layer to his story. Among shocking allegations of abusive behavior, sexual assault and cover-ups by Davidson faculty, one anonymous reader bravely shares their story—one that will change perceptions of the late Josh Kelley for good.
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I was just fully in bed, tucked up under the covers and trying to fall asleep... when I realised it was Monday and I hadn't uploaded this chapter. So I'm up again, posting this, because there's no way I'm slacking this early in the story.
Don't say I'm not committed to you guys ;)
Have a great week!
- Leigh