Frat Girl. Kiley Roache

from her eyes.

      This stupid system is too slow. I drop the MacBook on the steel table, cross the room and push open the heavy door without thinking.

      There’s the flutter of a blue dress at the end of the hall before it disappears behind a door marked “Women.”

      I practically sprint down the hall, my patent leather flats slapping the floor. A door to my right flies open. It’s Stephanie, headed to get the next interviewee, like nothing happened.

      Her eyes grow wide as she looks at me, the door swinging shut behind her. “You aren’t supposed to be out here.”

      But I don’t stop.

      “Come back!” she yells after me. But I’m already at the bathroom door.

      Lily is braced over the sink, looking like she might be sick.

      “Hi.”

      “Hi?” She turns to take me in, her eyes scanning me, trying to figure out if she knows me.

      “My name is Cassie Davis. I was, uh, behind the mirror.”

      “Oh.” She stands up. “That’s a little...”

      I swallow. “I know. I’m sorry.”

      “No, it’s fine, I, uh, I knew someone was back there. I just didn’t think it was someone so...” She gestures vaguely, a tissue in her hand.

      I nod, although I have no idea what she means. Her eyebrows furrow. “Are you supposed to follow me into the bathroom?”

      I step back. “Uh...probably not. I’m not here, like, officially.” I gesture behind me. “I can go if you want.” My fingers brush the doorknob.

      “No.” She bites her lip. “Please, I just...need someone. If that’s okay. Not that—It’s just... I’m just—”

      My hand drops from the knob. “No need to explain.”

      The door swings open behind me. “Observer 2!” Stephanie says.

      I step in front of her. “Will you just give us a—”

      “No, you can’t.”

      I look from her to Lily.

      “It’s fine,” she says. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

      “Just give me a second, okay?” I exhale. “Stephanie, can I speak to you in the hall?”

      “I guess...”

      I step forward, closing the door behind me to give Lily privacy. “Really?” I say through gritted teeth.

      Stephanie is even more frazzled than I would have expected. “You’re not supposed to be out here. And you’re definitely not supposed to be talking to subjects outside the interviews.” She emphasizes every other word by waving her clipboard.

      “She needs me.”

      “It’s against all the rules. If you break the rules, you can’t keep being part of the study.”

      “Then I quit,” I say without a pause.

      “What? I’m—”

      I head back into the room, swinging the door closed before I hear what Stephanie plans to do. I lean against the door so she can’t follow and turn back to Lily.

      “I’m sorry,” I say. She just looks through me, so I keep talking. “And I’m sorry about earlier, about this whole thing—that was probably not easy to talk about.”

      “You think?” Her voice is sharp.

      I look down. I’m never good in situations like this. Alex is always better, with her bits of gritty wisdom, quotes from old songs and beat poetry.

      “Are you okay?” I ask, not sure what else to do.

      “No.” She licks her lips, wet with tears. “I mean, I am. I mean, I just don’t know.” She laughs manically and sits on the floor.

      I reach for the paper towel dispenser and quickly hand her a piece. “So you don’t ruin your dress.”

      She nods and takes it, slides it under her butt. I hand her another one, to wipe her face, then sit down beside her.

      “He’s in jail now.” She dabs her eyes, looking up to the ceiling, a smudge of watery charcoal liner below her lashes. “My case was still being processed, whatever that means, when a girl walked in on him attacking her roommate. Since there was a witness, the case went pretty quickly.”

      For a second there’s just the sound of a leaky faucet and two heartbeats.

      She twists the paper towel in her hands. “Doesn’t really make it better, though.” She exhales and looks at me. But there’s nothing to say. “I mean it’s not—I try to not let it ruin my life, because then he’s hurt me twice, you know, and I won’t give him that. But sometimes when I talk about it, I still, you know, I get—” A tear slides down her bright red face. She swipes at it aggressively. “Shit, I’m crying again.”

      I take her hands. She exhales, and it sounds jagged. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “You’re okay. Breathe.”

      * * *

      I can hear Madison Macey screaming through the receiver. I can’t make out everything, but I’ve heard enough snippets—“our investment,” “Cassandra,” “risk everything,” “basic academic procedure”—to get the idea.

      Professor Price’s assistant sent me in midway through the call, at which point I was immediately keen to leave, but she gestured for me to wait. So here I sit in the chair in the corner and stare at my hands, trying to make myself as small as possible.

      Professor Price gives one-word responses, and no indication of her opinion on the matter: “Yes.” “Sure.” “That’s reasonable.” “I see where you’re coming from.”

      She doesn’t look over at me, instead just making brief notes or spinning in her chair and glancing out the big window. I turn back to my hands, studying my bracelet and chipped nail polish.

      “All right, I’ll let her know. Thank you.” The phone snaps back into its cradle.

      I look up. Professor Price is leaning back in her chair, still looking at the phone.

      “Well, you’re in quite a bit of trouble.” She looks at me for the first time since I entered.

      “I can expl—”

      She waves her hand to silence me. “They’re right. The fact of the matter is you violated the rules of the study and risked the exposure of the entire project.”