Page 120 of Triple Play
I hand him my phone.
He reads it. Goes very still. “Shit.”
“What?” Wyatt’s awake now, propped up on one elbow.
“Campus housing called a meeting. ‘Residential violation’ was the exact wording.”
Jordie snatches the phone. Reads it. His face goes pale. “They know. Fucking Carol.”
“We don’t know that,” I start, but even I don’t believe it.
“They know,” Grant repeats. His voice is flat. Dead. “Someone reported us.”
We all sit there in silence for a second, the weight of it settling.
Then Wyatt speaks, quiet and controlled. “Who would—”
“Does it matter?” Grant’s already getting up, pulling on clothes with sharp, angry movements. “We knew this was a risk.”
“A risk we agreed to take,” Jordie says. There’s an edge in his voice I rarely hear. “Together.”
“Yeah, well, together we’re about to get expelled.”
“Grant—”
“Don’t.” He rounds on me. “Don’t tell me it’s going to be fine. You could lose your med school chances. All of them. And Wyatt could lose his scholarship, and Jordie could—we’re all screwed, Elise. Because we couldn’t keep our hands off each other for one semester.”
The words land like a slap.
“You don’t mean that,” I say quietly.
He won’t look at me. “Meeting’s at ten. We should probably figure out what we’re going to say.”
He leaves. Just walks out of his own room and I hear the bathroom door slam thirty seconds later.
Jordie’s the first to speak. “He’s scared.”
“He’s an asshole,” Wyatt corrects.
“He’s both.” I’m already getting up, searching for clothes. “And he’s right. We’re about to lose everything.”
The housing office smells like stale coffee and disappointment.
Carol—the administrator who assigned us the townhouse in the first place—is sitting behind her desk with an expression thatcould freeze lava. There’s someone else too. A man in a suit I don’t recognize.
“Sit.” Carol gestures to the four chairs arranged in front of her desk like we’re about to face a firing squad.
We sit.
The man in the suit speaks first. “I’m Dean Morrison. Student Affairs.” He opens a folder on the desk. “We’ve received multiple reports regarding the nature of your living arrangement.”
My heart is trying to beat out of my chest.
“Multiple?” Jordie’s voice is careful. Controlled.
“Three separate complaints over the past month.” Dean Morrison slides a paper across the desk. “All anonymous. All alleging that the four of you are engaged in—” He pauses like the words physically pain him. “—an intimate relationship that violates your housing contract.”
Grant’s jaw is so tight I can hear his teeth grinding.
