Sophomore Switch(48)
Author: Abby McDonald

“Well, thank you. I’m glad my control-freakery is good for something.”

“You’re not a control freak.” Ryan’s eyes are soft and sincere. I look away. “No, listen to me, you’re not. So, you like to plan.” He shrugs. “It’s just part of who you are. And it’s great for some things: producing, editing, writing scripts. You talk like it’s such a bad thing, and maybe you take it too far sometimes, but you shouldn’t try and ditch it altogether.”

I nod slowly. “It’s just a slippery slope, you know? One minute I’m working out my study schedule, and the next I have everything planned — right down to bathroom breaks and sleeping. I find it hard to just let go.”

“You don’t say,” Ryan kids. He strokes my hair and leans in to drop a quick kiss on my forehead. “We’ll get you to that happy medium, don’t worry.”

“In fourteen days?” I ask, reminded yet again how close I am to the end.

“No problem.”

25

The day the video broke online, I was more embarrassed than anything. I mean, celebrity sex tapes always seemed kind of tacky, and there I was starring in my very own Parental Advisory show. But Morgan insisted we go celebrate my claim to fame, and by the time she and Lexi had dragged me to every bar on State Street, I figured she had the right idea. Hell, Tyler was a legit Hollywood hottie, my body looked awesome, and most of the action was hidden under the foam. What was the problem? In a few days, nobody would care less what some random college chick did. I know girls with way more scandalous pics lingering on their exes’ hard drives.

And then I woke up the next day to find Shannon had a breakdown on Good Morning America. One minute she’s pimping the DVD box set of 5th Avenue and her plans to launch a pop career; the next she’s weeping into a handy Kleenex. And I don’t mean a real face-screwed-up, nose-dripping crying jag; nope, this was a single precious tear gleaming under the studio lights.

“What I don’t understand,” she says in her soft Southern drawl, sniffling, “is how a girl could set out to seduce him like that.” Pressing a perfectly manicured hand to her chest, she gazes forlornly into the main camera. “Where I come from, there’s something called sisterhood.”

Cue outraged nod from the host. Cue supportive applause. Cue US Weekly cover.

And just like that, I was the enemy.

Slinking into Professor Elliot’s study for class the next morning, it’s as if I’m back at square one. See, usually the most exciting thing that happens around here is student government corruption or, like, a Nobel Prize; give them a sex scandal by a “crazy feminist protestor” and it’s front-page news for sure. That Oxford Student article read more like something from the National Enquirer, so it’s no surprise that Carrie is glaring at me with death-ray eyes, Edwin has that look like he’s picturing me naked, and Elliot is wearing this expression of total disdain.

“You’re late,” Elliot remarks coolly. She jerks her head at the free corner of the couch and picks up her conversation with the other two. I swallow and edge past Carrie, who doesn’t make room or even move her books. Slowly, I shift the stack onto a side table and sit down, already full of nervous dread. I figured they would have cooled down by now.

I was so wrong.

“We were just talking about political principles and integrity.” Carrie turns to me with a mean smile. “What do you think?”

“I . . . umm.” I look down, flushing.

“Because I think that hypocrisy is the worst thing of all. In politicians, I mean. It shows weak character and duplicity. Don’t you think so, Susanne?”

I swallow again, shooting a desperate look at Professor Elliot in the hope she’ll shut Carrie down and just get on with the class, but instead she nods.

“I agree. And what you have to take into consideration is that these people represent their groups. Their actions can taint whole movements.” Her eyes flick over me.

“Right.” Carrie’s lips are thin. “I don’t know how they live with themselves.”

I sit, numb, already shrinking into myself. I used to have defenses against this kind of thing: after a couple of weeks of taking crap back in California, I toughened up. I ignored them. But now I’ve gone soft. Their words cut me, just the way they want them to, and it’s all I can do not to cry. Again.

“Why don’t you read for us, Natasha?” Elliot says, in a voice that makes it clear that’s not a suggestion.

I pull out my pages and try to clear my throat. My essay sucks, I know it does. Nothing Em said on the phone could make me feel any better, so what made perfect sense in the week became these confused, rambling paragraphs. It wasn’t my turn to read, so I figured I’d get away with it. I guess I should have known I can’t get away with anything.

“You did complete the assigned work, didn’t you?”

“Yeah . . . yes.” I swallow again, trying to keep it together. Fixing my eyes on my paper, I begin to read. I struggle to block everything out, but the words stick in my mouth and I stumble over the sentences, making it sound even worse than it is.

“You know, some of us actually put work into this topic,” Carrie says when I’m done, her voice bitchy. “You shouldn’t get to take advantage of that. I mean, where do you start with an argument like that?” She snorts, her face suddenly thin and mean like I’ve never seen it before. “It would be a complete waste of time to even bother.”

“Now, now, Carrie,” Elliot stops her. “Let’s remember that Natasha hasn’t been with us very long.” She pauses. “The Oxford way of doing things sometimes just isn’t . . . suitable for everyone. No need to be so hard on her.”

It seems like she’s defending me, but I know better. Elliot has gone back to that “lost cause” thing she was pulling on me at the start of the semester — like I’m not even worth treating as an equal anymore.

Like I’m less than them.

I spend the rest of the hour slowly dying inside. It’s not just that they hate me; it’s that I finally thought I’d made a new life for myself — a whole new identity. This time around, Natasha Collins was someone people liked, even respected. But now I know the truth, that I can never get past what happened. It doesn’t matter how far I go or how hard I try, I’m stuck with it. As long as Tyler and Shannon are out pimping themselves to every celebrity tabloid in town, I’m screwed.