ADORA - PRESENT DAY

I stand in front of the Widener Library at the Harvard Yard. Two janitors are taking down the huge white poster covered with red letters. Sunshine blinds me momentarily, but I can still read the large text.

The Bitch and the Nerd did it.

Unnecessary, childish, and cringe, if you ask me.

But I know what it's about. Everyone does.

Bystanders, tourists and random passengers take photos of the poster, but most of the students are looking straight at me. Those who do not know who I am follow the eyes of their classmates.

Eyes scan me from head to toe. Lips whisper without restraint.

Sweat dampens my straight, brown hair. The yellow, floral-patterned dress feels too tight around my chest. It's too hot for April.

I clutch my Fendi bag tighter, the material scratches my skin. I hold their eye contact, despite the prickling fear crawling up my spine.

This is not good. This is not good at all.

Graham Koch is dead. His body was found on the rooftop of his penthouse in downtown Boston after a night of heavy drinking. A bullet went straight through his mouth and his brainstem.

The police said it was a suicide. Graham's father has already held a press conference and yelled at the camera how he doesn't agree.

Graham's father, Wilfred Koch, is an oil tycoon with more money than he knows how to spend and I'm sure a couple of lawyers will do good to balance his earnings report.

Worse than that, Graham was a part of The Porcellian, an elite, all-male Harvard club. His buddies won't believe he killed himself. My boyfriend won't believe Graham killed himself.

And now, someone spent half the night writing a huge poster that vaguely accused someone of murder.

"Adora!" An annoying voice reaches me and I don't hide my eye-roll as I turn around and face Katie. "What is this?"

Katie is my least favourite Harvard skank – absurdly rich and absurdly fake. Her dyed black hair slightly sways as she walks towards me, her head is high and her boobs on display in her cheap-looking, tight black dress.

She's actually wearing Prada, but it doesn't matter. She looks cheap anyway. Prada should sue her for reputation damage.

"This is a poster, Katie." My voice remains flat. "We've been familiar with those since kindergarten."

"I mean the text, Adora." Katie rolls her blue eyes, her lashes are stuck to one another from too much mascara. "Everyone knows it's about you. And we don't need this kind of thing at La Vie."

And here comes the kicker. Reputation is everything here, especially in the social upper crust of Harvard, where inclusivity and diversity die and money and social status rule.

"Ha!" I fake surprise and smile sweetly, "Never thought someone would think of me as a nerd."

"Don't joke around, this is serious!" Katie puts her hands on her hips. She's slightly shorter than me and as I watch her stand straighter and push her chest out, I think she's trying to appear bigger.

As if someone like Katie could intimidate me.

"This is a prank, Katie." I brush it off. "Plus, you don't know it's about me."

Katie's Botox-filled lips flatten, "I'm afraid you're not taking it seriously, Adora, and La Vie is going to have to take action if accusations like these keep emerging. You better deal with this."

It takes an entire second to lose it.

"Katie, I can see your mouth moving." I quite rudely gesture to her lips. "And I'm not sure whether you're trying to say something or you want someone to shove a cock down your throat. In case it's the latter, I'm not the person you're looking for, and if it's the former, I don't wanna hear it. Goodbye."

Katie's eyes widen.

I think I have anger issues.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" A male voice cracks the tense atmosphere. "No need for such language, Adora." Mark's small laugh is strained and he offers Katie an apologetic glance.

Sweat coats his short, black hair and his Harvard Crimson football jersey. Mark is handsome. He has great bone structure and beautiful, blue eyes. He's a few inches taller than me when I'm wearing heels and constant gym attendance made him bulky.

When life served people their circumstance, it served Mark a buffet. Aside from good genes and his parents' money, Mark also won the popularity contest. He's Harvard's most eligible non-bachelor and when he shows up, Katie zips her slutty mouth and bats her eyes.

"Hey, Mark, how are you dealing with everything?" Katie's voice turns sweeter. "I know Graham was your friend."

Mark opens his mouth-

"It's time to go, Katie." I raise my eyebrow.

"Adora, please." Mark sighs. "This is not the time to be hostile to one another. Katie is just worried, same as everyone else."

I'm about to say something even worse, but I stop myself because my phone rings. I glance at the screen, my heart skips a beat and I drop the phone in my purse. Eric Slade. No need to answer that.

"Sorry." I smile at Katie, my heartbeat turns too insufferable to come up with another insult. "I'm a bit on edge."

"Understandable." Katie's nod is annoyingly serious. "You're both in my prayers."

She walks away.

"And she'll be praying to Satan." I mumble.

"Adora," Mark sighs, "Can we talk somewhere?"

"Walk me to my dorm?" I ignore the stares that follow me as I step away from the Widener Library.

The poster is down, but its memory is carved into my mind. News like that travel fast and it won't be long before it reaches my father. Or the shareholders. And I've worked so hard to earn back their trust.

Mark is quiet while we walk through Harvard Yard.

I don't blame him. Graham Koch was kind of his friend. Mark is also a part of The Porcellian and they were on the same football team. As much as I've gathered, they weren't particularly close, but still.

That's not the only reason he keeps silent. Things are tense between us, but I wholeheartedly ignore that and blame his silence on Graham's suicide.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"It's just crazy, you know?" Mark mutters. "Can't figure why someone like Graham would kill themselves. He had everything."

Having, that's Mark's reference point. People are only happy if they own things; money, cars, girlfriends. It's always about ownership.

"Maybe he was depressed." I offer, knowing none of us knew Graham well enough to guess.

"Whatever." Mark's hand leaves mine. "I doubt he'd do something like that. He thought suicide was for pussies."

Which makes that poster all the more serious.

My voice is quieter than a whisper, "Do you think someone did that to him?"

"I don't know, Adora." Mark shrugs. "But to tell you the truth, I'm a little worried about that poster."

I almost stop in place, "It's a joke. A sick joke."

"The guys at the club don't think so." Mark rubs the nape of his neck. "And it doesn't really matter whether it's a joke or not, it damages reputation either way."

Like I'm not aware of that myself.

"Reputation?" My laugh is strained and resentful. "Mine or yours?"

"Both." Mark sighs.

He's not even trying to hide it. That's the thing about Mark, he's mostly oblivious to the effect his actions or words have on me.

"Why is everyone so quick to assume the poster is referring to me?" I brush it off with a smile, trying to lighten the situation.

"I don't know." Mark is distant, probably worried about his reputation. "No one knows who the nerd might be, though."

"I thought I was the nerd!" I act offended, but it doesn't work.

We're at Harvard. Throw a brick and you'll hit a nerd, but no one has enough balls to be a bitch.

"This is serious." Mark doesn't even smile. "What if the police come to talk to you?"

"Hey, what happened to innocent until proven guilty?" Anger sparks through me. He's regarding this as a done deal, like it doesn't even matter if the poster is full of shit.

"Someone accused you, Adora!" Mark suddenly stops and the intensity in his voice surprises me. "The Porcellian is buzzing about it, how my girlfriend might have killed one of our own! Katie told you La Vie Club wants you to address the accusations. You're behaving like it's nothing."

A crease forms between my brows. My girlfriend. Not me as a person. His girlfriend.

Cold runs down my spine.

"This morning, a poster emerged that vaguely accuses someone of Graham's murder." My finger is lifting on its own, as a warning, as a threat. "I'm behaving like it's nothing because it is nothing. And instead of asking me how I feel being wrongly accused of murder, you're babbling about your reputation."

Mark flinches, "I'm simply telling it like it is."

The corners of my lips lift, "Well, you can tell it to someone else. Goodbye."

"Adora?" Mark's mouth drops. "Come on, you know I know you had nothing to do with it."

I walk away from him.

"Adora, come on!"

I keep walking.

"Someone's trying to pin it on you! I'm just worried, Adora."

"You're worried about yourself!"

With that, I leave him behind and cross the street. There's no way I'm going to stand there and tolerate this nonsense. I have enough on my plate as it is.

I take out my phone and see three missed calls from Eric Slade. Fuck.

Mark's high school best friend. Not the type to go to a fancy college, not the type to go to college at all. I stand in the shade and lean against the wall. Might as well deal with him.

There's no time nor need to address the prickling of my skin, nor my suddenly heightened senses and the rapid beating of my heart, because he calls again.

"What?" I answer.

"You're viral." His voice is deep and melodious and it sets my veins on fire.

"What are you talking about?"

"Someone streamed the video of the poster on TikTok." He lets out a strained laugh. "There's a poll going on, people can vote who it refers to. You're leading."

"Seriously?" My head bumps against the red brick wall. "People are unbelievable."

"Adora." His voice changes, turns serious, the same way it does when he's about to kiss me. "Can I have my gun back?"

My chest squeezes, "I'm afraid not."

"What? What are you talking about? Where is it?"

"I think the police have it." My heartbeat turns rapid, my breathing shallow.

Eric is quiet for a few seconds.

"Why would the police have my gun?" His words are slow, articulate.

I squeeze my eyes shut, "I think it's a murder weapon."