Chapter 3 - The Second Day
I called Daniel Rusk from the passenger seat while Kala drove.
He answered before the second ring.
“Are you somewhere you can speak privately?”
“Yes.”
“Your sister claims you suffered a breakdown, stole documents from our office, and fabricated an assault to avoid the examination.”
For several seconds, I couldn’t find words.
The accusation was so ugly, so carefully chosen, that it felt intimate. Tamson knew exactly what I valued. She had never read my textbooks, but she understood the weak points in my life.
“My documents are study materials,” I said. “And there’s a police report.”
“I suspected there was more to the story.”
“I can send—”
“After your exam.”
His voice was firm.
“Varity, the office checked our access records. There’s no indication of missing files. We are preserving her voicemail. You don’t need to defend yourself while crossing downtown traffic.”
I pressed my good hand against my mouth.
For three years, I had worked beneath people who corrected my formatting, challenged my research, and sent documents back covered in comments.
I hadn’t realized those same people had learned who I was.
“Thank you,” I managed.
“Finish the exam. We’ll speak tomorrow.”
At the convention center, Mr. Stellin met me near registration.
“Security has your photograph and the names you provided,” he said quietly. “Anyone attempting to reach you will be directed away from the testing area.”
I nodded.
He didn’t mention the footage.
He didn’t ask whether I was ready to be brave.
He pointed me toward my desk.
That was exactly what I needed.
The second day stretched ahead in blocks of questions, aching muscles, and relentless concentration. I took the breaks I was permitted. I drank water. I stopped gripping the pen as though force could improve my handwriting.
At lunch, I found a note tucked into the bag Kala had packed.
You’re allowed to pass this test without proving you can survive everything alone.
I folded it and put it back.
During the final session, my mind went blank on a question I knew I had practiced.
Panic rose.
Then I remembered something Professor Hart used to say when students froze during oral arguments.
“Go back to what is actually in front of you.”
Not the garage.
Not my mother’s messages.
Not a future salary I had already spent a thousand times in my imagination.
The question.
I read it again.
The answer came slowly.
I wrote until the last permitted minute.
When the proctor called time, I put down my pen and stared at my left hand.
There was an ink stain along the side of my little finger. My thumb throbbed. The page beneath it held the final sentence of the hardest thing I had ever finished.
I had no idea whether I had passed.
But I had finished.
Outside, Kala stood beneath a gray sky holding two paper cups.
“Hot chocolate,” she said. “You’ve had enough coffee to qualify as office equipment.”
I started laughing.
Then I started crying.
She put the cups on a low wall and held me carefully, avoiding the cast.
People walked around us. A few glanced over. Nobody laughed.
My phone rang while we were still standing there.
Officer Rowan.
“We’ve spoken with Mrs. Aloan,” she said. “She provided the original exported footage and agreed to preserve the camera system’s recording.”
My breath caught.
“She also remembered something that may matter. Your sister approached her earlier today asking whether the camera had been malfunctioning.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course she had.
“We’re documenting that contact,” the officer continued. “An investigator will follow up. In the meantime, please preserve any messages you receive.”
After the call, Kala handed me my drink.
“What happened?”
I told her.
Her jaw tightened.
“Are you okay?”
I looked back at the convention center.
For years, I had imagined leaving that building and calling home. I had pictured my mother asking how it went, my father telling me he was proud.
I let myself mourn that picture.
Then I took a sip of hot chocolate.
“No,” I said honestly. “But I think I’m going to be.”
That evening, Professor Hart sent one message.
May you like
You finished. Let that be enough for tonight.
For once, I listened.
