Page 35

Variables Recalculated

Nora

I throw one final punch at the heavy bag, every muscle screaming in protest. Sweat drips into my eyes, stinging, but I don’t wipe it away. The physical discomfort is a welcome distraction from the dull ache that’s lived in my chest for the past two weeks.

“Time!” the instructor calls, and I drop my hands, sucking in air.

Strike class at the rec center has become my salvation—the only place where I can channel all the rage, frustration, and heartbreak into something that doesn’t involve crying in bathroom stalls or staring blankly at lab equipment.

“Shaw,” the instructor calls as we’re wrapping up. “Your form’s improving. Keep that wrist straight on the cross.”

I nod, not trusting my voice. It’s the first compliment I’ve received in weeks.

In the locker room, I unwrap my hands mechanically, wincing at the raw skin beneath. Everything hurts—knuckles, shoulders, the space between my ribs where my heart used to be.

When I check my phone, my stomach drops. Three missed calls from Professor Wexler.

After the initial academic misconduct hearing, things had reached an uneasy standstill. I was removed from the tutoring program but allowed to keep my research position, pending further review. Wexler had been professional but distant, clearly disappointed in me.

The Archer Initiative nomination had been the biggest question mark. “Under review,” they said. Which I assumed was administrative speak for “not going to happen.”

With trembling fingers, I call Wexler back.

“Professor? I saw you called.”

“Nora.” His voice is neutral, impossible to read. “I’ve just received word from the Archer committee. I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

I close my eyes, bracing for the final blow. “I understand.”

“They’ve decided to maintain your nomination.”

For a moment, I think I’ve misheard. “I’m sorry?”

“Your application will stand,” he says, a hint of warmth returning to his voice. “The committee received a… clarification regarding the complaint against you. They’ve determined that while your judgment could be questioned, your academic integrity remains intact.”

“A clarification?” My mind races. “What kind of clarification?”

“I believe the complainant retracted certain aspects of her complaint.” There’s a pause. “She indicated she acted emotionally and that the relationship in question, while perhaps ill-advised, did not impact the quality of the tutoring or involve any abuse of your position.”

Daphne. She went back to the committee. For me.

“I don’t understand,” I say, sinking onto a bench. “Why would she do that?”

“That’s between you and her,” Wexler says. “But the result is that your Archer nomination will proceed as planned. The final decision is expected next week.”

My hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold the phone. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“Nora.” His voice softens slightly. “We all make mistakes. The measure of character is how we address them afterward. I’m… relieved this has worked out.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Me too.”

After we hang up, I sit in the empty locker room, trying to process what just happened. My nomination is still active. My career isn’t over. And somehow, inexplicably, Daphne is the reason why.

I shower quickly and head back to my dorm, my mind still reeling. Sadie is out at her internship, the room blissfully empty as I drop my gym bag and sink onto my bed.

For the first time in two weeks, I allow myself to think about Dean. About how the first person I wanted to call with this news was him. About how empty this victory feels without being able to share it.

A soft knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts.

When I open it, Daphne is standing there, looking as uncertain as I’ve ever seen her.

“Hey,” she says softly. “Can we talk?”

For a moment, I just stare, unable to believe she’s actually here. Then I step back, motioning her inside.

She enters cautiously, hovering near the door like she’s ready to flee. “Sorry to just show up; I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s fine,” I say, searching for words. “I just got a call from Wexler. He said you went back to the committee.”

Daphne nods, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I did.”

“Why?”

She sighs, finally moving to sit on Sadie’s desk chair. “Because I was wrong. Not about being hurt—that part was real. But about taking it out on your career.” She meets my eyes directly. “I was angry, Nora. Humiliated. And I wanted to hurt you the way I felt hurt.”

“I understand,” I say quietly. “I would have been angry too.”

“But that doesn’t excuse what I did.” She runs a hand through her hair, a gesture so familiar it makes my chest ache. “Reporting you to the department was… vindictive. Petty. Not who I want to be.”

“I deserved it,” I say, the guilt that’s been my constant companion for weeks rising again. “I lied to you. For months.”

“Yes, you did.” No sugar-coating, classic Daphne. “And that was wrong. But destroying your career over it? That was wrong too.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of all our mistakes heavy between us.

“I’m so sorry,” I say finally, the words inadequate but necessary. “For everything. For not telling you about Dean. For betraying your trust.”

“I know.” She draws a deep breath. “And I’m sorry too. For overreacting. For not giving you a chance to explain before I went nuclear.”

“You don’t owe me an apology.”

“Yes, I do.” Her gaze is steady. “Friends don’t try to destroy each other’s careers, no matter what happened.”

The word “friends” hangs in the air, a question mark.

“Are we still friends?” I ask hesitantly.

Daphne is quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know if we can go back to what we were. Not right away.” She shrugs, a small, sad gesture. “But I think we could try. Eventually.”

It’s more than I dared hope for. “I’d like that.”

She nods, and some of the tension leaves her shoulders. “I’ve been dating someone,” she says, changing the subject. “For real this time. A grad student in my marketing seminar. He’s… nice. Uncomplicated, but not in the way James was.”

“I’m glad,” I say, meaning it.

“And he doesn’t bolt at the first sign of trouble, which is apparently my new bar for relationship material.” She attempts a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “How is Dean?”

The question catches me off guard. “I don’t know,” I admit. “We broke up. The night you reported me.”

Surprise crosses her face. “What? Why?”

“Because I was scared. Because I thought my career was over. Because I felt like I had to choose.”

“And you chose your career.” Not a question. She knows me too well.

“I thought I had to.”

Daphne studies me for a moment. “And now?”

“Now I don’t know.” I twist my hands in my lap. “I hurt him, Daph. Badly. I’m not sure there’s any coming back from that.”

“Did he say that? That he didn’t want to try again?”

I shake my head. “The opposite, actually. He texted me after and said his door was always open. But that was two weeks ago.”

“Dean Carter doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean,” Daphne says, a hint of her old confidence returning. “Trust me, I would know.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” She leans forward. “Look, I’m not saying I’m thrilled about the two of you. It’s still weird, and it still hurts. But I’ve had time to think about it, and… you two make sense.”

I blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“You and Dean. You’re the same kind of person. Intense. Driven. Always in your head.” She shrugs. “I used to complain about how he was too much. How he wanted more than I could give. But I think maybe he just needed someone who wanted the same things.”

“Like me,” I whisper.

“Like you,” she agrees. “And for what it’s worth, he was miserable after we broke up. But not like this. Not the way he looked when I saw him yesterday.”

My head snaps up. “You saw him?”

“At the library. He looked like hell, Nora. Like someone had taken all the light out of him.” She stands, gathering her purse. “I’m not saying you should get back together for my sake. God knows that would still be awkward for a while. But don’t stay apart because of me either.”

I rise as well, unsure what to say. “Thank you. For going back to the committee. For coming here. For… everything.”

“Don’t thank me. Just…” She hesitates. “Be happy, okay? Life’s too short for anything else.”

She moves toward the door, then pauses. “And Nora? Next time you start sleeping with someone I dated, just tell me, okay?”

A startled laugh escapes me. “Deal.”

After she leaves, I sink back onto my bed, mind racing. My application is still active. Daphne doesn’t hate me. And Dean…

Dean is miserable. Just like I am.

I reach for my phone before I can overthink it. His contact is still there, unchanged. My thumb hovers over his name, hesitating.

What would I even say? Sorry I broke your heart. Want to try again?

I set the phone down, hugging my knees to my chest. The wound is still too fresh, the words too difficult to find. But for the first time in two weeks, I feel something other than despair.

Hope, maybe. A tiny flickering flame of possibility.

Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon, I need to find the courage to knock on that door again.

Because the equation of us—messy, complicated, unexpected as it is—might still balance after all.