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Pullman, Washington

B en Roberts is still in shock about the delusional self-regard Bryan expressed in the conversation that revealed his offensive, anachronistic view of gender roles. But increasingly, Bryan’s appearance becomes even more startling.

Ben assumes that Bryan is as stressed as they all are with finals looming. The workload is almost intolerable, and none of the students appears to be in perfect health. In class, Bryan looks positively ill, like he’s physically deteriorating.

“He looked like the walking dead,” Ben said later. “I mean, we’re talking, his eyes were just completely dark most of the time. He just looked gone.” This wasn’t just sleep deprivation. It was more serious, ongoing.

He heard the rumors that Bryan got reprimanded by Professor Snyder, but Bryan doesn’t offer any information.

Ben goes to WSU’s student-care network and fills out a form indicating his concern. He wants to send it to the administration. The school’s website states that these reports can be made anonymously.

But before pressing submit, Ben looks for the anonymous-reporting function. He can’t see that his anonymity will be protected for sure.

Ben wants to help his exhausted classmate, but he doesn’t want Bryan searching out—and finding—the person who submitted the form. He doesn’t want this coming back to him. There’s something about this guy that is just too weird.

So Ben deletes what he’s typed, never imagining that the act of pushing the backspace button on his keyboard will come to haunt him.