Pulling up to campus, Renae parked in the first spot she found, killed the engine, and we stepped out holding hands, humming Unconditionally by Katy Perry. Suddenly, Renae broke out,
"All because I love you… I love you yeeaahh… unconditionally… something something—"
"I don't have an umbrella," I warned, laughing.
"Unconditionnnnnnnallll!" she sang louder, ignoring me, dragging unwanted eyes in our direction, messing up the song like the jackass she was.
Soon we spotted our tension group under the tree. Meeting each other's gaze, we raised our brows, already communicating telepathically. With our mind link, we decided: fuck anyone that didn't agree, because I said otherwise. We were wired on the same brain frequency—we just knew what to do and when. Bending down before anyone could see us, we agreed again with brain waves: slip past them. No way were we getting dragged into their crossfire on this beautiful morning.
Tiptoeing, peeking through the windows of the nearest vehicle to hide our presence, I tapped Renae—crunched behind me—to signal I was about to run for it, blending into the large group of students heading into the main building.
"Who are we hiding from?" a manly, rusty voice whispered suddenly, right against my ear, hot on my skin. The hair on my neck shot up, and the rest of my soul took off, leaving my body an empty corpse.
"You motherfucker!" I yelled, adrenaline flooding my veins. I spun around, fists already folded in some unknown reflex, swinging unintentionally but with full force. My punch landed straight on his nostril, snapping his head back. His hands—one of which had been clamped over Renae's mouth—released instantly, sending his ass crashing onto the asphalt pavement.
"Mr. Alexander!" I screamed, panicking when I saw who I'd knocked out. I jumped to my feet and rushed over.
Renae was still crouched in the same spot, eyes wide, slowly turning to look at him. She crawled toward his side.
"Is he dead?" she finally asked.
I stared at her, mouth opening and closing, no response forming as I tried to process everything. Looking at Renae intensely, I tried to comprehend the math wiring her brain cells.
"Out of everything—and I mean everything—that's all you could think to formulate?" I pressed through clenched lips.
"Nigga..You just fisted the man's teeth to the back of his brain— The fuck you mean, if that's all I could formulate?" Renae hissed, her voice sharp as a loud whisper, hands flinging wildly through the air.
We looked over our shoulders, and there was a crowd surrounding us—whispers, eyes sparing down into our souls.
"Grab his leg," I commanded.
"What… no," Renae panicked.
"Grab his legs!" I shouted, kneeling down, fighting to keep his hands on my shoulders, but they kept slipping off.
"We're going to jaaaaaiiilllll!" Renae sang out, panic twisting her voice, flailing like a motherfucker.
"They're gonna hold our asses—I'm too young to go to jail!" Renae carried on, voice dripping with drama. I leveled her with the meanest eyes, in no mood to deal with this bullshit.
Finally she moved to his feet while I clung to his shirt for dear life, trying to balance his weight. Students kept watching, none of them daring to help. Jerks, I thought, while Renae kept mumbling, We're going to jail.
"For fuck's sake, shut up," I snapped—just as Mr. Bomstorm stepped through the river of students, flanked by two security guards and three faculty members.
Eyes wide, Renae panicked even more, dropping Kevon's legs. His full weight collapsed onto me, sending me crashing down as I tried to secure his head. Believe me when I say—this man felt heavier than two cows, a horse, and six trailer trucks loaded with cement.
"It's not what you think," Renae blurted, voice trembling. Mr. Bomstorm raised his eyebrows, veins already popping at his temple.
"Don't just stand there—help them!" he barked. The guards rushed in, lifting Kevon off me and hauling him away to God knows where.
"Are we suspended?" we asked in unison.
"Office… NOOOOOOW!" Bomstorm shouted, his blood pressure ready to explode like a volcano.
Renae and I scrambled to our feet, heads bowed under the piercing eyes around us. I spotted Travis staring like what the hell, the others worried, except Titi—smirking like the bitch she was. My blood boiled, but I looked away, walking side by side with Renae as we followed Bomstorm into what felt like another sanctuary close to hell.
It wasn't even a week. Not even a week, and already our faces were stamped into his memory. His storm-cloud gaze burned into us like we were repeat offenders—which, FYI, we were.
The hallway stretched longer than usual, each step echoing like a countdown to judgment. The walls closed in, sterile and suffocating, the kind of place where whispers die and only authority breathes. It was just a regular USC hallway, but with the atmosphere clouding us, it felt like a prison walk.
Bomstorm's stride was relentless, his coat flaring behind him like a shadow. Faculty members flanked him like iron gates, eyes sharp, dissecting us as if we were specimens instead of students. Every fluorescent light hummed overhead, buzzing like it knew we were walking into another trial.
This wasn't just a walk to the office—it was a death sentence. Silence weighed heavier than words, every glance promising consequence we weren't ready to face.
The walk to Bovard Administration was quiet.
The double oak doors loomed ahead, carved with patterns that seemed to sneer at us. When the guards pushed them open, the air inside hit me like a wall—cold, sharp, suffocating.
The Provost's office was a cathedral of authority. Bookshelves towered against the walls, stacked with thick volumes on law, ethics, and education. Diplomas and commendations gleamed under the light, each frame a reminder of power earned and wielded. At the center stood a massive mahogany desk, polished to perfection, with a plaque that read:
Joseph Bomstorm
Provost and Senior Vice President for Academic Affairs
He sat behind the desk, posture rigid, eyes locked on us with a storm‑cloud intensity that made my stomach twist. His coat draped over the chair like a shadow, his hands folded neatly, but the veins at his temple pulsed as if his blood itself was boiling.
"Sit," Bomstorm ordered, his voice low but heavy, carrying enough weight to silence the entire room.
We obeyed, sliding into stiff leather chairs across from him. The faculty members remained standing behind us, arms folded, watching like witnesses at a trial. His eyes flicked between Renae and me—Mr. Bomstorm unreadable.
He leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Less than a week. Less than a week, two days after your first hearing to be exact. Do you have any idea how quickly chaos spreads in this institution? Do you understand what it means when the Provost himself has to intervene?"
"Aren't there supposed to be a chain of discip—"
I kicked Renae's legs under the table.
"Ahhhh!" she squealed, bending over to rub the spot.
I shot her a stink eye, mouthing for her to shut up and read the room. Look at the man—he looked ready to butcher our skeleton system away from our skin, organs lined out and stored somewhere. You know, a whole morgue setting.
I turned back to him, swallowed hard, my voice trembling. "Sir, it wasn't on purpose. Mr. Alexander startled us—he came up behind us whispering, and I panicked. I swung without thinking. It wasn't meant to happen."
Bomstorm's gaze sharpened. "Not meant to happen? I walked into a scene that looked like you were committing a kidnap, ready to wrap him in a body bag and throw his body in a car trunk. I had security dragging your advisor off the pavement for God's sake. I saw panic. Disorder. And both of you at the center of it. You think I care about intentions?"
I tried to steady my voice. "Sir, I swear, I didn't know it was him. I thought—" My throat tightened. "I thought it was someone trying to grab us. We are not that ugly to be zip‑nap… It was reflex."
"Zip‑Nap," Renae blurted out laughing.
"You wanna try being funny?" he warned, shutting her up instantly. My nerve‑wrecking laugh died in my throat. In reality, I just wanted to shit myself right there and then, have the earth swallow my ass and melt me in its core.
Bomstorm's eyes flicked back to me.
"Sir, we didn't mean—" I tried again.
"Intentions mean nothing when the result is chaos," he snapped, slamming his palm against the desk. The sound reverberated through the room, making me flinch. "This university runs on discipline. Without it, we are nothing but noise."
Renae's hands twisted in her lap. "Are we suspended?"
His eyes narrowed. "Suspension is mercy. Expulsion is finality. Right now, you are standing on the edge of both. And the only thing keeping you here is my decision."
"It's not that serious though," Renae shot back, jumping from her seat, cold sweat washing over her. Goosebumps filled my entire body.
"Sit down, Miss Richards," he warned.
She sat back, uncomfortable, and the room fell into complete silence. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, louder than the hum of the lights.
Finally, Bomstorm leaned back, exhaling slowly, his gaze still locked on us. "You will report to the Office of Student Judicial Affairs. You will submit written accounts of what happened. And you will attend disciplinary hearings until I am satisfied order has been restored."
He pointed at us, his voice dropping to a growl. "One more incident—just one—and I will personally sign the papers that remove you from USC. Do you understand?"
"Oh God, please no," I begged, jumping from my seat.
The door suddenly burst open. Kevon stood there pale and shaken, a bandage pressed to his nose.
"Joseph… Mr. Bomstorm… Sir, this is not their fault," Kevon spoke, out of breath.
"My decision is final," Bomstorm answered coldly.
"Provost, I can confirm… they didn't know it was me. I approached them too suddenly. Veronica reacted out of fear. It was an accident." Kevon continued, not backing down, closing the door behind him and pushing past the faculty members until he was standing beside us.
"My… decision… is—"
"Mine isn't. Can we have a word in private?" Kevon interrupted sternly.
"Mr. Alexander, must we remind you to know your place?" a faculty member finally spoke up.
"I will not, especially when you are punishing students over something as stupid as an accident," Kevon shot back, his voice rising.
Bomstorm's gaze lingered, heavy and unrelenting, before he finally waved his hand. "Dismissed. Girls, wait outside. The rest may go. Mr. Alexander and I will be having a word."
Renae rose quickly, her chair scraping against the floor. I never sat back down, so I was already on my feet. We walked out with the faculty members shadowing us. Kevon stayed behind, speaking quietly with Bomstorm, but I didn't dare look back. The oak doors shut behind us, sealing the storm inside, but the weight of his words followed us as we stood outside waiting, hearts pounding.