Page 70 of Final Drive

Reese

The Title IX office is on the third floor of Whitaker Hall, wedged between Financial Aid and a storage closet. I’ve walked past it a hundred times without once looking at it. Now I’m outside the frosted glass with Tyler’s folder in my bag and my heart trying to get out through my sternum.

Bo and Gray flank me. Neither of them has said much since we left the house. Bo drove with one hand on the wheel and the other on my knee. Gray sat in the back and looked out the window the whole way.

“You don’t have to come in with me,” I say.

“We know,” Bo says. Neither of them moves.

“They might ask why two Alphas walked me up here to file a harassment complaint. It could undercut the whole thing.”

“Or it shows that the people around you take it seriously.” Gray’s voice is clipped. “We’ll stay in the waiting area unless you say otherwise.”

I push the door open.

The office is smaller than I expected. A reception desk, two chairs with worn cushions, a hallway back to what I assume are meeting rooms. The woman at the desk has reading glasses pushed up into her hair and a nameplate that reads JANET CROSS, INTAKE COORDINATOR.

“Can I help you?”

“I need to file a formal complaint.”

She pulls a clipboard out of a drawer without any change in her face, like students walk in here every day ready to detonate their own lives. Maybe they do.

“Have a seat. Fill out the intake form and somebody will meet with you about next steps.” She looks past me at Bo and Gray, who have settled into the waiting chairs like two very large, very tense bookends. “Are they with you?”

“They’re my teammates.”

“I see.” She hands me the clipboard. “The meeting itself is private, Ms.?”

“Callahan. Reese Callahan.”

Her eyes narrow a fraction. She knows the name. The crew swept the conference championship eleven days ago and my face was in every write-up of it, the only woman steering an eight in the conference, on a boat going to nationals.

“Take your time with the form.”

I sit between Bo and Gray and look at the first question. Describe the nature of the complaint. The box is about three inches tall. I could fill a notebook.

I write: Coordinated harassment, stalking, and hostile environment created by Kinsley Adams, Captain of the Sable Ridge Women’s Rowing Team, beginning shortly after I joined the men’s crew in February and escalating sharply over the past three weeks.

The form wants dates. I have them, because Tyler documents things the way other people breathe. The restaurant filming. The photo collages taped up outside my Business Strategy classroom. The dead animal left at my door. The afternoon Kinsley and two of her friends put me against a wall and left bruises on my arms. The whole slow campaign painting me as an Omega who manipulates Alphas into doing what she wants.

I write all of it down. My hand cramps by the second page.

“Here.” Bo hands me a pen. Mine was running dry and I hadn’t noticed. I take it without looking at him, because if I see his face right now I’ll lose the flat voice I need to finish this.

Twenty minutes later Janet takes me down the hallway to a small conference room. Bo starts to get up.

“I’m okay.”

He sits. Gray doesn’t try, but his eyes follow me until the door shuts.

The woman waiting inside isn’t what I pictured. Mid-forties, Black, close-cropped natural hair, a blazer that’s had a long career. Her nameplate reads DR. LORRAINE OKAFOR, TITLE IX COORDINATOR.

“Ms. Callahan.” She gestures at the chair. “I’ve read your intake form. I want to be direct with you. I know who you are and I know about the coverage around your team. It won’t affect how this office handles your complaint.”

“Okay.”

“It will affect what filing costs you.” She folds her hands. “There will be an investigation. Ms. Adams will be notified and given the chance to respond. Witnesses may be interviewed. Depending how far it goes, details about your personal life and your team may become part of a record.”