Page 54 of Campus Muscle

The TA hadn’t been on my plan of attack for the day. I told myself that I was just going to be passing through while I headed to the library. Maybe I’d be brave and grab a coffee on my way so I could let the scattered pieces settle before I pushed further. But the second I saw him stepping out of the lecture hall, things changed. He had papers tucked under his arm, and all I could see was the day he handed that sheet to Trace. Something inside me broke, and I stormed down on the man as if I were at war.

“Hey!” I said as I fell into step behind him.

He glanced back, confused by my assault. “Hi?”

“You’re with English 102, right? You help run the tutorials?”

“Do I know you?”

The guy looked terrified, and I couldn’t really blame him. I’d probably have felt the same way if I were in his position, but at that moment, I didn’t care how insane I looked. I needed something to present to Trace.

I really tried to keep my tone easy. “I’m working on something for the paper, and I was hoping you could help me understand how academic support works across the campus.”

“It’s a pretty standard procedure,” he said, not looking very convinced. “We all have office hours in which students can reach out with questions and concerns. And if that isn’t enough, we have tutors who can help them after hours.”

“Right… Equal access. Pretty much the same system for everyone.” I nodded as if everything were clear. “But some students probably need more help than others.”

“It happens.”

His concern grew with each word I said, and I couldn’t help but be amused. It was as if the guy knew he was walking right into a trap, but couldn’t do anything about it. So he rethought everything a million times before he spoke.

“And sometimes they get it faster,” I accused. “Do those have better connections? You know, the ones who get more direct assistance?”

Sweat beaded on his brow, and his grip on his papers tightened ever so slightly. He hoped I wouldn’t, but I definitely noticed that my line of questioning was making him incredibly nervous.

“I don’t— What do you mean?”

“So if someone important wanted to make sure a student passed…” I knew I was pushing far too openly, but that didn’t stop me. “How would that work?”

“It wouldn’t,” he said way too quickly.

“Because that would cross a line, right? It would be seen as favoritism or worse, corruption.”

“Yes.”

For a moment, I wondered what people like him were thinking when they were in situations like these. It would be so easy for me to call him out, and what would he do then? But instead of being that person, I let the silence stretch between us until it felt uncomfortable.

Then I gave him a sweet smile and said, “That’s very reassuring. It’s good to know we can all still count on the system when it matters.”

He didn’t respond, but I could tell he really wanted to get the hell away from me. I considered torturing him until I got everything I needed on Frank Delaney, but then I thought about what Tara told me during our first road trip and decided against it.

“Thanks for your time,” I said ever so sweetly.

His brow furrowed in confusion, but he didn’t argue. He quickly turned on his heel and walked off without saying another word. I, on the other hand, remained in place. My pulse was through the roof, and all the puzzle pieces were starting to settle into place.

He hadn’t admitted to anything, but his responses and reactions had given everything away. The hesitation in his words, combined with the defensiveness and the way he shut things down, all proved his guilt. And what he didn’t see was that his behavior proved none of this lined up with the clean system everyone insisted they were operating in.

He had literally just confirmed everything I suspected.

Frank wasn’t just hovering around the team to flash his funds. He was embedded in this, and Trace was caught in the middle of his dirty scheme. The question was whether Trace was actually playing the game or not.

*

The gym doors swung open with a sharp push, and the smell of metal and rubber instantly caused me to sneeze. I hated that place, but there was nowhere else Trace would be at this time of day. The steady rhythm of weights and low conversations filled the space, but this time I barely registered any of it. My focus had been locked in from the first moment I laid eyes on him.

He stood near the benches and prepared to reset for another lift. His shoulders were tense, and his movements clipped. It was clear he was stressed, but I couldn’t afford to waste any time coddling him.

“We need to talk,” I said as I closed the distance between us.