Page 27 of Campus Fake

Mira weaved between tables like she could navigate the space blindfolded, and based on what I’d picked up so far, she’d probably been working here for a long time.

“I bought the place a few years ago,” she said over her shoulder, straightening a chair as she passed it. “The previous owner, Tom, wanted to retire. He’d been talking about it for ages, and when he finally pulled the trigger, I couldn’t let it go to someone who’d turn it into one of those soulless chain cafés.” She glanced back at us with a small, proud smile. “So I scraped together every penny I had and made him an offer. It’s mine now.”

“He made the right call,” I said. “Selling it to you. You can feel it when a place is run by someone who actually cares.”

And I meant it. There was something about the place that felt cared for in a way that went beyond business. This place was filled with warmth. It made you want to settle in and stay a while instead of feeling like a chain coffee shop might.

I glanced at Sam, who’d been quiet since we’d walked through the door. Her eyes were shining as she glanced around the space, and they almost seemed distant, like she wasn’t actually here, but remembering another time in this same spot. It was clear it was taking her an enormous amount of effort to hold herself together, but I was attuned to her now, more than I’d ever been before. Her shoulders were tense and her body stiff as we walked farther into the place like she was bracing for a hit—or experiencing one in her mind that she didn’t know how to fight.

“I need to use the restroom,” she said suddenly, her voice only wavering slightly. “Excuse me.”

She didn’t wait for a response before disappearing down the narrow hallway toward the back.

Mira and I watched her go. The warmth on Mira’s face dimmed and was replaced by concern.

When she finally turned to me, tears shimmered in her dark eyes. “She’s still blaming herself for the accident, isn’t she?”

The question landed like a sucker punch. I opened my mouth—to say what, I had no idea—but Mira was already shaking her head. She turned toward the window, her gaze going distant, unfocused, like she’d slipped into a memory I couldn’t follow. Just like Sam had.

“It wasn’t her fault. No matter what she’s told you.” Her voice was quiet but sure. “It was a patch of black ice. There was nothing anyone could’ve done to save him.”

She finally looked back at me, and I was thankful—grateful down to my bones—for every cold dinner with my parents and every lesson I’d learned during my childhood about keeping my face still. Because inside, I was reeling.

Her brother died in a car accident. And Sam blamed herself. So many puzzle pieces slammed into place, but there were two questions that I still had no answers for.

Why did she blame herself? And maybe more importantly, why did her family?

Mira gestured toward an empty table by the window and we sat. She folded her hands in front of her, her thumbs tracing slow circles against each other like a nervous habit, or a soothing one.

“Bryce loved her.” Her lips curved into a smile that was equal parts joy and sadness. “She was his favorite. I know everyone says Bryce was everyone’s favorite—and he was—but Sam was his. He lit up whenever he talked about her. She was his Ladybug—that’s what he used to call her. And no one was more excited about her figure skating dreams than he was.” She huffed a small laugh before glancing back at the hallway that led to the bathrooms. Her smile faded. “He’d hate this. He’d hate that she’s carrying so much guilt over his death. He only ever wanted her to be happy, and knowing she’s carried his death on her shoulders these last five years would break him.” She scoffed. “And don’t even get me started on how he’d react to the way his family has treated her. I don’t blame her for being away for so long. I can’t imagine what it must be like in that house now.”

Her gaze drifted toward the hallway again.

“I almost didn’t believe my eyes when I looked out the window and saw her standing on the sidewalk,” she continued. “After so long, I’d started to wonder if she’d ever come back.” She paused, pressing her lips together. “But I’m glad she did. And I’m glad she has you here with her. Bryce had this uncanny ability to always make things better, but since he died, his family just fell apart.”

“Do you still talk to Sam’s parents?”

She shook her head. “I tried…after the funeral. And then a few months later, but Sally changed after Bryce died. From what I’ve heard, she pushed a lot of people away. I think Eric would’ve left the house too if he’d been old enough. Jordan stayed because he felt it was his responsibility as the oldest to try to hold everything together. He’s stopped by every so often to check on me, but I don’t talk to Sally or Greg anymore unfortunately.”

Once again, she looked in the direction of the bathrooms, her thoughts clearly turning to Sam. “I think about her a lot, you know. More than she’d probably believe. I always hoped she was out there somewhere building a life for herself, not just…running from this one. Even if it’s hard, I hope she’ll find a way to start forgiving herself while she’s here. No one⁠—”

She stopped and looked down at the table, her jaw working like she was choosing her next words very carefully. When she looked up again, her expression was a mix of guarded and protective.

“I don’t blame her.”

I didn’t miss the emphasis. Mira didn’t blame her, but she couldn’t say that no one did.

Because that wasn’t true, was it?

Someone did blame her. Her parents. The people who were supposed to love her unconditionally—the ones who should’ve held her tighter after losing Bryce, but instead had pushed her away.

And just like that, Mira had put another puzzle piece into place for me.

I thought about Greg’s eyes in the rearview mirror on our drive from the airport, unable to hold his daughter’s gaze for more than a second before flinching away. The way Sally had been so warm with Jordan, but had turned cold and distant when she’d seen Sam.

The silence whenever Sam was in the room.

The way no one looked at her.