The next morning, Celeste walked across campus with a hoodie pulled over her head.
She hadn't worn makeup. She hadn't even brushed out her curls properly. She looked like a shell of herself.
Whispers followed her. Two girls in the quad scrolled past her picture and snickered as she walked past them.
She passed the media van parked outside the admin building waiting for her.
She walked in, checked in with the front desk, and was led upstairs.
Dean Calloway waited at the end of the corridor, arms folded.
"Miss Monroe," he said curtly.
"Dean," she replied, forcing herself not to shrink.
He lead her in, and inside the office sat two more faculty members. One was from Student Affairs, and another from the Scholarship Board.
Celeste sat.
She hated to make things all about her, but this was suffocating. She knew no one to talk to, or what to do. This would never go back to normal.
"We are not here to condemn you," the Dean began, hands steepled. "We are, however, concerned."
