Chapter 3They Told Me to Apologize

Back in the dorm room, the atmosphere was thick enough to choke on.

Jenna wasn’t there, probably off receiving further ‘care and support’ from Mr. Evans.

Becca saw me and immediately looked away, muttering, “Leah, don’t be mad. Mr. Evans was just trying to do what’s best for everyone…”

I ignored her and walked to my desk.

My other roommate, Maya, came over. She hesitated for a moment, then handed me a bottle of water. “Leah, don’t let them get to you,” she whispered. “I saw what happened. I can be your witness.”

I looked up at her. Maya’s eyes were filled with sympathy and a hint of guilt. She was quiet by nature and usually stayed out of our dorm disputes.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the water.

She sat on the edge of my bed, her voice sinking lower. “Honestly… Jenna has always been like this. Last semester, I bought a new tube of lipstick. I only used it twice before it went missing. A week later, I saw her using it. When I confronted her, she claimed she’d bought the exact same shade and then accused me of bullying her. She cried in the common room for an hour, making it look like I was the bad guy.”

I nodded. I’d heard similar stories.

Jenna’s ‘borrowing’ was a one-way street. It started with small things, like pens and tissues, and escalated to clothes and skincare products.

Most people, intimidated by her scholarship-student status and her hair-trigger temper, just let it go.

I had been one of them. I’d felt sorry for her when she said she didn't have a reliable computer for her thesis, which is why I'd lent her mine in the first place.

And my reward was a smashed laptop and a reprimand from my own advisor.

It suddenly clicked. I remembered hearing that Mr. Evans had also come from a low-income background, attending this very university on a full ride before being hired after graduation.

Of course. I should never have gone to him.

The thought of his demand—that I write a self-criticism essay—sparked a cold fire in my gut. I took out my phone.

If he was so determined to protect his star scholarship student, to sacrifice fairness for his own biased narrative, then I would give him a gift he wouldn’t forget.

Maya leaned over curiously. “What are you doing?”

“Writing my statement,” I said.

I started typing. I documented everything that had happened today, starting with Jenna’s long-term monopolization of my laptop, her violent destruction of it, and culminating in Mr. Evans’s ‘mediation’—his blatant favoritism, his threats, and his demand that I, the victim, be the one to apologize.

I scrubbed the names, using aliases: ‘Scholarship Student J’ and ‘Advisor E.’

The tone was cool and factual, a simple statement of events without any emotional flourishes.

When I was done, I proofread it, then attached the photos of the wreckage and a screenshot of the official estimate from the repair shop, which declared the laptop ‘unrepairable and recommended for disposal.’

Then, I logged onto the university’s online forum.

It was the digital heart of the campus, a place where thousands of students shared news, traded gossip, and debated everything under the sun.

I took a deep breath and created a new post.

The title was: ‘My Scholarship Roommate Smashed My Laptop, and My Advisor Told Me to Apologize.’

After hitting ‘submit,’ I closed my phone. A strange sense of peace settled over me.

I had no idea what would happen next, but I knew one thing for sure.

I would not be silent. Silence is how you let the rot spread.

The next morning, I was woken by Maya’s gasp.

“Oh my God! Leah! You need to see the forum!”

I grabbed my phone. My post had exploded.

Overnight, it had racked up over a hundred thousand views and three thousand replies.

It was pinned to the top of the homepage, the title glowing in bold red.