I'm eating lunch alone in the student center, my headphones on and the recording of my latest statistics lecture in my ear, when the stranger sidles up to me.

I feel their presence right away, but assume it's somebody pausing by my table while they scan the rest of the room for their friends. So I don't react, at least until the seconds start ticking into awkwardness, and then I muster the confidence to look right at them.

"Hello."

I don't recognize the guy straight away. He's short, with thick glasses and a kind of hipster beard. There's also an air of formality about him, like I've walked into a job interview I didn't know I was attending. I don't know him—but at the same time, an underlying sense of familiarity tells me he's not a total stranger.

"Uh, hi," I say, lifting my headphones, careful not to remove them completely and risk inviting more conversation than I'm looking for. "Can I help you?"

"I certainly hope so," he replies. Again, weirdly formal. "Am I right in thinking that you're Morgan Cain?"

"Yes. That's me."

"Great." He sits down and clasps his hands together on the tabletop. "I don't know if you know me, but I'm David Stephenson, editor-in-chief of campus' most-read newspaper, The Davidson Daily."

Of course: now it makes sense. That's where I know his face from. Sitting in front of me is Hanna's sworn rival, the guy she claimed was "God's gift to mediocrity", and the editor of the newspaper I frequently heard described as "insufferable misogynistic trash." We used to celebrate every time the readership on one of Hanna's articles surpassed that of the Daily, and the pair of them have been known to engage in vicious back-and-forth Twitter wars that attract considerable attention.

For him to be approaching me now is a sure sign that mine and Hanna's friendship has gone down the pan.

"Right, the Daily," I say. "Weirdly named, since it's a weekly newspaper."

He purses his lips, irritated. "Well, yes, but as I've explained to too many people, there are a number of different reasons for the name."

I shrug. "Okay. Sure."

"Anyway," he continues pointedly, "there's something I wanted to talk to you about. A proposition, if you will."

It doesn't escape my notice the way he's leaned in, lowered his voice—making this whole thing seem a lot seedier than it did thirty seconds ago. If I wasn't suspicious about being approached by David Stephenson in the first place, I certainly am now.

"What kind of proposition?"

He smiles thinly, and I kind of hate myself for even entertaining the idea. But he's looking so pleased with himself he'd probably force it on me anyway. "Excuse the personal question, but were you dating the sophomore Josh Kelley at the time of his death last year?"

I straighten in my seat, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "What does it matter to you?"

"Believe me, I'm not trying to intrude." He holds up both hands, like this proves it. "But with that in mind... well, I'm sure you've seen the lead story running on this month's issue of GXRL magazine. A shocking exposé for everyone that knew him, but one I imagine is heartbreaking for you to have to see every day."

His eyes flicker over my face: careful, calculating. I manage to keep my expression impassive. "Again," I say, "what does it matter to you?"

"Well, when I first read the article, I have to say it seemed like a very one-sided view. The allegations are terrible, obviously, but what does stand out to me is that it was an entirely anonymous source. I mean, how much weight should be given to that? Now I'm sure she didn't, but as an example, what was to stop Hanna Griffin writing that letter herself and claiming it was from another source?"

I'm already furiously shaking my head. "She wouldn't have done that."

"And, like I said, it's unlikely that she did." He holds his hands up again, and I wonder how many times he's going to feel the need to physically surrender. "I just thought, that article... it may not have painted the whole picture. You were Josh's girlfriend—I'm sure you knew him better than anyone. And I'm sure there's a whole lot more to the story than what Hanna decided to include. It's never so black and white, Morgan, and yet everyone on campus is convinced he's a monster. Don't you want the opportunity to help reset the balance?"

For a moment, I just stare at him, trying to process what he's just said. The words are so unbelievable, so despicable, that I'm not even convinced it's a serious offer. I'm half expecting him to break into a nauseating smile and tell me he's joking.

But he doesn't.

He just carries on waiting.

"What the hell are you trying to offer?" I ask, trying hard to keep my voice steady. "Are you trying to get me to go on the record and say Hanna's article is a pack of lies?"

"I'm not trying to get you to say anything," he replies. "I'm offering you the opportunity to tell the truth. Your truth."

But it doesn't fool me.

And suddenly, I'm furious.

"Just because I wasn't assaulted by Josh doesn't mean it didn't happen," I snap, louder than intended. Several people at nearby tables turn around to see what's going on, but for once I don't care. "I know Hanna wouldn't have written that herself, and she wouldn't have published it if she had any doubt about whether it was true. It doesn't matter that I was dating Josh—I still believe it happened. My truth doesn't erase somebody else's truth, nor would I want it to."

David looks taken aback; he clearly wasn't expecting my outburst. That makes two of us.

"So," he dares to say, "I guess that's a no?"

"Of course it's a no, you asshole!" I don't know where the anger has come from, but suddenly it's all consuming. I can't sit here any longer, looking at his smug, sleazy smile, having to explain why I'm not about to accuse a sexual assault victim of lying. So I start packing up my stuff, slamming my laptop lid and throwing it into its case, and shoving everything else into my backpack. "Seriously, David, it's insulting that you even asked."

"I didn't mean to offend you," he says. I notice that he doesn't go as far as apologizing. "Really."

"Well, you did. And don't even think about approaching me again."

I can't lie: there's satisfaction to be found in storming away from him, slinging my backpack over my shoulder and refusing to look back. Blood pulses in my ears, and I'm running on pure adrenaline. I can't believe he had the nerve.

I may not be friends with Hanna anymore, but I would never want to smear her like that. Let alone in the Daily, which to her would be a murderous offence. Most of all, I have no idea who that anonymous source is, and that in turn gives me no right to question any aspect of their story.

Josh was a social guy, who went to a lot of parties—sometimes with me, sometimes without. There were plenty of opportunities for it to happen.

There weren't any warning signs, but what if I simply hadn't noticed them?

And though I may never discover the girl behind the story, for all I know, she could've been around me all along.

I may have had my eyes closed all this time, but no longer.

---------------------

Aaaand here's the next chapter! Weirdly enough, this was one of the most fun to write. There's something about argument scenes that makes the words flow so easily... can anyone else relate? Or maybe I've just got a lot of pent-up anger that I don't let go in real life.

Question of the chapter: how do you think Morgan handled it? Did she make the right decision, or should she have accepted David's offer and used it to her own advantage...?

As always, your comments keep me motivated, so leave something below (even if it's just an emoji!)

- Leigh