The dinner rush hits at six-fifteen, same as always. I carry three plates balanced on my left arm and two in my right hand. The dining hall smells like steam trays and industrial soap. My sneakers squeak on the tile. I've been on shift since four. My lower back aches.
I head toward the VIP section. That's what we call it, though the sign just says Reserved Seating. It's where student government sits. White tablecloths. Real silverware. The rest of the hall gets plastic trays.
Cadence Hawkins sits dead center. She always does. Her hair is perfect. Her sweater probably costs more than my textbooks. She's surrounded by her usual group—girls who laugh at the right moments and guys who lean in when she talks.
I set down the plates without looking at anyone's face. Salmon. Roasted vegetables. A side of quinoa. I learned early that eye contact invites conversation, and conversation slows me down.
"Thank you," someone says. I nod and turn to go.
That's when I feel it. The weight of Cadence's stare. I glance back without meaning to. She's watching me with this flat, measuring look. Like I'm a stain she's deciding whether to wipe up now or later.
I walk away fast. My heart beats a little harder than it should.
I'm halfway back to the kitchen when the scream cuts through the noise.
I spin around. Cadence is on her feet, chair knocked backward. Her hand is over her mouth. The entire VIP section is staring at her plate.
"Oh my God!" she shrieks. "There's a cockroach! There's a cockroach in my food!"
The dining hall goes silent. Then everyone starts talking at once.
I stand frozen, tray still in my hands.
Cadence points directly at me. Her finger is steady. Her face is pale and horrified. "She did this," she says. Her voice shakes. "She put it there. I saw her looking at me."
My mouth opens. No sound comes out.
Phones come up. A dozen students are filming. The light from their screens makes everything feel staged and unreal.
Eiden Holmes—student government president, my boyfriend of eight months, the person I trust more than anyone—stands up and puts his arm around Cadence's shoulders. She leans into him, trembling.
He doesn't look at me.
"Someone call health services," he says. His voice is calm and authoritative. "And get the manager."
Mrs. Delgado appears beside me. She takes the tray from my hands. "Go to the back," she says quietly. "Now."
I walk through the kitchen in a daze. My coworkers stare. No one speaks.
I sit on a milk crate in the loading dock and wait.
Twenty minutes later, the dining hall manager tells me I'm suspended pending investigation. He doesn't ask for my side. He doesn't ask anything.
I text Eiden. *Can we talk?*
He doesn't reply.
***
The next morning, I get a message to report to the student government office at ten a.m.
I walk across campus with my hood up. People stare. Someone whispers as I pass. The video is already everywhere.
Eiden's office is on the second floor of the student union. The door has his name on it in gold letters. I knock.
"Come in."
He's sitting behind his desk. There's a folder open in front of him. He doesn't stand when I enter. Doesn't smile.
"Sit," he says.
I sit.
He looks at me for a long moment. I wait for him to ask what happened. To ask if I'm okay. To ask anything.
Instead, he slides a piece of paper across the desk.
"Your work-study position at the dining hall is revoked, effective immediately," he says. His voice is flat. Professional. "You're also required to submit a formal written apology to the dining services board. You'll read it aloud at a meeting tomorrow at nine a.m."
I stare at the paper. The words blur.
"Eiden," I say. My voice cracks. "I didn't—"
"This isn't personal, Marley." He leans back in his chair. "There are protocols. Cadence filed a formal complaint. Health services found the insect. There's video of you serving her table."
"Because that's my job," I say. "I serve everyone."
"Then you should have been more careful."
I look at him. Really look. At the person I thought I knew.
He's already looking away.
I stand. My legs feel unsteady. "Okay," I say.
He glances up, surprised. Maybe he expected me to beg.
I take the paper and leave.
***
The dining services board meets in a conference room that smells like burnt coffee. There are six people at the table. Mrs. Delgado sits in the corner, hands folded in her lap.
Eiden stands at the back, arms crossed.
I read the apology he made me write. My voice doesn't shake. My hands don't tremble. I say I take full responsibility. I say I understand the seriousness. I say it won't happen again.
Mrs. Delgado stares at the floor the entire time.
When I finish, the board chair nods. "Thank you, Ms. Crawford. You're dismissed."
I walk out. Eiden doesn't follow.
That night, I sit on my dorm bed and stare at the silver bracelet on my wrist. The one Eiden gave me on our first anniversary. He'd said, *So you always have a piece of me with you.*
I don't cry. I don't scream.
I just sit there until something inside me goes very quiet.
And very, very hard.
