Orientation Was a Lie
757 Words
Noelle's PoV :
I turned around slowly only to see Diane staring at me , and then she said, "Stop slacking around and get to work."
"Put that junk away and go to your desk , it will handle the rest," she said . I felt like she was hiding something and might know about the case, or maybe she just wants me to work .
The day ended well.
The first week of college is supposed to be about new beginnings. Mine was about burying the old me so deep that no one would ever find her.
Orientation sessions stretched across three days. Icebreakers. Campus tours. Speeches about finding yourself and chasing dreams.
I sat in the back of every room, smiling when expected, nodding when necessary. The girl next to me kept whispering about party plans. I nodded at that, too.
None of them knew I'd chosen Harlow for one reason only.
The ice rink.
Cole Whitmore.
Revenge.
My roommate Maya Torres arrived on the second day, bursting through the door like a hurricane in bright pink sneakers. She was pre-med, first-generation, loud in the way only someone from a big Miami family could be. Within five minutes, she'd already hung string lights and asked me three personal questions.
"So what's your deal?" she said, flopping onto her bed. "Quiet girl. Pre-law. you are always thinking. Have fun , look alive, girl. "
I laughed like she'd made a joke. "Nothing. I'm just adjusting."
Maya squinted at me. "Hmm, just stop acting like a grandma ."
That was the first time I realized she might be dangerous, not mean. The kind of person who sees through walls.
The lie I told everyone: I came to Harlow for the pre-law program.
The truth: I came because Cole Whitmore's practice schedule was posted publicly online. Because the ice rink hired student workers every semester. Because Professor Vincent Hale, the former Whitmore attorney who filed the lawsuit, had started teaching here three years ago, and no one knew why.
I had mapped every piece before I ever stepped on campus.
Orientation was just a performance.
On the third night, I couldn't sleep. Maya was already out cold, her phone still playing a quiet playlist. I slipped out of bed, opened my desk drawer, and pulled out the folder.
I'd hidden it beneath a stack of notebooks. Inside: my research. The timeline of the Whitmore lawsuit. The names of everyone involved.
And a photograph of Cole Whitmore.
I stared at his face. Number 19. Blue eyes. That easy smile.
He wasn't supposed to be likeable.
Then my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
Hey, it's Cole. Got your number from the rink schedule. Hope that's not weird. Just wanted to say you forgot your water bottle at the desk today. I put it in lost and found. Cole
My heart stopped.
Cole, how did he have my number? The rink schedule wasn't public. Unless he'd asked Diane. Unless he'd specifically looked for it.
I didn't respond. I couldn't.
But the photograph in my folder suddenly felt heavier. Like it was looking back at me.
I closed the folder and shoved it back in the drawer.
Then I picked up my phone and typed: Thanks. I'll get it tomorrow.
I added nothing else.
But as I put the phone down, I noticed something I'd missed before a small note tucked at the bottom of the folder, written in my own handwriting years ago:
If he's kind, the plan still works. Kind people trust faster.
I had written that when I was sixteen, cold, and certain.
Now, at eighteen, with Cole's text glowing on my phone screen, I wasn't sure of anything anymore.
Except this:
Orientation had lied to me.
College wasn't about finding myself.
It was about losing the girl I'd been before I met him.
I locked my phone and set it face down on the desk.
The room was silent except for Maya’s soft breathing.
Then
a knock.
At this hour.
I didn’t move.
Another knock followed, slower this time. Patient.
I glanced at Maya. Still asleep.
My fingers slowly reached for the drawer where I’d hidden the folder.
A third knock came.
And this time, from just outside the door, a voice spoke low, calm.
“Open the door, "
My breath caught.
I didn’t remember telling anyone which room I was in.
My hand moved before my mind did.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
I froze instantly,
" It can't be," I said.
- Writer
