Your Rival Saw Me Naked

Chapter 58

The book club room feels tighter than usual, like the walls have leaned in while I wasn’t looking.

I take my seat anyway, setting my notebook on my lap, forcing my shoulders to relax. The chairs are arranged in a circle, the fluorescent lights buzzing softly overhead. This room is supposed to be safe—structured discussion, respectful disagreement, ideas over ego. That’s what I liked about it.

Amber is already here.

She sits two chairs away from me, legs crossed, posture casual in a way that’s very deliberate. Her hair falls perfectly into place, glossy and intentional. She doesn’t look at me when I enter. That’s how I know she knows I’m here.

The facilitator—a grad student named Priya—claps her hands lightly. “Okay, everyone. Today we’re discussing power dynamics in the text. Who wants to start?”

A few hands go up. I listen, taking notes, letting the rhythm of discussion steady me. I speak once, carefully, about agency and consent, about how power isn’t always loud. A couple of people nod. Priya smiles encouragingly.

Amber waits.

She always does.

When the discussion shifts toward interpretation—subjective readings, personal reactions—she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

“I have a question,” she says brightly. “For Zoey.”

My stomach tightens.

“Yes?” I reply, keeping my voice even.

She tilts her head, faux-curious. “You talk a lot about power and agency. Do you think that comes from experience, or from… influence?”

The room goes quiet. Not fully silent—just attentive in a way that makes my skin prickle.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I say.

Amber smiles. “I just mean—you’ve been getting a lot of opportunities lately. Praise. Recognition.” She glances around the circle. “It makes me wonder how much of that is earned versus… encouraged.”

Heat floods my face.

Priya frowns. “Amber—”

“It’s a fair question,” Amber continues smoothly. “We’re talking about power dynamics, right?”

I inhale slowly through my nose.

“Are you suggesting something?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I’m just asking. People notice things.”

A murmur ripples through the room. Someone shifts uncomfortably. Ellen’s eyes snap to Amber, sharp.

“Say it plainly,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Or don’t say it at all.”

Amber’s smile sharpens. “Okay. Plainly.” She leans back. “Some people get ahead because they’re smart. Some people get ahead because they know who to impress.”

The implication lands like a slap.

“That’s inappropriate,” Priya says firmly.

Amber raises her hands. “I didn’t name names.”

“You didn’t have to,” I reply.

My heart is pounding now, loud in my ears. I can feel the familiar urge to smooth things over, to deflect, to retreat into politeness. I think of my mother’s voice telling me to stay vigilant. I think of Professor Wilson telling me not to erase myself. I think of every time I swallowed something sharp just to keep the peace.

Not today.

“If you’re implying that my work isn’t mine,” I say, meeting Amber’s gaze, “you’re wrong.”

She laughs lightly. “Defensive.”

“Direct,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”

She tilts her head again. “You just seem very… confident lately. That can read as arrogance.”

The word ignites something in me.

“I’m confident because I’ve earned it,” I snap. “And if that makes you uncomfortable, that’s not my responsibility.”

A hush falls over the room.

Priya stands. “Okay. Let’s pause.”

Amber’s eyes gleam. “See? Emotional.”

I rise to my feet before I fully realize I’m doing it.

“Don’t,” I say, my voice sharp. “Don’t weaponize my reactions after provoking me.”

“Zoey,” Priya says warningly.

Amber stands too, mirroring me. “You’re proving my point.”

“What point?” I demand. “That you can undermine someone and call it discourse?”

“You’re overreacting,” Amber says sweetly.

Something in me snaps clean.

“No,” I say, louder than I intend. “I’m reacting appropriately to someone who keeps trying to discredit me in public.”

A couple of people gasp softly. Ellen stands up beside me, hands clenched.

“That’s enough,” Priya says firmly. “Both of you.”

Amber crosses her arms. “I’m being attacked for asking questions.”

“You’re being asked to stop,” Priya replies. “This meeting is about discussion, not personal insinuations.”

Amber scoffs. “Right. God forbid we challenge the golden girl.”

I turn to her fully now, the words burning on my tongue. “You don’t get to decide my worth just because you don’t like that I won.”

Her eyes flash. “Careful.”

“Or what?” I ask. “You’ll start another rumor?”

The room erupts in murmurs. Priya steps between us.

“Enough,” she says sharply. “Meeting adjourned. Now.”

People gather their things quickly, tension thick and uncomfortable. Amber grabs her bag, brushing past me with a smirk.

“You should watch your tone,” she murmurs. “People are listening.”

“So am I,” I reply.

She laughs softly and leaves.

My hands are shaking as the room empties. Priya turns to me, concern etched on her face.

“Zoey,” she says, “I understand why you’re upset. But escalating like that—”

“I know,” I say, swallowing hard. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

“Amber has already caused issues in other clubs,” Priya admits. “But formal complaints matter. Public confrontations can backfire.”

My stomach drops. “Am I in trouble?”

She hesitates. “I need to write a report. Just a summary.”

The word report makes my chest constrict.

“For the record,” she adds gently, “I don’t believe what Amber implied. But administration looks at conduct.”

I nod, numb. “Okay.”

The walk back to my room feels unreal, like I’m floating just above my body. My phone buzzes with messages—curious questions, vague concern. I don’t answer any of them.

An hour later, an email lands in my inbox.

Subject: Conduct Review — Book Club Meeting

My hands tremble as I open it. It’s brief. Neutral. Chilling.

You are requested to attend a meeting to discuss an incident reported during a student organization meeting.

My vision blurs.

I sink onto my bed, clutching the phone, my chest tight with panic and anger and exhaustion. One moment of honesty. One refusal to stay quiet. And suddenly everything I’ve worked for feels precarious again.

But If standing up for myself puts me at risk, then maybe the system needs examining—not my voice.

The thought doesn’t erase the fear.

But it gives me something firmer to stand on as I close my eyes, exhausted and resolute.

I won’t apologize for taking up space.

Not anymore.