Page 114 of Believing Bailey (Granton University 2)

Sam laughed, then blushed and self-consciously tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Well, thank you,” she demurred, only for her gaze to seek Beck. “But it’d be even better if the idea could bring everyone to justice, not just the people in this room who were wronged.”

I glanced at Beck, wondering what she was talking about. At first, he squinted, clearly not understanding either. But after a moment, his gaze cleared and eyes widened. “You mean…?”

Growing somber and sympathetic, Sam met Beck’s gaze and nodded. “I do. I think this just might help her a lot.”

Chapter 36

BAILEY

I tugged the hood of my sweatshirt more snugly around my face and kept to the rear of the group as Melody began the tour, introducing herself. Then I shimmied my phone from my front pocket and opened it to look up the picture Beck had given me of Daylon Raider. After I scanned the high school seniors gathered with their parents in front of me, my pulse began to kick into high gear.

He’s here, I typed before hitting Send to the group. We’re a Go!

My phone vibrated about five times simultaneously as I stuffed it back into the front pocket of my hoodie, probably everyone telling me good, and now to get out of there because my job in Operation Truth was complete. All I was supposed to do was ensure Daylon Raider was part of the tour. Then I was supposed to evacuate.

Except running wasn’t in my blood today. I had to stay and see, to watch everyone get what was coming to them.

We’d worked all weekend, scheming and planning, working through alternative after alternative to get everything just right. Four days later, Monday morning, and our plan was coming to fruition.

“Alright then.” Melody clapped her hands to gain everyone’s attention. “If you’ll move this way, we’ll visit the McCuffrey Hall, the science center first.” She traipsed over the campus lawn, leading us like a mother duck with her younglings and talking about the type of tree we passed. Not once did she mention this was the very ground where a crazed gunman had killed nearly a dozen students a year before, or that it was between this building and the next—Jamison Hall, the Art Department—where he’d finally killed himself.

She was kind of a sucky tour guide if you asked me.

I yawned inside my hoody and kept out of sight in the back as we moved through the science building, then the art building, then the food court.

After two more stops, and my feet aching from so much stupid walking, we finally, finally made it to the Human Health Department.

And just as Sam had described it, Deb the Human Health spokesperson led us into a room with a huge projection screen hanging down in front of one wall. After we all sat, I grew a little more ill at ease because Melody remained standing next to Deb as she addressed us. If she looked at me, really looked at me, she would recognize me.

I slumped lower in my hair, cringing when my phone buzzed loudly in my pocket. At least it felt super-loud.

Finally, thank God, Deb announced she had a video for us to watch, and after she started it, she moved to the door where she turned down the lights and then slipped silently from the room just as the usual beginning started that she was used to seeing.

I breathed out a breath, glad she hadn’t stuck around, while the rest of me tightened with anticipation. This was it. It was going to happen right now.

I glanced Melody’s way where the glow from the screen splashed perfectly across her face so I could gage her expressions. She looked completely bored, her arms crossed over her shoulder and her back propped against the wall. She had no idea what was about to happen.

Two rows in front of me, Daylon Raider looked equally bored, slouched low in his own chair where he was flanked by both his parents.

I have no idea how Paige’s fake email invite to him had coaxed him into coming to campus today and taking this very tour, but I loved her persuasive skills.

“We at the Granton Human Health department are committed to providing services for all students in all manner of health needs,” The voice over began as the screen panned from the entire campus and on to this building, “ranging from your physical to mental to emotional well-being. Our clinic provides medical, dental and women’s services for either walk-in or appointment visits, along with a twenty-four hotline for therapy and counseling, plus in-house along with volunteer psychologists willing to work with students one-on-one or in group sessions.”

This is where the video changed from the original beginning to our happily tampered-with portion. The voice-over changed from a male to female (Tess’s voice). And the scene moved from the building to one of the rooms inside the health center.

Melody didn’t seem to notice as she yawned and checked the time on her phone.

“One of Granton’s Crisis Counselling sessions for raped and sexually abused victims would be particularly beneficial to your very own tour guide, Melody. Melody Fairfield, that is.”

At the mention of her name, Melody perked to atte

ntion, shoving away from the wall and shrieking, “What the hell?”

A shocked murmur spread through the group.

Excitement raced through me. I sat forward, as the screen stopped zooming in on a group in the middle of having a meeting to a picture of Melody’s face we’d taken from her Facebook profile.

“Melody was raped right here on campus at a fraternity party on the night of November Eleventh.”

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