Chapter Five - The Kappa House Knows

The Kappa Kappa Chi house smelled like cinnamon coffee and fresh flowers.

It always did at the start of the semester—courtesy of Lacey, the sorority's reigning president and Harriet's best friend since her first week on campus. She had a talent for making even the loudest chaos feel curated. Her smile was already lighting up the hallway when Harriet stepped inside, dragging a suitcase behind her and clutching a duffel like armor.

"There she is!" Lacey said, arms open. "Miss Summer Mystery herself."

Harriet dropped her bags and fell into the hug.

"I've missed you." she said, voice muffled in Lacey's soft curls.

Lacey pulled back just slightly. "I was this close to staging an intervention and dragging you back myself. You doing okay? I know you've been dealing with- everything so.. "

Harriet forced a half-smile. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Lacey didn't push. She just looped her arm through Harriet's and led her upstairs. "Well, you've got the same room—fresh sheets, fairy lights up, and yes, I hid the tequila. No more drinking."

Harriet laughed despite herself. For a moment, it felt like she could breathe.

Lacey leaned forward slightly, concern flickering in her eyes. "I get it. I know how much your family's been on your mind, especially your sister.. How are you really doing? You can talk to me, you know that, right?"

Harriet swallowed, the familiar lump in her throat growing. She'd been putting on a brave face, pretending like she was okay with everything that had happened, but Lacey knew better than anyone. 

They'd shared so many late-night talks over the year, both during the highs and the lows. And right now, Harriet needed someone to help her unload.

"It's been a mess, honestly." she started, her voice a little shaky. 

"I... I don't think I realised how much I was still carrying until I came back here. Last summer was tough. I kept putting it out of my mind, telling myself I was fine, but I wasn't. I wasn't even close."

Lacey reached out, placing a hand on Harriet's arm, a comforting gesture that made her feel just a little less alone. 

"You don't have to go through this on your own, Hattie. You know I'm here for you, right? Always."

The house buzzed with chatter, hair straighteners hissing in nearby rooms, a speaker playing 2000s throwbacks somewhere down the hall. It was comforting—almost aggressively normal.

But it didn't take long for the whispers to follow.

When Harriet walked into the common room later that evening, the conversations dipped just slightly. Just enough. Girls she'd known for almost 2 years suddenly offered her tight-lipped smiles, not quite knowing how to speak around grief, rumours, and things you weren't supposed to ask.

She knew what they were saying.

Her grandmother was murdered

Her sister had been to juvie.

Someone heard she'd gotten an abortion.

No one really knew who the father was.

And Harriet Baldwin, perfect Harriet, had gone silent and away for a year and a half.

She grabbed a drink of water from the kitchen and made her way to the balcony, needing air. The evening sky was still bright enough to see, the faint warmth of the sun lingering on the horizon. The campus below her seemed alive with promise and new beginnings, while she felt more like a stranger here than ever before.

She leaned over the railing, trying to steady her breath.

She wasn't sure why she felt so overwhelmed. Maybe it was the weight of the year away, the loss of her grandmother, the estrangement from her younger sister after her confession, and the pressure of trying to step back into a life that felt like it was moving forward without her. Or maybe it was just the fact that everyone here knew her—knew the Baldwin name, knew the whispers about her family's chaos, and yet, no one was talking about it.

But they didn't have to. Harriet felt it in the way their eyes slid away when she entered the room. In the way their smiles froze just a second too long. In the way conversations shifted as if they were trying not to look at her.

She hated it.

Later that afternoon, Harriet found herself standing in the doorway of her room. It hadn't changed much. It still had the same cozy feel—the vintage rugs, the fairy lights strung along the ceiling, and the desk she'd spent countless nights at last year, books scattered and unfinished essays piling up. The only difference now was the lingering scent of dust in the air, like the room had waited too long for her return.

She set her suitcase and bag down by the bed, the weight of it leaving her with a strange sense of finality. She had been home for less than an hour, and already, it felt like she had to force herself back into this life.

The closet door creaked open as she began unpacking, pulling out the clothes she'd left hanging there from the previous year, the same clothes she had worn in a different time, in a different version of herself. She hung them up, one by one, though the task felt both mundane and monumental. Each shirt she slid onto the hanger reminded her of how much had changed in such a short time.

The silence of the room pressed in around her, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric and the faint hum of the house around her. She moved automatically—socks in a drawer, books stacked on the shelf, her toiletries lined up neatly in the bathroom. But every movement felt like it carried the weight of her absence, the time lost. Every fold of a shirt, every step across the room, reminded her of what she had been through, and of what she had to rebuild.

By the time she finished, the room felt both familiar and foreign—like a memory she couldn't quite recall. She sat on the edge of her bed, looking out the window at the sun dipping below the horizon.

The peaceful quiet was broken by the ping of her phone.

A notification from her calendar.

Her meeting with Ms. Montez was in thirty minutes.

Harriet let out a shaky breath. She'd been avoiding this for a while. The thought of meeting with Ms. Montez, her academic advisor, and discussing her grades, made the room feel smaller. The idea of explaining why she had left so abruptly last semester—the strain of her family's problems and her absence from university—seemed both necessary and impossible. She had put this off for as long as she could, but there was no getting around it.

After a moment, she grabbed her bag and headed for the door. The air outside felt cooler than it had earlier, a sharp breeze sweeping across the campus as she walked toward the academic building. The walk felt long. She couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the pressure of unspoken words hanging in the air. It wasn't just the new rumors about her family. It was that everyone seemed to know she was different now.

Her heart pounded as she approached the building. She could feel her pulse quicken, a familiar anxiety tightening in her chest.

Ms. Montez's office was tucked at the end of a narrow corridor. The door opened before Harriet had the chance to knock.

"Harriet." Ms. Montez said, her warm tone a sharp contrast to the cold knot of nerves in Harriet's stomach. "Good to see you back."

Harriet smiled faintly. "It's good to be back."

Ms. Montez motioned to the chair across from her, and Harriet sank into it, still carrying the weight of what had happened over the past year and the sudden responsibility of being here, sitting in front of a woman who represented everything that had been put on hold in her life.

"I know you had some time away last year." Ms. Montez began, her pen tapping rhythmically on the table.

 "I've been reviewing your grades—your absence wasn't ideal, but we understand. Family comes first."

Harriet swallowed, the lump in her throat growing. Family comes first. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of that phrase. If only it were that simple. They were working on it.

"You were a top student before you left." Ms. Montez continued. "But I'll be honest: it's not just the time you missed. You've got a lot of catching up to do. You need to bring those grades back up if you're planning on keeping your scholarship. You only have a year left."

Harriet felt her chest tighten. It was as if the ground beneath her had shifted again, and she was scrambling to find solid footing. She nodded, though the weight of her advisor's words felt heavier than any lecture on grades.

"I'll manage." she said, but the words didn't feel like they belonged to her. She wasn't sure if she would manage. If she was capable of doing this, of returning to the person she had been before everything had fallen apart.

"There's no rush." Ms. Montez said. "But I'm happy to offer any resources or extra support if you need it. I'd recommend meeting with your professors as soon as possible to get back on track this year."

Harriet nodded again, but her mind was already racing. A part of her wanted to leave—to run away from the responsibility and the pressure. But another part of her, the one that had gotten her through every tough moment before, was still there, stubbornly holding on.

Ms. Montez glanced at her calendar, then back at Harriet. 

"Actually, one more thing before you go." she said, her voice lightening slightly. "We've got a new transfer student this semester—Jake Montez. My oldest son. Polished, very polite, and, well—he made quite the impression at orientation. Tall, athletic type. I was wondering if you'd be willing to show him around a bit? You'd only need to check in with him for a few days."

Harriet blinked. "Me?"

"You've always been great with new people." Ms. Montez said, giving her a knowing smile. "And I thought it might help you feel a bit more grounded too. You don't have to say yes, but... think of it as a fresh start."

Harriet hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to play tour guide while her own life felt like it was hanging by a thread. But there was something in Ms. Montez's eyes—hopeful, yet gentle—that made her pause.

"Okay." she said softly. "I can do that."

"Great. He'll swing by the office within the next few days." Ms. Montez said. "I'll notify you when to come."

As Harriet stood to leave, she felt the weight in her chest shift ever so slightly—not gone, but no longer suffocating. Maybe helping someone else find their way might help her remember how to find her own.