"Are you dating someone?" Jayla lunged for my suitcase with accusing eyes. "What?" I snapped the zipper closed faster than necessary. "No." "Then explain this," she said, shoving my phone into my face. A screenshot filled the screen: a cropped photo of me and a dark-haired guy sitting across from each other at the library long tables. The campus forum header glared above it—Harbor Hearsay—with comments dripping with assumptions. "Who is he?" Brielle leaned over the couch, practical hands folded. "You left your bag there last week. Maybe his arm is in frame." "Why would I date a stranger?" I said. My voice had more laugh than patience. "Because the comments are brutal," Henley said. "People are ruthless when they have Wi‑Fi and no empathy." "Read the top comment," Jayla prompted. "Someone tagged Professor Bass's son. People already think it's Cillian Bass." I blinked. "Cillian Bass who?" "The med student who's always in the clinic," Brielle said. "Which means everyone will attach prestige and gossip." "Stop naming people," I said. "This is ridiculous." "Ridiculous is when the forum tags your face and calls you a predator," Jayla said. She scrolled. She read aloud each venomous line with theatrical disgust. "Quote: 'New power couple? Or just another campus stunt to get attention?' Quote two: 'She looks like she needs better friends.'" Brielle didn't wait. "Don't let them call you needy." "They're trying to ruin your semester," Henley said. She pointed at