I Confirmed Cambridge While He Was Laughing With Her Chapter 01

I Confirmed Cambridge While He Was Laughing With Her Chapter 01

While I was attending the school’s traditional Pre-Orientation Cadre Camp, someone gave the back of my shirt a hard, vicious yank.

Snap. The elastic band whipped sharply against my spine, and hot, stinging pain instantly brought tears to my eyes.

“Whoa, padded push-up bra?” Martha shook her hand, her voice loud enough for the whole field to hear. “Jennifer, you’re wearing something that figure-hugging for cadre camp? Which drill instructor are you trying to seduce?”

A roar of jeers burst from the group of guys. Dozens of pairs of eyes fixed on my chest without a hint of shame.

Shaking all over, I clamped my hands tight over my collar and looked toward my boyfriend Silas, begging for help.

He didn’t step in to shield me from a single stare. Instead, he handed his friend Martha a bottle of water with a faint smile. “Alright, Jennifer’s sensitive, quit messing with her.”

It was “quit messing with her”—not “apologize”.

Two days earlier, Martha had used my sanitary pads as shoe insoles, and Silas had called it “making good use of things.” Now she’d shredded my self-respect right out in the open, and he still wrote it off as a joke.

A sharp, burning ache swelled in my throat.

I hunched over and zipped my camouflage uniform all the way to the top of my neck. On a sweltering thirty-eight-degree day, I bundled myself completely shut.

My phone vibrated in my pocket: [Jennifer Grant, your Cambridge exchange acceptance has been approved. Please confirm whether you accept the admission offer.]

I watched Silas laugh and ruffle Martha’s short hair.

I typed my reply: [Accept.]

From that moment onward, what stood between us was no longer just Martha. It was half an entire planet.

***

Word spread fast about Martha yanking my bra strap.

At the cafeteria line, two guys ahead twisted around and looked me up and down. “That’s her? You’d never guess.”

I carried my tray over to a corner table and sat down. Martha slid into the seat across from me, with Silas following closely behind and settling naturally beside her.

“Jennifer, why’s your collar zipped all the way up today?” Martha prodded my collar with her finger.

I shrank back.

“You must be overheating—your face is bright red.” Silas glanced at me.

“Totally sweltering from bundling up,” Martha tugged at her own collar. “Look at mine, athletic-style, nice and cool. Why bother with underwire stuff, it’s so stuffy and—”

Three nearby tables turned their eyes toward us.

“Okay, Martha, let’s eat.” Silas tapped her tray with his fork.

He didn’t tell her she ought not to bring it up. He only thought she had said enough.

During afternoon drills, I started feeling light-headed after only ten minutes standing at attention.

The drill instructor told me to head to the infirmary, but I shook my head.

This wasn’t stubborn pride. To get there I would have to walk past other companies’ formation lines, and I couldn’t bear becoming everybody’s gossip piece all over again.

I held on for another twenty minutes, until my vision blurred.

Right before I blacked out, I heard Martha shout: “Let me get her!”

Silas stepped forward in a rush. “You’ve been out in the sun all day, stay and rest. I’ve got her.”

He sprinted over, hoisted me up, and carried me toward the infirmary.

Fever-dazed along the way, I grabbed the sleeve of his uniform. “Silas… please tell her to stop talking about it…”

“Easy, easy. That’s just how she is. Try not to take it to heart.” He laid me down on the infirmary cot. “Get some rest. I need to get back to training. I’m worried about leaving Mattie by herself.”

By the time I got back to my apartment that night, Silas still hadn’t sent a single message.

My roommate Hazel handed me a glass of water. “Jennifer, I don’t know if I should say this. Martha made a poll in the group chat… guessing what color bra you had on, and she attached bra-themed reaction memes.”

“How many people voted?”

“Forty-seven.”

“Does Silas know?”

“Someone tagged him. He replied with a ‘stop messing around’ meme.”

Forty-seven people voting to guess the color of my bra. And my boyfriend sent a meme.

“Jennifer, don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying.”

My phone buzzed. It was the official Cambridge confirmation email asking me to submit supporting documents.

Hazel looked at me, confused. “He’s your boyfriend. Why does he never stand up for you?”

I stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

We had been together two years. He called Martha “Mattie”. He called me “Jennifer”.

I squeezed my phone tight in my palm and whispered. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

The reasons didn’t matter. Neither did he.