“And … I was really tired and kept falling asleep in class … so I went to the student learning center to grab a coffee.” She gestures to the building behind her. “But when I got there, I just felt so heavy, and, I don’t know, I didn’t think coffee would help, and even though I have another class at eleven forty-five, I thought it would be better to take a nap.”

“So you were walking back to your dorm?”

She bobs her head like I’ve just thrown her a lifeline.

“I live in Brumby. Up the hill?”

It’s suddenly dawned on her that I’m not a student or a professor and that I might not know everything about campus life. And I don’t. But I know Brumby’s the all-women’s dorm that’s a calf-strengthening walk from the bottom of Baxter, past the shiny new Gameday Center and dilapidated rows of public housing. Nothing useful yet, but I make a note.

“And so I was tired, but I was trying to hurry so I could get at least thirty minutes of sleep. And there were a bunch of people waiting—probably to go to Bolton for breakfast. And I saw Jay—he was standing right in front of me.”

My head snaps up. “Jay?”

“The boy … who … who was hit.”

“You knew him?”

She nods, and her cheeks, still wet with tears, redden.

“I didn’t know him, know him. I just—I’ve seen him around at parties and stuff. He’s a Kap-O and his frat does things with my sorority…” She points to the blue letters on her T-shirt.

I’m scribbling as fast as I can.

“Jay…,” I say, scratching my mouth with the side of my pen. “Do you know his last name?”

She hesitates but then shakes her head.

“And what was Jay doing before he was hit?”

She scrunches her nose like she’s trying to remember, but I have the feeling she was watching him carefully.

“He was looking at his phone and, I don’t know, kind of laughing, I think. But I was behind him,” she says quickly. “So I could only see his back. But it was shaking like he was laughing.”

She’s right about the phone. I saw it a few feet away from the body, screen shattered, with glass that looked like ice crystals.

“And then?”