Kiss Me Captain (Emily and Maddie) novel Chapter 57

[Emily’s POV]

Maddie’s frozen at the witness table, mouth open but producing zero sound. Her face has gone that particular shade of pale that suggests imminent fainting.

The lawyer’s standing there with his stack of Derek’s screenshots, looking way too pleased with himself for someone whose clients are objectively terrible people.

I stand before my brain catches up to my body. The chair scrapes against linoleum—loud enough that everyone’s attention snaps to me instead of Maddie’s ongoing impersonation of a statue.

“Can I address this?” My voice comes out steadier than I feel, which is a minor miracle considering my heart’s doing that thing where it tries to evacuate my chest via my throat.

The panel exchanges glances. The female administrator nods once. “You may speak, Miss Harper.”

I take a breath. “Whatever people have speculated about our relationship is based on homophobic assumptions that two women can’t be close without it being sexual. We shared a really traumatic ordeal. We’re supporting each other through the aftermath. If people don’t like seeing that, too bad—that’s their problem.”

The lawyer practically lunges forward, his expensive suit probably adding dramatic flair to the motion. “Objection—that’s deflection, not an answer to the direct question about whether—”

“The bullying included accusations about us being ‘too close,'” I cut him off, my voice getting sharper because screw his objections and his screenshots and his entire existence.

“Comments designed to shame and isolate us. We’re not on trial—they are.” I gesture toward Jenna and her matching set of awful humans. “They targeted us with harassment that escalated to equipment sabotage and assault. That’s what matters here.”

The panel confers quietly—heads bent together, hushed voices. The lawyer’s jaw works but he stays silent. Maddie’s still frozen beside me, gripping the table edge so hard her knuckles have gone white.

The female administrator straightens. “The personal relationship between the complainants isn’t relevant to whether harassment occurred. We’re here to determine if the code of conduct was violated, not to police students’ private lives.” The lawyer tries anyway. “But the nature of their relationship directly impacts—”

“The panel has made its determination,” the male administrator cuts him off. “We’ll take a recess to review all evidence. Twenty minutes.”

The gavel comes down and suddenly everyone’s moving, the room filling with scraping chairs and rustling papers.

Maddie’s shaking—not subtle tremors but full-body shakes. Her parents materialize out of the crowd like worried guardian angels.

Hanna’s hand lands on Maddie’s shoulder. “Sweetie, are you okay?” Maddie nods but can’t speak. Her throat’s working but nothing’s coming out.

David leans closer. “Those were ugly questions. I’m sorry you had to answer them.” My mother’s standing nearby, expression carefully neutral. She came for support—drove two hours. She catches my eye and offers a small smile.

The recess drags like a three-hour lecture on advanced calculus. We stand in the hallway—Maddie and me on one side, our parents flanking us, while Jenna’s crew huddles with their lawyer across the corridor.

When they call us back, the walk to our seats feels like approaching an execution. The panel’s expressions are unreadable.

The female administrator clears her throat. “After reviewing all evidence and testimony, the panel has reached a decision.” She pauses.

“Jenna Morrison, Carol Webb, and Sophie Chen—you are expelled from Lakeview University effective immediately.” My brain short-circuits. Just stops processing beyond expelled and immediately.

Hanna doesn’t push, but I can see she doesn’t quite believe the deflection. Can see the wheels turning behind her eyes, adding up observations and arriving at conclusions we absolutely cannot afford her to reach. Math we really wish she wasn’t doing.

The drive back to campus passes in silence broken only by her father’s attempt at small talk about the weather and upcoming holidays. Maddie answers in monosyllables, staring out the window like it might contain escape routes or at least answers to questions nobody’s asking out loud.

When we finally pull up to the dorm, Hanna gets out first. She pulls Maddie into a hug that lasts several seconds too long, her hand cupping the back of Maddie’s head like she used to when Maddie was small. Like she’s trying to protect her from something she can’t quite identify but knows is there.

“I love you,” she says quietly, but I’m close enough to hear it. “Whatever’s going on, I love you.”

Then they’re gone—red taillights disappearing down the campus road—and Maddie’s collapsing against me like someone cut her strings. I wrap my arms around her, holding her up because she’s barely holding it together and someone needs to. We’re both running on fumes and sheer stubbornness at this point.

We make it to our room somehow. The door closes behind us and the weight of everything—the hearing, the questions, Jenna’s parting threat, her parents’ suspicion—crashes down simultaneously. Like someone dropped an entire library on our heads but the books are all about our terrible life choices.

That evening finds us sprawled on Maddie’s bed, not quite touching but close enough that I can feel her warmth. We’re supposed to be decompressing but mostly we’re just existing in careful silence, both too wrung out for actual conversation. The kind of exhausted where words feel like too much effort.

Then Maddie’s phone rings. The sound cuts through the quiet like an alarm, loud and jarring and unwelcome. Like a fire drill but worse because it’s personal. Maddie reaches for it automatically, and then goes completely still. Derek’s name glows on the screen. Maddie’s entire body goes rigid.