The accusation felt like a slap in the face. Sarah crumpled the email, the paper ball digging into her palm as if trying to wound her. Her jaw clenched so tight, she could feel the tendons in her neck strain. She stood, knocking over her chair in her haste, and began pacing her cramped dorm room, the worn rug doing little to soften the insistent thud of her boots against the floorboards. "Unbelievable," she muttered, the word a harsh whisper against the sudden, brittle silence.
She ripped the email out of the trash and spread it out on her desk, scanning the words again and again as if the meaning would change. The professor's cold language, the accusation itself, seemed to vibrate with a palpable energy. Her fingers trembled as she picked up her phone, ready to call her friend but instead slammed it down. The walls of her small space suddenly felt too close, the air thick and stifling.
The essay had been her heart and soul. Weeks of research, sleepless nights, fueled by the caffeine of countless coffee cups. Now, they were saying she'd copied? The idea was preposterous. She grabbed her backpack, wanting to get away, and then stopped. Where would she go? The library? What was the point?