A sound came out of Mia. Short and genuine. Something between a laugh and a breath.
"Yeah," she said. "She would have."
Connie squeezed her shoulder once, then let go. "Go rest," she said. "I'll be in the seats."
"Which row?"
Connie looked at her. "Where I can see your face," she said. "Same as always."
At 1:30, Mia was back in the warm-up room when Foss came in. Her expression was neutral, but there was something careful in it. Mia recognized that look.
Something had happened.
"Tell me," Mia said.
"A video was posted to the campus social network this morning," Foss said. "About an hour ago. It's getting shared."
Mia waited.
"Edited footage from multiple sources. Some real. Some, I can't identify the origin of. It puts together clips to make it look like you instigated the situation in the dining hall. Like you were aggressive toward Sloan first, and she was defending herself." Foss paused. "The scissors aren't in it. What happened to your hair isn't in it."
Mia was quiet for a moment.
"Burke had his phone out the whole time," she said.
"Selectively edited," Foss said. "Done carefully. To someone who wasn't there, it looks credible."
"How many people have seen it?"
"About 400 shares, as of 20 minutes ago. Students mostly. Some faculty."
Mia absorbed that.
She thought about 400 people watching a version of Wednesday in the dining hall that had been rebuilt from the ground up to point in the wrong direction. About walking into that hall at 2:15, in front of an audience who had spent the morning with a story that was not true.
She breathed.
"Okay," she said.
Foss looked at her. "That's it?"
"What else is there?" Mia said. "I can't unpost it. I can't explain it to 400 people in the next 45 minutes. The match is at 2:15." She looked at Foss steadily. "Is there anything that changes whether I'm allowed to compete?"
"No. The video is social, not official."
"Then okay," Mia said. "I'll deal with what's in front of me."
Foss looked at her for a moment. Then she nodded.
"Warm up," she said. "10 minutes, light. Then we tape your hands."
At 2:00, Mia walked from the warm-up room to the main hall.
She heard it before she got there. The crowd had filled in. Maybe 200 people in the seats. And the energy of it came through the door before she opened it. Voices. The particular collective sound of people who had been primed by something they'd seen on their phones that morning.
She pushed the door open and walked in.