I raised my hand to ask a question in class and my teacher had escorted out by security.

The Unjust Accusation

My three roommates cornered me in our apartment living room. Lily held up her phone showing her banking app.

“Someone stole $340 from my account. It was you.” Lily said.

I shook my head.

“What? No, I would never.” I said.

“You were the only one home Thursday,” the second roommate cut in.

“We all checked the cameras.” the second roommate said.

They showed me screenshots. The money disappeared at 2:17 p.m. I’d been home alone doing laundry.

Oh fantastic, this was going great.

“Admit it,” Lily demanded.

“I didn’t take anything, I swear.” I said.

“Then explain this.” Lily said.

She showed me a Venmo notification to my account for $340 from a random username timestamped the same day. I stared at the screen confused and panicking.

“I don’t know what this is. Someone setting me up.” I said.

Lily’s eyes narrowed.

“If you don’t confess right now, I’m going to ruin your life.” Lily said.

A Public Humiliation

I walked to class in a daze, texting my mom what happened. She didn’t respond. My hands were shaking.

My phone buzzed; a screenshot from Instagram. Lily had posted, “When your roommate steals from you but plays victim.” Already 63 likes.

Comments poured in. People I barely knew were messaging me. Then the full weight of my situation crashed down on me.

Professor Braille was Lily’s aunt, which meant Lily had definitely already called her with a completely twisted version of what happened. My chest did that fun thing where it feels like someone’s sitting on it.

Another text, this time from a classmate.

“Yo, is it true you stole money?” the classmate wrote.

The rumors were spreading fast. I reached the lecture hall early, determined to act normal and prove I wasn’t the person they were claiming.

I took my usual seat in the fourth row and pulled out my notebook. Students filtered in. Some glanced at me and whispered to their friends.

My face decided now was a great time to cosplay as a tomato. Professor Braille entered and our eyes met for half a second.

Her expression was ice cold, lips pressed into a thin line. She looked away quickly. Class started.

She launched into the lecture about market equilibrium. I tried focusing on my notes, but my heart was doing a drum solo I didn’t ask for.

Every few minutes, I felt people’s eyes on me. 12 minutes in, the professor paused.

“Can anyone explain the relationship between supply curves and price elasticity?” the professor asked.

I knew this. I’d studied this chapter twice. My hand hovered near my lap.

Should I answer? Would it look bad, or would staying silent make me seem guilty? I decided.

I raised my hand. Show her I’m engaged. Show her I’m not a thief.

Professor Braille’s eyes locked onto my raised hand. She stopped mid-sentence. The entire room went silent.

Students turned to look at me. The pause stretched on. 3 seconds. 7.

Her face had gone completely blank.

“Put your hand down,” she finally said, voice flat.

I blinked.

“I… I just wanted to answer the…” I said.

“I said put your hand down.” Her voice rose.

“I will not tolerate this kind of disruption in my classroom.” the professor said.

My hand dropped to my lap.

“I don’t understand. You asked a question and I…” I said.

“Do not speak.” She cut me off sharply.

“Not another word.” the professor said.

The girl next to me scooted her chair away slightly. Everyone was staring. My face was now upgrading from tomato to full supernova.

Professor Braille picked up the phone on her desk. My heart decided to just stop showing up for work entirely.

“Yes, I need security to lecture hall C217,” she said calmly.

“Immediately, please. I have reason to believe a student may have illegal items in their possession.” the professor said.

“Wait,” I managed.

“Why are you calling security? I just raised my hand.” I said.

She turned away from me, addressing the rest of the class.

“I want everyone to know that I take classroom safety very seriously. Disruptive and threatening behavior will not be tolerated.” the professor said.

“Threatening?” My voice sounded like I’d been inhaling helium.

“I didn’t threaten anyone. I was answering your question.” I said.

She refused to look at me, just stood there, arms crossed, waiting. Two security guards appeared in the doorway 73 seconds later.

Everyone had their phones out now, some texting frantically, others taking photos.

“That student,” Professor Braille pointed at me.

“She needs to be removed from my classroom. I’d also like you to check her bag given recent incidents. I have concerns.” the professor said.

The Search and Removal

“Ma’am,” one guard looked at me.

“We’re going to need to search your belongings.” the guard said.

“What? No, you can’t.” I said.

My hands trembled as they took my backpack. The guard unzipped it and started pulling things out.

Notebook, laptop, pencil case. Then his hands stopped. He pulled out a small Ziploc bag with white pills inside.

I’d never seen them before in my life.