Blue Is for Nightmares by Laurie Faria Stolarz Page B

jar my mouth, and let a long, audible huff of air spew out my mouth. He has my laundry.
    Drea dangles the phone in between two fingers and starts to hyperventilate. I take the receiver from her and the voice continues in my ear: "Tell your friends it isn't nice to I17
    eavesdrop on other people's phone calls. I don't want to talk to them, Drea. I want to talk to you. I want to be with you. And soon, that will happen."
    The phone clicks on the other end. I drop the receiver so that it dangles inches from the ground.
    Amber snatches a notebook out of some freshman's hand and starts fanning Drea's face with it.
    -Just breathe," Amber says. "Try and catch your breath."
    "I can't do this anymore," Drea mumbles between puffs. -I can't...." Her voice trails off in a series of desperate gasps.
    "I know" I take her hands and help her to sit down on the cement curbing. "I think maybe you should go home for a week or so, until this is over."
    -You should, Drea," Amber says.
    Drea shakes her head and swats Amber's notebook- fanning away. "I'll be okay" she says, regaining her breath.
    'Are you sure?" I ask. -Do you want to go lie down?"

    -I'm fine."
    The dial tone plays from the receiver like a horrible reminder that he's still with us somehow.
    "He's screwing with us," Amber says.
    Drea straightens up a bit. "How did he know we were going to come here? How does he know about my bra?"
    Yikes. I didn't want to tell her about the bra or the hanky in the first place, because I didn't want to admit about the pee-stained laundry I just wanted to put the whole incident behind me and hope it didn't come back.
    "How did he know we'd be together?" Drea looks at Amber and me for answers, as if we have them.
    "Because he's screwing with us," Amber says. "Whoever is behind this knows all of us pretty well. He knows that I have the pay phone numbers listed in my address book and that's why he didn't block the call."
    And he knew we'd come running out here to find him," I finish.
    "I bet he can see us," Amber says, peering around the quad. "He's probably watching us right now. Probably has a cell phone."
    "Then why would he use the pay phone?" Drea asks, the color returning to her cheeks.
    "To throw us off track," Amber says. "That's what I'd do." "He's always a step ahead," Drea says.
    I draw up on Drea's sweater, pluck the protection bottle from her waist, and place it in her hands.
    "He may be a step ahead now," I say. "But he won't be for long."
    fift-c-en
    It's just past ten o'clock and Drea and I have each taken our stations in bed. Me trying to work through a bunch of word problems for trig, Drea mapping out a Chaucer essay. I tried taking a snooze right after dinner, but I think insomnia has kicked in. I'm hoping the word problems will help do the trick.
    It's dead quiet between us. I guess it's an understatement to say we haven't exactly been getting along lately. But it's

    also an understatement to say we've both had our reasons to go into bitch mode. I almost wish Amber were around to chisel through the ice wall between our beds, but she ended up studying with PJ tonight. It's true what Drea says about the two of them--they really should go out again.
    But Amber is from the school of "My parents were high school sweethearts and still make out like crazy so I refuse to be in a relationship that isn't as perfect as theirs." I guess we all have our hang-ups.
    Personally, I don't know what I'm thinking half the time, flirting with Chad, right in front of Drea. But sometimes I just can't help myself, can't bridle the raging hormones I feel beating through my bones, stirring up my blood.
    Sort of a shiny friend-thing to do, I know. But I also know I've been blaming my sour-grapes routine on a serious lack of sleep, when I think it's more like a serious lack of self-confidence.
    I glance up at Maura's watercolor picture of us sitting on the porch swing, playing cards. I take a deep breath and stifle the self-pity I feel tearing up in my eyes.