she’s about to do the same. She does it every time I bring up her and Chase’s friendship.
“Redirecting.”
I laugh. Jordan has that effect on people. “You’re definitely going to be a psychologist.” I loop my arm with hers as I scan the area, keeping an eye open for anything suspicious. The side effect of being a victim of stalking.
A gust of wind sends our hair flying forward and into our faces. My straight dark-blond hair and her black curls. I brush a strand behind my ear in time to see a guy from my math class last term watching me from the intersecting paths ahead of us. He’s with a group of guys and elbows one of them in the ribs. Once he has his friend’s attention, he nods toward me as he says something. Like a single unit, the entire group turns and their gazes run appreciatively over my body. I might be wearing a winter coat, but it feels as though they can see past my layers, stripping me naked.
“So things are okay with you and Marcus?” Jordan asks. She either doesn’t notice the guys or can’t be bothered to give them a second thought.
“He knows I didn’t write the letters.” And in a few hours, everyone else will know.
“But are things okay between you two?” Her expression turns serious. And like with those guys we passed, it’s as if she can see through my layers. But unlike with those jerks, she’s delving deeper, to the most vulnerable part.
“Seriously, we’re fine.” All I have to do is survive the trial and everything will be okay.
Jordan goes off to her class and I enter the room for Community Psychology. Emma’s already here, seated in the second row. I tried calling her this morning, but ended up with her voice mail. I sit next to her. Emma doesn’t look at me, her attention focused on the empty page in front of her.
“Hey,” I say. She startles. “Is something wrong?”
She turns, her expression a mix of emotions, none I can get a firm grasp on beyond exhaustion. Her normally bright blue eyes are dull above dark half circles. “Why are the reporters accusing you of writing those letters?” she asks quietly.
“I didn’t write them. I loved Trent. You know that.” I fight to keep my voice low and even, none too thrilled at the prospect of providing a free source of entertainment for everyone in the room.
If I thought Emma looked startled before, that’s nothing compared to now. She opens her mouth to say something.
“Okay, class,” a tall woman says, wearing black pants and a cream-colored sweater. “Let’s get started. I’m handing out the class outline.” She passes a stack of papers to the person at the end of our row and moves to the row behind us. The girl takes a handout and gives the pile to the guy next to her. “As you’ll see, there will be two midterms, a term paper, and an oral presentation...”
She continues talking, but I don’t hear what she’s saying. All I hear in my head over and over and over again are the words
oral presentation.
I remove a handout and pass the rest to the person next to me. We spend the remainder of the class listening to the professor talk about her expectations and what the course will cover. Once it’s over, we pack up to leave.
Emma hasn’t rushed off, and even though I’m meeting up with Marcus to study in the library, I hold back to talk to her.
“I swear, Emma, those letters are fake. You have to know how much I loved Trent.” At the thought of losing my best friend over this lie, my insides start to crumple. I sniff. “I need you,” I whisper.
Lines pucker between her eyebrows. “Am I missing something? Why would I think you wrote them?”
My head droops forward. God, I’m such an idiot. My friends believe in me, but I couldn’t get past my fear of losing them. So instead, I assumed they thought I was capable of doing what I’ve been accused of.
I gave Paul power over me once. And due to my own stupidity, I almost gave it to his sister, too.
“When you went missing,” Emma
“Redirecting.”
I laugh. Jordan has that effect on people. “You’re definitely going to be a psychologist.” I loop my arm with hers as I scan the area, keeping an eye open for anything suspicious. The side effect of being a victim of stalking.
A gust of wind sends our hair flying forward and into our faces. My straight dark-blond hair and her black curls. I brush a strand behind my ear in time to see a guy from my math class last term watching me from the intersecting paths ahead of us. He’s with a group of guys and elbows one of them in the ribs. Once he has his friend’s attention, he nods toward me as he says something. Like a single unit, the entire group turns and their gazes run appreciatively over my body. I might be wearing a winter coat, but it feels as though they can see past my layers, stripping me naked.
“So things are okay with you and Marcus?” Jordan asks. She either doesn’t notice the guys or can’t be bothered to give them a second thought.
“He knows I didn’t write the letters.” And in a few hours, everyone else will know.
“But are things okay between you two?” Her expression turns serious. And like with those guys we passed, it’s as if she can see through my layers. But unlike with those jerks, she’s delving deeper, to the most vulnerable part.
“Seriously, we’re fine.” All I have to do is survive the trial and everything will be okay.
Jordan goes off to her class and I enter the room for Community Psychology. Emma’s already here, seated in the second row. I tried calling her this morning, but ended up with her voice mail. I sit next to her. Emma doesn’t look at me, her attention focused on the empty page in front of her.
“Hey,” I say. She startles. “Is something wrong?”
She turns, her expression a mix of emotions, none I can get a firm grasp on beyond exhaustion. Her normally bright blue eyes are dull above dark half circles. “Why are the reporters accusing you of writing those letters?” she asks quietly.
“I didn’t write them. I loved Trent. You know that.” I fight to keep my voice low and even, none too thrilled at the prospect of providing a free source of entertainment for everyone in the room.
If I thought Emma looked startled before, that’s nothing compared to now. She opens her mouth to say something.
“Okay, class,” a tall woman says, wearing black pants and a cream-colored sweater. “Let’s get started. I’m handing out the class outline.” She passes a stack of papers to the person at the end of our row and moves to the row behind us. The girl takes a handout and gives the pile to the guy next to her. “As you’ll see, there will be two midterms, a term paper, and an oral presentation...”
She continues talking, but I don’t hear what she’s saying. All I hear in my head over and over and over again are the words
oral presentation.
I remove a handout and pass the rest to the person next to me. We spend the remainder of the class listening to the professor talk about her expectations and what the course will cover. Once it’s over, we pack up to leave.
Emma hasn’t rushed off, and even though I’m meeting up with Marcus to study in the library, I hold back to talk to her.
“I swear, Emma, those letters are fake. You have to know how much I loved Trent.” At the thought of losing my best friend over this lie, my insides start to crumple. I sniff. “I need you,” I whisper.
Lines pucker between her eyebrows. “Am I missing something? Why would I think you wrote them?”
My head droops forward. God, I’m such an idiot. My friends believe in me, but I couldn’t get past my fear of losing them. So instead, I assumed they thought I was capable of doing what I’ve been accused of.
I gave Paul power over me once. And due to my own stupidity, I almost gave it to his sister, too.
“When you went missing,” Emma
Similar Books
