computers, coffees were sipped as fingers tapped away crazily at keyboards. I could practically smell the anticipation and tension in the air. Final exams. Final papers. Final oral reports. It was all upon us.And I was spending my Saturday surfing the Web for a gift for Josh Hollis. Well, that and Googling what was left of my suspect list. I hadn't done one full minute of studying since Sabine had left me an hour ago to go hook up with her bio study group. I was so screwing myself, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I had bigger things on my mind. Like murder. Like first love. Like not letting the murderer--if it was Ivy--murder my former best friend.
107
Sigh.
On the first-love front, it was impossible to find something good for Josh. Nothing said what I wanted it to say. Namely, "I love you. Doesn't this gift remind you of how much you love me?" I had been at it for hours, scouring every shopping site from L.L. Bean to art.com to eBay, but had come up with nothing good. The Holiday Dinner was less than a week away. It was time to admit defeat--especially since I definitely didn't have the money for overnight shipping. I couldn't pay for an Internet gift with what little money I had left from the Billings fund, since it was in the form of cash. All I had was the only-in- emergencies credit card my dad had given me over the summer, and the less I spent on that, the quicker he would be to forgive me. I went back to art.com, selected the Gauguin print I had been halfheartedly eyeing, and just ordered the damn thing.
Sigh, sigh.
The sophomore guy next to me vacated his computer and even before the scent of his raspberry bubble gum had faded into the ether, Marc Alberro had taken his place. He sat down on the chair sideways so that he could face me, the bulk of his winter coat wedged between desk and chair back, his book bag on his lap. Instantly, my heart stopped beating and a tingle of fear shot through me.
"Sorry I haven't returned your message. It's been crazy," he said. "So, what's up?"
I'd been avoiding him since James showed me that video, and glancing over at him now, I found I couldn't even look him in the eye. 108
Could he be the killer? Had he sneaked into Billings while we were all asleep and force-fed those pills to Cheyenne? Suddenly I felt like I was about to retch.
"What? What's the matter?" Marc asked, tilting his head.
"I have to go."
I grabbed up my things, leaving the reserved card on my computer so I wouldn't have to stop to return it to the front desk, and rushed awkwardly for the door. I tried to shove my arms into my coat while semi-sprinting, my bag strap all twisted around my wrist. I attempted to untwist it as I exited the building, but in the process my bag turned upside down, sending all my books and notebooks tumbling down the library stairs.
"Perfect," I said under my breath, crouching to retrieve them. The sky overhead was a threatening gray and wind whistled around the buildings. Any second the clouds were going to open up and pour freezing rain on my head. I could feel it.
"Reed!" Marc was there in a flash. He stooped to help gather my things. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"
As we stood up, our arms full of books, I forced myself to look at him. His brow was creased with concern and his light brown eyes were open and honest. For a second I couldn't imagine that he could have hurt Cheyenne. But after what she had done to him...
"You were Fourteen-in-Fourteen Flower Boy!" I blurted, rather more loudly than I intended.
All the color drained from Marc's face. He handed my notebooks to me.
109 "Well, I prefer to go by Marc," he said, taking a step back and shoving his hands under his sleeves.
My cheeks were flushed with heat. "Marc, this isn't funny. How could you have never mentioned that you and Cheyenne had a thing? Were you hiding it for a reason?"
A group of freshman girls scurried up the stairs between us and I realized it was a good thing this conversation
107
Sigh.
On the first-love front, it was impossible to find something good for Josh. Nothing said what I wanted it to say. Namely, "I love you. Doesn't this gift remind you of how much you love me?" I had been at it for hours, scouring every shopping site from L.L. Bean to art.com to eBay, but had come up with nothing good. The Holiday Dinner was less than a week away. It was time to admit defeat--especially since I definitely didn't have the money for overnight shipping. I couldn't pay for an Internet gift with what little money I had left from the Billings fund, since it was in the form of cash. All I had was the only-in- emergencies credit card my dad had given me over the summer, and the less I spent on that, the quicker he would be to forgive me. I went back to art.com, selected the Gauguin print I had been halfheartedly eyeing, and just ordered the damn thing.
Sigh, sigh.
The sophomore guy next to me vacated his computer and even before the scent of his raspberry bubble gum had faded into the ether, Marc Alberro had taken his place. He sat down on the chair sideways so that he could face me, the bulk of his winter coat wedged between desk and chair back, his book bag on his lap. Instantly, my heart stopped beating and a tingle of fear shot through me.
"Sorry I haven't returned your message. It's been crazy," he said. "So, what's up?"
I'd been avoiding him since James showed me that video, and glancing over at him now, I found I couldn't even look him in the eye. 108
Could he be the killer? Had he sneaked into Billings while we were all asleep and force-fed those pills to Cheyenne? Suddenly I felt like I was about to retch.
"What? What's the matter?" Marc asked, tilting his head.
"I have to go."
I grabbed up my things, leaving the reserved card on my computer so I wouldn't have to stop to return it to the front desk, and rushed awkwardly for the door. I tried to shove my arms into my coat while semi-sprinting, my bag strap all twisted around my wrist. I attempted to untwist it as I exited the building, but in the process my bag turned upside down, sending all my books and notebooks tumbling down the library stairs.
"Perfect," I said under my breath, crouching to retrieve them. The sky overhead was a threatening gray and wind whistled around the buildings. Any second the clouds were going to open up and pour freezing rain on my head. I could feel it.
"Reed!" Marc was there in a flash. He stooped to help gather my things. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"
As we stood up, our arms full of books, I forced myself to look at him. His brow was creased with concern and his light brown eyes were open and honest. For a second I couldn't imagine that he could have hurt Cheyenne. But after what she had done to him...
"You were Fourteen-in-Fourteen Flower Boy!" I blurted, rather more loudly than I intended.
All the color drained from Marc's face. He handed my notebooks to me.
109 "Well, I prefer to go by Marc," he said, taking a step back and shoving his hands under his sleeves.
My cheeks were flushed with heat. "Marc, this isn't funny. How could you have never mentioned that you and Cheyenne had a thing? Were you hiding it for a reason?"
A group of freshman girls scurried up the stairs between us and I realized it was a good thing this conversation
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