My knee is solid as my foot pushes off the sidewalk. Good thing my doctor okayed me to go start exercising over Christmas break. It would kill me if I didn’t have a way to burn off some of the excess energy coursing through me.
Lights in the dormitory windows draw my attention. Adrienne invited me to watch a movie with her and Mikhail in the student lounge, but I couldn’t sit still. Had to get out.
I’ve been avoiding Cal all day so I don’t have to explain where his car went. It helps that I know him so well I know where he’s likely to be at any given time of the day. From there it’s simple to stay out of his path. My addiction to knowing the details has proven useful, for sure.
I’ve also been keeping tabs on Gul, who has spent nearly the entire day filling everyone in about Professor Rook’s death as soon as they’re in the door. She’s single-handedly started a handful of rumors about the professor’s death, beginning with the one about him purposely jumping in front of the car that killed him, to his death being a hit ordered by someone who didn’t like that he’d been peddling drugs to their special little snowflake kid. So far I haven’t heard anything even close to what really happened, but Gul does seem to hear about what goes on in the school before anyone else, and if she gets close to discovering the truth, I need to know about it.
I reach up to pull my knit headband forward over my ears, which are probably bright pink in the frigid air. Doesn’t Gul have something better to do than broadcast the academy’s seedy underpinnings to everyone? Anything?
Genevieve gave me a big hug when she got back this afternoon, her eyes asking me if I’m okay after what happened to Professor Rook. She knew about my arrangement with him, and her concern was sweet. Once I assured her I was fine, she dropped it. Hence why she’s my best friend. She doesn’t push when it’s clear I don’t want to talk about something.
Nervous ripples course through my body. Every minute I expect someone to tell me they know what I did last night. Accuse me of mowing Professor Rook down in revenge. Or maybe in the name of that most primal instinct: self-preservation.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Probably another text from Cal, asking about his car.
The warmth of my breath puffs upward in amorphous wisps as I round the corner. One more lap will mean three miles. Then I can quit and go inside. It’s Monday night, which means Cal has art class across town. He’s not on campus, so I won’t have to worry about ducking him. If he comes by after class, I’ll pretend I’m not in my room. Then I won’t have to come up with an explanation until tomorrow.
A paranoid feeling that I’m being watched creeps up my neck, making me look over my shoulder. There’s no one outside, but a shadow moves away from one of the lit windows.
Chills run down my spine. It’s getting too cold to be out.
The bare branches of the trees lining the track seem to stretch and twist in the shadows, bending lower. Reaching for me. Their dry, brown stalks yearn to snag my shoulders and ponytail.
I shake myself. Get it together, Char.
Down the track, a car’s headlights flare to life, and my eyes widen. Professor Rook gives a devilish grin behind the wheel. Payback time. His mouth doesn’t move, but his words reverberate clearly in my ears.
The car’s engine roars as he guns it. He’s coming straight for me.
Blood rushes in my ears as panic rises in my chest. I try to run, pumping my legs, but each step feels like I’m muddling through a snowbank without making any progress.
I push off the rubber track as the car rounds the curve, its horn blaring.
I jolt and sit up in bed, my breath coming in short pants. Cold, sweaty strands of hair are glued to my cheeks and neck.
Exhaling, I try to rein in my breathing. It was just a dream.
I watched the surveillance video right before I fell asleep. Watched as Cal’s car crept into the academy parking lot with its front bumper dented. That and the time stamp on it are damning, despite the fact that the accident isn’t in the video. It was too far down the street. That fact didn’t stop my subconscious from torturing me with that nightmare.
Closing my eyes, I flop back on my pillow, jabbing two fingers into the side of my throat to check my pulse. It’s racing. I have to get a grip or I’ll slip up, and someone will find out what I did.
Professor Rook was a drug dealer. He deserved justice. That’s what I gave him.
But even as I think these words, I know they’re not true. Justice and vigilantism are not the same. Even when it’s unintended. What am I going to do?
On my desk, my phone is vibrating. Cal’s persistence is surprising. He’s not usually so driven.
The noise stops and my muscles relax. I stare at the ceiling, hoping that when I close my eyes again, that oncoming car will be gone, back to the pits of my subconscious where it belongs. Then my phone starts up again.
Swiping it into my hand, I peer at the screen. My stomach bottoms out. It’s not Cal. It’s my ex-boyfriend, Kenneth.
I rub my eyes with my free hand, debating whether or not to answer. Why is Kenneth calling me at two in the morning? The jerk broke up with me, after all. He wasn’t looking for commitment, he said, and no matter how much I argued that I was fine with dating casually, he didn’t believe me. His feigned sympathetic smile flits through my mind, like he knew I was full of it, but didn’t want to call me on it.
I frown in the dark. He was right. I’m not about casual dating and hooking up. Despite my no-nonsense demeanor, I’m looking for something more. All those happily ever after Disney movies that spoon feed little girls crap about true love and lifelong commitment and happy little forest animals that do your cooking and cleaning? My mom and stepdad have it. They’re super sweet together when they’re not so stressed out about his work. I’ve even caught them making out in the kitchen, which was gross, but reassuring. If anyone asks, I’ll deny it, but I want the fairytale. All of it. Maybe even the spontaneous singing.
Unlucky for me, finding a guy with the backbone to stand by my side while I conquer the world hasn’t been easy. It’s been basically impossible. High school guys aren’t ready for my intensity or my drive, which is why I don’t bother dating them.
With Kenneth, I thought I’d finally found a worthy partner. Turns out he doesn’t want a partner either. He just wanted someone to mess around with in the few hours he wasn’t nose-deep in sick people and bodily fluids.
No thanks.
Which is why I’m inclined not to answer the phone. I don’t care to hear what he has to say. No matter what it is, it won’t change anything. It’s not like he suddenly decided he misses me and he wants me back for a real relationship this time.
Did he?
A tiny seed of hope opens up in my chest, and I hate myself for it. “Hi,” I say, my voice softer than usual. Husky, even.
“Charlotte? Are you okay?” Kenneth’s voice is hushed, as if he’s trying to avoid being overheard. But there’s another quality there that is more unsettling. A crackle to the edges of his speech. Kenneth sounds like he’s freaking out.
Unease slinks in, making me pull my covers tighter around me with my free hand. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be? Why are you calling me?”
His voice drops even lower. “Look, I can’t talk long, but I had to talk to you. I’m finishing up my rotation in the city morgue, remember?”