Chapter Ten

On Saturday, not only is the library deserted, but so is much of campus, everyone flocking to the stadium for the football game. Earlier, as I prepared for work and Dara got ready to meet her friends for the game, she admitted she's supposed to see one of her Buckonnect matches there too. And when she lamented that she doesn't know anything about football, I schooled her on talking points I've heard around the newsroom.

It was just the two of us, with Madison gone for the weekend for her cousin's baby shower, and spending time with Dara alone was nice—before she had to rush off to meet Kayla and Yasmin, reminding me that she has real friends, not just someone she shares a bathroom and a common wall with.

Now, in the library, I have far too much time to think—about what happened with Three the other day, how Scott makes my library shifts a living hell, the fact that I still haven't made any close friends, my declining statistics grade, and the rapid approach of my lonely Thanksgiving. Not to mention my distinct lack of ideas for the Torch, which my entire journalism school application is riding on. It's a small program, and those of us who want to do print media are being edged out in the day and age of digital news and short-form videos on social media. There are students in the pre-major with a successful fashion blog, a political podcast, and a popular true-crime channel on YouTube. I have to find a way to stand out for print journalism. These are the thoughts that consume me, day and night.

As a kid, cartoons make you worry a lot about quicksand, something you're astronomically unlikely to ever encounter. But no one tells you your brain has quicksand too.

Later, as Jennie and I leave the library after closing, we can hear cheers in the distance. The deserted library grounds are a far cry from what the stadium must look like right now—bursting with revelry after our team's win. If we were there, I'd probably be tripping over a grown man in face paint with a beer in his hand.

But it's quiet here. Separate.

I don't like football. I don't think I'd enjoy tailgating. But that feeling of being a part of something—I'd love that. I want that.

"I'm a little worried about you, Wyn," Jennie says as we start down the walkway together. My dorm and the lot where she parks are in the same direction.

"What do you mean? I'm fine."

Jennie shoots me a sideways look. "You're stressed beyond reason. Trust me, I'm an engineering major—I can tell on sight when someone's been pushed to the brink."

I blow out a breath. "Well, okay, I might be a little stressed, but that's college, right?"

Jennie's expression turns sympathetic. "Do you want to do something tonight? There's this party—very chill, nothing wild. Mostly just hanging out. I'm going there now. You're more than welcome to come." She smiles, reaching over to squeeze my shoulder. "Maybe it'll be nice for you to get out for a while. Relax? Meet new people?"

I'm itching so badly for company, there isn't a single moment of hesitation before I say, "I'd love to."

The house Jennie takes me to isn't far from the Greek houses I visited on Halloween with Dara and her friends. It's a shared house with several roommates, all of whom I met in a flurry of introductions and none of whom I could name now, not for a million dollars or with a gun to my head.

The party is mostly other engineering majors and some of their friends, and Jennie was right when she said it's more hangout than party. Pulp Fiction is on the living room TV, and two people are crowding the coffee table with their laptops open, playing some PC game while others watch like it's the Super Bowl.

Overall, it's very easy to be here, mostly because no one pays attention to me. I sit on the couch and nurse the beer Jennie got me when we walked in, quietly observing everyone. I didn't think about the fact that they'd all be older than me—most of them seniors, like Jennie. There are definitely no other freshmen around.

When my stomach starts to growl, I wander into the kitchen, where Jennie told me to help myself to snacks. She disappeared with another girl a few minutes ago, leaving me to fend for myself.

There's an open bag of chips on the counter, a container of cookies with a little notecard taped to them that says eat at your own risk, and a pizza that's definitely been sitting out too long.

I hesitate over the options, then grab two cookies, hoping they'll be enough to at least stop the embarrassing sounds my stomach is making.

I shove both cookies in my mouth one after the other, then return to the couch.

I don't know how much time has passed when I start to feel myself sinking into the cushions.

"Huh," I say aloud. The person next to me shoots me a curious look, but I don't elaborate. Mostly because my tongue feels heavy in my mouth, and my mouth feels a little too stretched for my face, and words are…

A little tough at the moment.

I push to my feet, and I'm vaguely aware that my hand has landed atop someone's head as I try to balance myself.

I hear a distant laugh. "You good?"

I plaster on a smile, hoping no one notices anything is wrong.

Because something is definitely deeply wrong right now.

I find the bathroom, where I close myself inside and stare in the mirror. My limbs are heavy, and there's this buzzy, tingling feeling under my skin. I blink at my reflection until someone knocks.

I pull open the door. "Sorry," I say, stumbling past them into the hall.

I should not be here,I think. I need to go home.

There are three doors at the end of the hall, all of them closed. I knock lightly, whispering Jennie's name, until finally one swings open. Jennie pokes her head out as she tugs her shirt on.

"What's wrong?" she asks. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

I stare at her, smacking my tongue against the roof of my mouth. "Um… I think I ate something… funny…"

"Oh, fuck," someone behind her says. "She ate the cookies."

"Oh my god," Jennie says, smothering a laugh with her hand. "Wyn! How many did you have?"

I hold up two fingers.

"Five?"Jennie bleats.

I look at my hand. "Oh. No. Um." I try again, managing two fingers this time.

"Oh, thank god," Jennie breathes. "Okay. Wyn, you're high." She puts her hands on my shoulders, leaning down to look me in the eye. "You'll be fine. It'll pass. Just go hang out on the couch, okay? Hey, Connor, get her some water for me?"

I end up deposited on the couch again, this time with a big glass of water.

"I've never been high before," I say to the guy who sits me down. Or I think I'm saying it to him, until no one responds and I realize he's gone. I settle back against the cushions, resting my glass of water on my stomach. "My roommate was a drug dealer and everything! She never even offered me any."

Now I don't know who I'm talking to. Myself, I guess.

I drink the water, but the weird feeling doesn't subside. Instead, as time passes, it seems to worsen, and the water in my empty stomach sloshes until I feel nauseous.

I can't sit here forever. I want to go home. I know it's not far. The drive in Jennie's car was only a few minutes, and I remember the walk from the Greek houses. It won't take me long to get back to campus.

I push to my feet, setting the empty glass of water on the coffee table between the warring laptops. I unearth my jacket from one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Then I head for the door.

The cold November air bites at my skin as I step outside, and the brain fog clears slightly. I send a quick text to Jennie that I'm going home, along with an apology for eating the cookies.

I'm distantly aware that this is probably a bad idea, but so is sitting in a house full of people I don't know while I feel progressively worse as time goes on.

I look up directions to my dorm and start on the fastest route. The streets are mostly deserted of pedestrians, and I pass a few other houses clearly in the midst of parties before I finally make it to the main road. No cars are coming, and I'm about to cross when something catches the back of my jacket.

"Hey, Evans, if you're going to get hit by a car, at least don't do it where I have to watch."

I try to whirl, but Three's grip on my collar holds me in place. I blink, realizing he is, in fact, correct—there are cars coming from my right. I don't know how I missed that.

"I figured you would've pushed me," I say, my words heavy and a little slurred.

"Nah, I'm easily traumatized." He tugs my jacket, pulling me back so I'm standing beside him. "Are you drunk?"

I put on the best sober face I can muster as I turn to look at him. He's wearing a university sweatshirt with jeans, his hair mussed under a backward Tau Delta Pi hat. His nose and cheeks are pink from the cold.

I haven't seen him since I stole his glasses—which is the only identifier I'm giving that day. What happened after is too much to even think about.

Not that it's stopped me from thinking about it. Often. With a lot of imagination in use.

Like right now, as I find myself staring at his mouth.

"Evans."

"I am," I say quickly.

Three looks bewildered. "You are…? Drunk? Because you look blasted right now."

"I am… not at liberty to say," I decide, turning away from him again. When the walk sign blinks on the other side of the road, I start forward.

Three keeps a grip on my jacket. "You're out wandering at night, wasted?"

"I'm not wandering." As we start across the road, I pull at my jacket, twisting from side to side in an attempt to wrestle out of his grip. "I'm walking. Home."

"You're walking home, alone, at night, drunk. And you almost just walked into oncoming traffic. You could've been the next tragic Two Minute News update."

"Don't sell yourself short, Three. I'm sure you'd write it first." But the jab loses some of its impact when I miss the curb and nearly go sprawling onto the concrete.

Three swears as he catches me. "I'm not sure this even qualifies as walking."

"I tripped. That's different. Let me go, please. I'm not telling you where I live." I shoot him a disdainful look. Or what I hope is a disdainful look, anyway. I'm having trouble focusing on his face. "I would never give you that kind of leverage over me."

"I already know where you live."

I gasp. "Stalker!"

"I wrote an article about your roommate. Obviously I know where you live. But I'm happy to let someone else take you." He plucks my phone from my hand. "Which one of your friends will come get you?" He holds my phone to my face to unlock it, and I focus on him long enough to see his expression falter.

I grab for my phone but miss. "That's none of your business."

"Dara?" He peers at my phone. "She lives with you, right?"

"That's none of your business," I say like a doll whose string has been pulled.

Three puts my phone to his ear. He waits, waits, waits, and then finally hangs up. "She didn't answer. Who else?" He waves my phone at me. "Who am I calling?"

"I'm literally five minutes from my dorm," I say, reaching for my phone again. "I can make it. I don't need a babysitter."

His expression darkens. "Listen, I'm either walking you home, or someone's coming to get you. One or the other. So you better choose now, or we're walking."

And because Dara didn't answer, and Madison isn't here, and Ellie is a non-option, and I can never, ever let this be the first time Hayes sees me, I relent.

"Fine. But you're not coming inside, and if you use this knowledge against me"—I turn, poking my finger into his chest—"I will end you."

At that, he actually laughs. "I thought you were already trying to do that."

"Trying, sure," I reply as we start walking. "But you're way more diabolical than I am, so I'm kind of having a hard time."

"Well, you came pretty close with the shoe," he says. "Could've given me some kind of head injury."

"You are a head injury. Anyway, you pulled me into the pool! What if I couldn't swim? I could've drowned!"

He chuckles. "Oh, come on, Evans. I would've saved you."

I scoff. "Yeah, right. Maybe after letting me struggle a little. Or a lot. You're like those animals that play with their food before they eat it."

"I haven't eaten you yet," he says, giving me a long look from the corner of his eye.

My heart picks up speed. I don't know why—probably the drugs.

Three grins, dragging his gaze forward again. "So, were you at some big party? Smashing beers to celebrate that game?"

"Is that where you were?" I cover my mouth with both hands, gasping. "Or were you actually following me? Maybe you really are my stalker. I was kidding before, but I'm starting to buy it now." My words are cotton-stuffed and heavy. I think I might be deteriorating where I stand, but I can't let Three know that.

"I'm not stalking you. I was at the house. Do you even know where you are right now?"

"Ohio."

"You're across the street from Greek Row, Evans. You probably walked past four frats to get to that intersection."

I ignore him. "If you were at the house, where's your pledge bro entourage?" I make a big show of looking behind him. "Don't you all travel in a pack?"

"Yeah, I'm not part of that pack." He runs a hand over his face, wincing slightly. "What about you? Where are all your friends?"

"All," I repeat with a laugh that trails off sadly. "They're on their way. I'll just wait right here for them." I stop walking and pat the air like it's a seat.

Three halts beside me. "Okay, I'm done joking around. It's late. How much did you drink?"

"I had one glass of water."

"Evans."

I purse my lips, looking away. "And I may have accidentally eaten some cookies."

"Cookies."

"Special cookies." I lick my lips. "I was hungry. I did not realize."

Three swears. "How many did you have?"

"Two, not five."

"Whatever that means. Two?"

I nod. "Two. They were chocolate chip."

"So you're not drunk."

I offer him a grin. "I'm high."

Three swears again.

When I wake up, my entire body feels weighted with stones. My mouth is heavy and dry, and I can barely force my eyes open. My room is bright, sunlight streaming in through the window.

My stomach lurches as I sit up, reminding me that I did something terrible last night. I groan, cupping my hands over my face.

But when I turn to climb out of bed, I let out a startled yelp at the sight on the other side of the room. I scramble back, slamming my elbow into the wall behind me.

Three is sprawled on Ellie's bed, my Middle-earth blanket bunched under his head like a pillow. He jerks awake at the commotion, rubbing his eyes with one hand. He blinks at me as he pushes himself up onto his elbow.

"Is life just one chaotic moment after the next for you, Evans?" His voice is low and sleep-rough, and my stomach jolts with something very different from nausea. "Can't even wake up quietly?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" I whisper, my voice raspy. My throat feels scratchy, like I'm coming down with something.

Three's eyebrows arch in disbelief. "What am I doing here? That's a really weird way to say ‘thank you, Three.' Especially after you begged me not to leave you."

"Begged?" The word leaves me in a frog-like croak.

"Begged," Three confirms.

"That doesn't sound ri—Is that my shirt?" I can't keep the indignation from my voice, even as it scrapes out of me like the last sparks from a fire.

He narrows his eyes. "What's the last thing you remember?"

I open my mouth, then shut it quickly. What do I remember from last night?

"I was walking home," I say slowly. "And… I ran into you."

Of course. The first time I'd seen him since he tricked me into thinking I was about to be kissed, and I was high on edibles. He must be feeling so smug right now.

"You almost ran into traffic, actually, but close enough."

I glare at him. "And you walked me home?"

Three nods and makes a motion like keep going.

"And…" I rack my brain, but it's useless. Now that I'm really trying, I remember walking with him, but only up to a certain point. I don't remember getting back to my building, coming inside, bringing him with me, or anything that happened after.

"Hey, you're awake!" Dara pokes her head in from the bathroom. She's wearing a fuzzy robe and her pink silk bonnet, and somehow seems not at all surprised to see Three. "How are you feeling? How'd you sleep?" The first question she directs to me, but the second is lobbed at Three.

"Good, thanks," Three says to her as he slides off Ellie's bed. He drags my Middle-earth blanket with him and starts folding it like some kind of polite house guest.

"What about you?" Dara asks, turning to me. "You were in pretty bad shape last night."

I glance from her to Three and back again, then give her a look that I hope conveys my only thought: What the fuck is going on right now?

Dara's eyes widen. "You don't remember?"

"I think your edibles really kicked in around the time we got back," Three says without looking at me. "You said your heart was beating fast and kept asking me if you were going to be like that forever."

My face warms. "I did not. I was fine when I ran into you."

"And then you threw up on me." He motions to his borrowed shirt.

I look to Dara for confirmation.

She winces. "Yeah, I saw you'd called, and when I tried to call back, he answered. You were definitely… not doing well."

"You can go smell my shirt if you don't believe me," Three says, his voice cold. "It's hanging in your shower."

"I rinsed it for him," Dara says. "I came home right away."

"From your date? Oh god, Dara, I'm so sorry."

She waves me off. "It's fine! You needed help."

Three scoffs. "First apology of the morning, and it's not even to me. Okay. Sure."

If Dara came home early last night, I have no idea what Three is still doing here. He clearly isn't thrilled about it, either. So why wouldn't he have just gone home? Even if I asked him to stay—even if I begged—it doesn't make sense.

Unless he's hoarding everything that happened last night while he puts together an evil master plan to use it against me. I imagine it all went into the same little treasure trove where he's keeping the look I had on my face as I waited—stupidly, so stupidly—for him to kiss me the other day.

Idiot.I keep playing straight into his hands, like an animal walking into the same trap again and again.

I cross the room to him, poking my finger into his chest. "You better forget everything that happened last night."

"Yeah, you're welcome, Evans. No problem. I had a great time making sure you didn't trip on a curb and crack your head open or drown in your own vomit in the night."

"I'm being serious!"

Three pushes my hand away. "So am I. And since it seems like you're all better now, I'm leaving." He grabs a Tau Delta Pi baseball cap from Ellie's empty desk, fitting it over his bedhead as he moves to the door.

The image brings back a vague memory, the hazy sight of his back as he walked to the door. My hand grasping the back of his shirt.

"Please, please, don't leave. I'm really scared. What if I'm like this forever? What if those cookies altered something in my brain, and I'm like this for the rest of my life?"

"Come on, Evans, that's not going to happen. Just get in bed—okay, I'll stay a little while. Relax. It'll wear off. You're going to be fine."

I can practically feel the phantom brush of his hand against the back of my head, smoothing down my hair, rubbing the spot between my shoulder blades.

Three thanks Dara again before pulling open the door.

I charge after him, hesitating when I spot a few people in the lounge. Curious gazes swing in my direction, and I flush all the way to my hairline as I hurry after Three. When the elevator doors open, I follow him inside.

"You have to tell me everything that happened," I say, crossing my arms. "And everything I said."

He tips his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. "Do I? Why?"

"Because it's not fair! You shouldn't get to have this kind of leverage over me!"

Three sighs. "We came back here, you freaked out, I stayed to make sure you were okay, you threw up on me—really can't stress that one enough—and then you went to bed."

"And how did I end up in my pajamas?" I motion to my outfit. "Did… You didn't… Did I…?"

Three opens his eyes, and I catch a flash of surprise. "Dara helped you."

I feel a small rush of relief. Not that I'm worried Three did anything weird, but I'm more worried I did. Imagine if I'd started changing in front of him. How mortifying.

"And I didn't say anything?" I can still hear my own voice, that please, please playing on a humiliating loop. What other embarrassing things might I have said? "I didn't… tell you anything?"

At that, Three smiles. He tips his head to the side, looking his usual smug self for the first time all morning. "You mean you want me to return my payment?"

"What payment?"

"The payment I decided to accept for taking care of you."

"Three."

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open.

He grins as he slips past me. "Sorry, Evans, but this one's nonrefundable."

"You can't do that!" I follow him, bare feet slapping against the gross lobby tile. "Seriously, you have to forget anything I said last night. None of it was real—it doesn't count!"

He backs up into the door, pushing it open a few inches. "I don't know. It sounded pretty real to me."

"Three!"

He gives me a salute as he turns and walks out. The door bangs shut behind him.

"Do you feel up for breakfast?" Dara asks when I return, dragging my feet and stupefied with shock. She's leaning into my mirror, checking a pimple on her chin.

I lurch forward, grabbing her arms. "I need you to tell me everything that happened last night."

Her eyes widen. "Oh. Um, well, you were getting ready for bed when I got home. Three tried to leave then, but…" She winces. "You did beg him to stay."

I groan, turning to bang my head against the wall. "You've got to be kidding me."

"You followed him to the door, and then you kind of, um, cried."

I stop banging my head. "Please tell me I'm having a nightmare right now." Nausea creeps up again, swift and intense.

"He was really nice about it," Dara says quickly. "Said he didn't even need a pillow or anything. I got him the extra blanket from your closet."

Oh, right. He's seen my Middle-earth blanket.

"I don't know what happened before that, but…" Dara chooses her next words carefully. "I know you hate him. But for what it's worth, he took really good care of you."

What she doesn't realize is that Three does nothing for free. And whatever I said last night, he seemed far too pleased to accept it as payment.