Anyway, after a day filled with people and paperwork, all I wanted to do was go home and fall face down into bed. However, since I had major plans on Tuesday, I made myself go to the library after my volunteer shift. I needed to getDawnread before it was due for next week’s meeting of the Clara Quinn seminar, and, unfortunately, it was the only book on the list that didn’t have an audio version I could use as training wheels.
However, I stopped halfway to the carrel and frowned when I saw a girl with turquoise hair and a septum nose ring painting the other side of the Prince carrel instead of Julz.
Luckily, the library checkout clerk didn’t have her AirPods in tonight, so I could ask her, “What happened to the guy working on the carrel yesterday?”
“Not sure. Something about a broken arm?” The library checkout clerk shrugged. “Can’t say I’m missing him. He kept trying to get me to ‘hang out’ with him and his girlfriend. So gross, and when I tried to report him to my boss, he basically told me to put up with it because his dad’s on the university board.”
“Oh, wow, that sucks.” My stomach twisted with a terrible suspicion, but I made sure to validate her feelings about Julz’s problematic behavior before asking, “Any word on how he broke his arm?”
She didn’t have that information, either, and I figured I should leave it at that.
But as I sat down at my carrel, I had that strange sensation of being watched again. Was Artyom here? Staring at me from someplace in the library? My belly dipped at the thought, and I honestly did not know if it was discomfort or a secret thrill.
Instead of cracking open my copy ofDawn, I looked all around. But… nothing.
A few students wandered through the stacks, but other than that, I could find no tall and ridiculously hot hockey player lurking around.
Wow, you really need to get over yourself, Lydia. I huffed a breath and returned to my book, assuring myself that Artyom Rustanov had nothing to do with Julz breaking his arm. And that he most definitely wasn’t watching me from the shadows of the library.
Still, I felt unsettled for the rest of the night. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, even when I left the library after two hours of toil over two chapters.
They still hadn’t fixed the billboard. And it felt like “Yum” Rustanov’s eyes were following me as I walked past it to the little two-bedroom bungalow I’d been renting since sophomore year. Technically, I was supposed to be using the second bedroom as a dedicated study space. But I’d given it to Trish when a tuition increase junior year had pushed her cobbled-together-scholarship-and-work-study budget to the breaking point.
That had been before she met her girlfriend, though. Tonight, when I walked into the house, I found our shared space empty.
I sent her a yawning voice text before going into the bathroom for a pre-bedtime shower. “Remember what you said about making sure you see people other than Claudia at least once a week? This is your 7-day warning. Could we maybe have lunch after my Clara Quinn seminar?”
I woke up the next day to find Trish’s reply waiting in my messages. Unlike my mother, she always left me voiced as opposed to written texts.
“I do remember that. Doyouremember how jealous I was about you getting into the seminar I was wait-listed for? I mean, I’m the one who introduced you to Clara Quinn in the first place!”
I immediately raised the phone to leave a new voice message.
But then Trish’s second voice text started auto-playing: “And before you offer to trade spots, I’ll remind you that’s not possible. But you’re my girl, so of course, let’s have lunch. Just let me know where you want to meet. And before you saywherever I want, I’ll also remind you that you promised me you’d work on considering your own wants and needs this year.”
Seriously, if I didn’t love Trish to pieces, I’d consider dumping her as a best friend. She knew me way too well.
Of course, I picked the campus center food court. Trish was on the school’s eating plan, so it wouldn’t cost her anything to eat there. Beaming at the thought of catching up with my bestie—who I hadn’t seen for more than ten minutes since getting back from Berlin a couple of weeks ago—I trekked over to Bexham Hall, home to all the English department classes.
As it turned out, the classrooms in the old stone building were nothing like the ones in the mostly glass and metal School of Social Work. Instead of a lecture hall, I walked into a small, intimate room with a conference table and chairs placed all around it. Somehow, the unexpected intimacy of the situation made my fear of the course even worse. There was no back of the room to hide in—no way to easily avoid getting asked a question I wasn’t prepared to answer.
Could I really handle this class? Julz’s words about the “sexy lexie” echoed ominously in my head.
And my heart thrummed even faster than it had last night when I thought that maybe Artyom Rustanov was watching me from the library’s shadows.
In the end, the thought of Artyom’s hateful stare brought me some solace. Yes, the classroom felt impossibly small, but at least I knew there wouldn’t be any run-ins with the glaring hockey god here.
I chose the only space left at the table with an empty chair on each side. Several other students were murmuring excitedlyabout how thrilled they were to meet Clara Quinn. Nearly all of them were women of color, and they seemed to already know each other.
Probably because they were either English, African American culture, or women’s studies majors, like Trish.You’re the only senior who would sign up for a class she didn’t absolutely need to finish her degree.
Still, I sucked in a breath to cut into the conversation of the group talking closest to me and introduce myself. I learned early, after getting thrust into my adoptive parents’ glittering world at the age of eight, that the easiest way to get over being uncomfortable in a new situation where I knew no one was to either make myself useful or introduce myself, so that I did know someone.
And Clara Quinn had probably already been assigned a teacher’s assistant to help her out in class. So, introducing myself it was.
But before I could speak up, all conversation in the small classroom came to a sudden halt.
Was she here?
