“I’ve got it,” Cassie said as she twisted in her seat. A moment later, she looked down at the phone and cursed.
“What?”
“It’s Sophia.” She showed me the caller ID. It read said “S***”
Well, that was telling.
“Should I answer it?”
I thought about the agreement Connor had with Sophia regarding Cassie. “No. We’ll let him call her back if he wants to.”
Cassie nodded and exhaled. It was a controlled breath, loud and clearly her way of blowing out tension.
“Just how bad is it between you and Sophia?” I knew I shouldn’t ask. Hell, I’d all but promised Connor I wouldn’t pry. But I cared about Cassie, and I really wanted to help if I could.
“Great, if I never see or talk to her.”
Apparently, that was Connor’s plan.
“And have you?” I held my breath, afraid of the answer.
“Not really. I get emails occasionally, with subject headings like ‘Secret birthday party for Connor’ or ‘Help me sell his calendar.’ I never answer. I know she’s lying.”
“Really? How?”
“Because that’s what she does. I mean, she’d be thrilled if I help her sell the calendar. The birthday party would be for publicity, and she’d rope me into doing all the work for it. She’s done it before.”
“Ouch.”
“It was harder before.”
“Before?”
“Before I started in therapy. She made me think I was crazy, and I’m not.” There was defiance in her tone.
“Of course, you aren’t.”
“Now she’s just tugging at me, holding out lures to see if I’ll go for the bait.”
“Good for you for seeing the truth.”
She flashed me a grin. “And you know what is even better?”
I shook my head.
“I know it’s driving her crazy that she can’t talk to me. The one thing Sophia likes best is an audience. So I just stopped talking to her. Completely.”
“Good for you.”
We were waiting at a stop light. I didn’t want to bring up the other question—the problem that had caused her to contact me a few weeks ago, right after Connor and I had broken up, and then again yesterday. But since we were dealing with disasters, I figured now was as good a time as any.
“So has your other problem disappeared?”
“You mean my stalker?”
I winced. The guy was either a nutcase or someone who was really shy and didn’t know an appropriate way to pick up girls. Either way, it was creepy. Starting seven weeks ago, he’d been leaving her gifts at volleyball games and outside her locker. She’d done the right things, talking to her coach and security, but the problem had escalated three weeks ago. Instead of a letter once every other week, she was getting messages every day. She found notes on her dorm door, and then her coach noticed that an odd-looking stranger in the stands seemed fixated on Cassie.
That’s when she’d contacted me.
