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Hannah gives me a once over that makes me blush. “She might even be a real one, Ethan.”
Behind me, Ethan exhales so loudly I can hear it. “Of course she is. Don’t be a bitch.”
Before I can look back and ask what he means by that, our Anthro prof arrives and we all have to focus on the lesson.
When I get back to my dorm after class, there’s an envelope shoved under my door.
Inside is a polaroid photo, and a note.
I’m not a threat to you, I promise.
The words scald my fingers, and I almost drop the simple white piece of paper.
What kind of stalker gives his prey an incriminating selfie and a note that practically reads as a confession?
Why is the only person who sees me, who reads my panicked mind and offers up an answer, albeit deranged, also a psycho who is probably lying to himself about his intentions?
He saw me try to take a picture of him and he gave me a picture.
What. The. Fuck.
What did I do to attract his attention? My chest aches, and I crush the note against my skin.
Maybe he thinks I’m lonely? If he wants to give me what I want, maybe I need to show him I just want to be left alone with my friends.
Friends.That’s a stretch.
And I wish I had better options in front of me, but I don’t.
Hot, frustrated tears scald my eyelids.
I came to Ridge College a complete loner. After bouncing through a couple of foster homes over the last five years, I focused all of my energy on getting a scholarship to a good school on the other side of the country.
When I got here, the last thing I wanted was to make connections with people that would only be yanked away. People are always yanked away from me.
But in the last few weeks, I’ve started to crave something new. I don’t recognize this strange, unfamiliar desire… To be seen, to be touched, to be held. It started with dreams, and now I’m starting to have thoughts about random people I see on campus. Would I like to be close to that person? So far, the answer is always no, but the question still pricks at me. How about them?
There’s no way that Ethan or his posse of popular girls are my true people.
But the stalker dude doesn’t know that.
And just in case something happens between now and the party tomorrow night, I feel like I need to do something with this small crack in the mystery.
Before I can chicken out, I shove the photo back in the envelope and head across campus to the ivy-covered building that houses the Criminology department.
“Is Dr. Adler in today?” I ask the department secretary.
“Not today, dear. His office hours are posted on his door, and in the online classroom as well.”
“I know.” I chew on my bottom lip for a second. “Would you be able to take a photocopy of something for me? It’s, uh, for a cold case project.”
The lie rolls off my tongue with alarming ease.
When I first arrived in Conception Ridge, I was an innocent hayseed. Then I took Dr. Adler’s Criminology 101 and fell in love with crime. Solving it, I mean.
And Dr. Adler says sometimes solving a crime means being devious. Meeting criminals where they are at to outsmart them.
“Here’s Dr. Adler’s copier code. You can use it today only.”
