But I have no doubt Taylor will walk away from this without a blemish on her record, thanks to her powerful lawyer mother and grandmother. Hell, Lance may also get off scot-free.
“I think it would be weird to live in Jay’s room,” Aster says. “After learning what happened to him. So sad.”
I shrug. That room is the last tangible thing I have of Jay’s. When I have to leave at the end of the term in a month, all I’ll have is the stack of printouts and that painting.
“I’ll be fine.” I smile at Gracie. “I want to be next door to you. I should probably think about finishing the podcast too. It’s due soon.”
“What do you think Taylor meant when she said to wait? That the story isn’t finished yet?” Gracie asks.
I shrug. “I dunno. Probably some self-serving bullshit about her family being innocent in this. Or about her thinking she should get Jay’s money. I honestly don’t even care anymore. None of it can bring Jay back.” I take a bite of my noodles. The chewy noodles with the creamy sesame sauce and crisp cucumber almost make me feel better.
After dinner, Gracie goes with Aster to her apartment. I’m again not sure what’s going on between them, but hope Gracie figured out how to get out of her own way with Aster. Someone in East House deserves to be happy. I walk back to campus alone and take the stairs up to the third floor.
It’s unseasonably warm—a huge change from when I first moved here, but I shiver the moment I get to the third floor. In fact, my stomach falls with dread. I exhale. Maybe Gracie is right and Ishouldlook into leaving this building. There are too many memories here. Not all of them are welcome anymore.
As I walk to my door, my phone buzzes with a notification. Assuming it’s a text from Jack, I check my phone, but I don’t have any new texts. Or ResConnect messages. It’s an Instagram DM on my screen.
While opening my door, I read the message.
@KEANU58008: Hi. Long time no chat.
I stare at the message. Is this—
“Hey, Roomie,” a deep voice inside my room says.
I drop my phone. It lands on the linoleum in my doorway with a thud.
Jay Hoque is in my room. The real Jay. Not an illusion, not a message on my phone. And he’s not wearing a Cthulhu mask. It’s Jay, alive and well, sitting on his bed with a computer on his lap and a stack of paper and Tentacle Ted next to him.
My bag drops to the ground, landing on top of my phone.
Jay isn’t dead. He’s safe. He’shere.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Do you mind closing the door before someone sees me?” Jay says. “I need to lay low for a bit.”
I stare at him, mouth agape. This is a dream, right? Should I pinch myself? How is Jay here?
“Aleeza? The door?” he says again.
I’m not used to hearing his voice ... but when he says my name, it sounds like he says it all the time. It sounds sonormalthat it snaps me out of my daze. I kick my things fully into the room, hoping my laptop and phone are okay, and close the door. Then I latch the chain lock so no one can come in.
I turn back around and he’s still there. It’s really him. I haven’t seen Jay in person for months ... since that party two days before Halloween. I didn’t see his face then, but I still know it well. From all those newspaper articles. And from seeing him all over campus before he disappeared. Bumping into him at the library, seeing him outside West Hall, and all those random encounters that turned out to be not so random after all.
But because I know his face so well, I can see that he’s changed in the last five months. He’s thinner. Skin a bit paler. His chest isn’t as broad, and the wavy black hair pushed behind his ears is almost to his shoulders. He’s wearing glasses I didn’t know he had. There’s a scruff on his chin and dark circles under his eyes.
He looks tired. But he looks beautiful too.Alive.
“Are you going to say anything, or just look at me like a shocked walleye?” Jay asks, the hint of a smirk on his face. It’s the same one I imagined when he teased me in texts. “I met Ted. He’s bigger than I expected. And ... oranger.”
“You’re supposed to be dead,” I say. It’s the only thing I can think of to say.
He chuckles, and the small laugh on his face makes him look ... well,hot. Really, really good-looking. Jay’s here.MyJay. “Yeah, about that,” he says, “I can explain everything ... but first.” He holds up the papers. It’s my printed-out screenshots of our conversations. Pages and pages of it. “You printed our chats?”
I still have no idea what to say, so I nod, then slowly walk closer until I’m standing right in front of my bed. We’re only a few feet apart. My heart races in my chest.
“Why didn’t you message me on Instagram earlier?” I ask.
