Page 20 of The Stalker Snafu

A small surge of relief pulsed in my chest, but that still didn’t explain how or why my stalker had tracked me down during a catering gig. Had he followed me all the way from Westcroft?

Hm. Food for thought.

“I should really get back to work. Mr. Everton needs this powdered sugar,” I said distractedly.

“Sure.” Finn’s brows rose, but he buzzed me back in through the gate. “I’ll text you later.”

I scampered back up the driveway, but it wasn’t powdered sugar I was concerned about. My mind was still on the stalker.

What could he possibly want from me?

Mr. Everton paid us in cash at the end of the night, and I could barely contain my excitement as Teresa and I made the trek back to her car in the dark. All thoughts of stalkers were promptly forgotten as I counted my new wad of cash. We’d made a little extra for showing up last minute, and I finally had enough money to pay Noah back for his pen I’d chewed beyond recognition. The Noah Fund was full.

Now I just needed to track down an exact replica of his prestigious Aurora Ipsilon—sans chew marks—and find a way to make his presentation of Henrietta look like child’s play.

CHAPTER 7

A Tree

Dear Diary,

I definitely have a stalker.

Teresa is careful not to call me crazy, but I’ve watched enough crime shows to know how this goes down. First, a dark stranger follows me around campus a few times. Then, he pops up at my work. Before I know it, he’ll be standing over my bed while I sleep and stabbing me forty-two times with a chef’s knife until his hand cramps.

These things happen.

In other news, did you know it takes 252 licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? I know what you’re thinking—wouldn’t it depend on the color of the pop? There’s no way it takes as many licks for an Orange as it would a Grape. But trust me. There’ve been studies.

Not my own studies, of course. I tried to test it for research purposes, but I only made it to ten and a half licks before losing patience and basically ripping the head of the Tootsie Pop off its stick. Some would say that’s a feat in itself, though. But I know it’s 252 licks because over the summer I watched some guy in a video online do it. Sixteen minutes of my life well spent, you could say.

Teresa called the whole experiment a waste of time.

I’m sure I’ll forgive her someday.

Is it obvious I’m craving Tootsie Pops?

Emma

P.S. Angela Avarde—aka Little Miss Demonspawn who I tutor in piano—is being sent to boarding school in Europe. There goes half my tutoring income, but at least I won’t spend any more nights getting gum out of my hair.

Friday found Noah and me under a familiar tree in the quad. Things were mostly back to normal after his secret phone call and our little chat over my birthday breakfast. Mostly because we didn’t speak of it again, plus I’d gotten good at ignoring issues after growing up with parents like mine, but who was I to complain about our methods?

The quad was packed with students finished with classes and ready for the weekend. Some lounged under trees like us. Others played catch. A group of sorority girls were selling cupcakes, and we’d already bought three. Noah was doing something as boring as studying while I used one of my old fifteen-cent pens to carve a heart into the trunk of our tree.

Life wasn’t easy for my older pens after Noah brought Henrietta into my life as the best birthday present ever. Some were quickly ditched or donated, while others were destined for gruesome deaths as I used their mangled bodies to dig into tree bark. None could live up to the beauty and grace of a light pink Aurora Talentum. The big leagues.

While I battled with a particularly stubborn piece of bark, Noah looked up from his Tonal Harmony textbook. “What are you doing?”

I paused in my labor, sneaking a look under my lashes at my boyfriend. A warmth in his eyes brought the butterflies to life in my stomach, and I nibbled on my lip. I’d missed his face.

God, did that make me pathetic? My boyfriend went out of town for a couple days, and I turned into a lovesick ninny.

“I’m marking our tree,” I answered absently, refocusing on said tree. In case any other couples get the foolish idea to set up camp here again, I added silently, recalling the two juniors we’d found canoodling like little lovebirds the last time we’d come here to eat lunch.

I stabbed harder, levering the pointy end of the pen further into the strip of bark.

“With a pen?”