Page 13
“Oh my god, is it like an art piece?”
“I bet film club did it.”
“Did you ask the horror people?”
What the hell’s going on?
Gavin grabs my arm. “Did horror club do a big-ass prank or something for Halloween?”
I start to shrug, then shake my head.
“I just woke up ten minutes ago,” I mumble. “If we did, they didn’t tell me. Our president’s a little funky, though. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“I told y’all it was fucking horror club!” Gavin turns back to the others. “I told you! Where’s my five bucks?”
This is too much at 11:15 in the morning.
Ira got home last night while I was still awake, and the awkward tension made me want to crawl out of my skin. But, as usual, he was a saint. He smiled and waved. Asked how my Sunday was. Then went to shower and curled up on his bed with cup ramen and his phone, smiling to himself the entire time.
That’s the best mood I’ve ever seen him in.
God, I still can’t believe I fucked up my perfect dynamic with my roommate in under two minutes. At least he’s moved past the whole thing.
Whatever’s going on with the bulletin board can wait until after coffee.
Someone can clue me in later, when I don’t want to peel my face off.
It doesn’t matter what class I’m in—everyone’s talking about the bulletin board.
I chug the rest of my energy drink and toss the can into the trash. The coffee tasted old, and I can’t deal with sludge today. Honestly, I try not to put unnecessary things inside my body, but the caffeine was a requirement. I physically cannot function on three hours of sleep. Five hours is fine—so is one hour—but three lands me in that strange, drugged state that makes it difficult to keep my eyes open.
“I think it’s an ARG.”
“That is such a good idea.”
It literally doesn’t stop.
This will haunt me until I figure out what’s going on.
I turn left instead of right and trot down the steps leading to the first floor. There are ten minutes before I have to be in Econometrics, and if I jog, I can make it between the two spots without being late.
Only a handful of people are here now—ten, maybe—and I can almost see over their heads.
I sidestep around them and get closer, scanning the bulletin board to see what’s so interesting. Bright orange “Roommates wanted” signs clash with “pls join our band.” Someone stapled a lost cat poster on top of a tutoring paper. A nerve in my eye twitches, and I grip my backpack tighter, breathing through the urge to rearrange all of this into categories. No one’s going to be able to figure out what they need at this rate.
Someone snaps a picture to my right, and I look over.
Finally, I see it. A newspaper cutout with a Polaroid thumb-tacked on top of it. I flip the Polaroid up to look at the paper, reading through the text quickly.
A local resident has officially won the coveted “Worst Day of their Life” award after being discovered—
This is definitely a prank. Maybe my club did do it. I’ll have to ask Sam later today.
I flip the Polaroid back down, and I stare at it. My hearing goes wonky in my left ear, and my entire face feels hot.
It’s just a picture of a broken rocking chair, leaning against a house. But it’s the same composition I used on Friday. Underneath it in pink Sharpie are four words.
I don’t hate you
