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I hoist myself up on one elbow, trying to puff my hair out of my face by blowing air out of the corner of my mouth.
“Okay. what’s important?” I ask through a yawn.
“Actually, it’s probably not safe to tell you over the phone. I’m sending Diego to you. Meet him downstairs in twenty minutes. Pack a bag.”
“Wait, what? Pack a—”
The line goes dead.
What the fuck is going on?
Chapter 11
DIEGO
Spencer told me to escort Lindy back to our house. As I was crossing campus, I started to realize how weird this sounds. Escort her back to the house? She’s not my prisoner. How the hell am I going to explain this to her?
I heard him on the phone with her, too. He sounded like a CEO giving a command to an underling. I wanted to laugh. He really gets ahead of himself sometimes.
But as soon as he saw what I had to show him, he springs in action. I gotta give him credit for that. Decisiveness is one of his stronger traits.
But what am I supposed to say to Lindy?Hey, this may sound insane, but I am totally not kidnapping you.Or,hey, I totally am kidnapping you, but you shouldn’t worry about it and you should totally go along with it.
Yeah, those both sound absolutely doable.
When I get to the well-lit entryway of her dorm, she isn’t there, so I can practice for a few more seconds.
Hey, Lindy, I am sure that my modeling career for your art classes has really created a sense of trust between us, so…
Hey, Lindy, nice night, right? Did you pack a toothbrush?
“Excuse me? Can I help you?”
Jenna Tokars walks around the corner and stops, staring at me suspiciously with her key fob held in the air as though she might have pepper spray on it or something.
“I’m just waiting for someone,” I swallow.
Her eyes narrow, but then she smiles.
“Oh, Diego, right? I didn’t recognize you,” she explains quickly.
“Yep, that’s me. Hi, Jenna,” I smile in my bestNo, I am totally not a creepy stalkerway.
Of course, at the moment, I feel a little guilty about that.
“Yeah, I am an RA on the fourth floor,” she explains with a smile.
Her hair sways behind her in her trademark caramel-colored ponytail. She is really beautiful even in the blazingly yellow light of the archway. With her gym bag looped over her forearm, I assume she just came from volleyball practice.
I probably won’t search her name again on the BUST system. I never did see those search results, but now it seems just too weird.
“So, who are you waiting for?” she asks shyly.
As she walks toward me, I feel myself backing up. I can’t explain it; it just doesn’t seem right. I almost feel like I should tell her to watch herself, to watch her friends. Like maybe she would be better off knowing.
“Oh, um, Lindy? Your friend?”
Her eyebrows go up and her smile freezes on her cheeks. Just then, the door opens behind her and Lindy comes out, shouldering a fluffy duffel bag with her thumb. Her hair is twisted into braids that drape over her shoulders, but little bits of curls fly out in all directions, as though refusing to be constrained.
