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“To your dorm room. To any of the places that you were photographed. You don’t know who it is. It could be anybody!”
“It could have been you guys,” I counter.
“It could have been us?” Diego shrugs. “In your shower? In your cafeteria? You are a knockout, but that does seem like a great deal of effort.”
I was joking, but it’s cool that they were taking me seriously. Frankly, I’m probably more nervous than I want to be. My heels bounce against the floorboards, and I swallow a few times, noticing how they are all watching me.
Again, it is this feeling of being surrounded by a pack. And here I am, willingly captured in the middle of their den.
With a duffel bag full of clothes.
Now it begins to come clear. Spencer brought me here to tell me about this, and to tell me that I couldn’t go back to my own dorm room. The arrogance of that is astounding, but I did it. I guess Diego has a point: people just do the things that Spencer tells them to do.
So, what do they expect? That I’m going to stay here in the attic with them? One big happy family? Kind of a Scooby-Doo assortment of amateur sleuths?
“So, you’ve got me here,” I announce in a bold voice. “What is it you plan on doing with me?”
Spencer straightens, ready to deliver another speech.
“Well, we will get you to and from class. Divide up lunches and dinners. We have a shower here that’s totally private.”
I want to laugh. Is he serious? Are these going to be like my bodyguards or something?
“Other than football practice, I would say we have you covered.”
I look around. They all seem convinced. They are nodding to themselves as though it has all been decided.
“And what should I do during football practice? Just wing it? I will be a sitting duck!”
Trevor looks startled, but Spencer reassures him with a pat on his arm.
“Practices are open to the public. I will tell the security guards to let you sit on the fifty-yard line. You don’t ever have to be out of our sight.”
Though I am impressed with his thoroughness, I’m still irritated by his presumption.
“And classes? You’re just gonna leave me in there? What if a window washer scales the building or something?”
Zeke wrinkles his nose. Diego laughs into his sleeve.
“This isn’t a joke,” Spencer replies darkly.
“Isn’t it, though?” I reply.
Seeing my opening, I rise from the bed, walking directly toward him. He watches my hips move with every step, reminding me of a flash of memory from the night at the bar. Oh, yeah. I had forgotten about that. We must have spent some time on the dance floor?
But never mind about that. The memory slips away almost immediately.
“So, you are telling me that you expect me to put myself in your hands? And, what? Live with you? Up here?”
“It’s just to keep you safe,” he mutters.
“What if I don’t think I am in danger?” I reply, coming right up to him, standing on my toes, hovering just inches away from his broad, thick chest.
There it is, that little crack in the armor. He is acting all tough, but really, this is just a convoluted plot to get me up to their room to test me, see what I will do.
Heck, I remind myself,they could have been taking the pictures. Or they could’ve been at least looking at them. How would I know?
And heck number two,I add,couldn’t this be just an elaborate collaboration class plot? Maybe I have been outsmarted by a bunch of performance-art geniuses.
