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“Why do you look so surprised?” she finally says. “You’re staying here because you’re afraid of being killed, so you need to be prepared in case the danger actually finds you.”
Way to put things into context, Tara.
“Thanks,” I finally manage, watching as she rests the gun atop the bundle of clothes in the basket. “I’ll be sure to use it if anything happens.”
She nods and starts toward the door again. “You know not to open the door for anyone, right? My class is pretty close by. If anything happens, just text me and I’ll come back as quickly as I can.” She points to her shoes—sneakers. “I didn’t wear heels today, so I can run.”
That pulls a grin from me. I bop my head. “Of course, I will.”
“Be safe!” she says.
Then she’s gone.
I stare at the closed door for a few moments after she’s gone, still smiling. Tara will always be a little bit overzealous, but she’s grown on me the past few months. We’re actual friends now, and I’m grateful that she’s been kind to me from the start.
Scooping up my clothes, I head to my bathroom for a shower.
The lock Tara broke still hasn’t been fixed, so I prop it shut with the laundry hamper. It’s a flimsy alternative, but it’s something.
Afterwards, I have oatmeal for breakfast and spend the morning watching Swiss broadcast television. It’s boring and in an entirely different language, but it’s like white noise for my brain. I almost end up falling asleep.
* * *
When Tara returnsto our dorm room, I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror, putting the finishing touches on my outfit. My hair is clean and curly again, a headband keeps it off my face and cascading down my shoulders.
My outfit is simple, but comfortable—tie-dyed jumper, ripped jeans and a pair of sneakers. I like it a whole lot, and it’s definitely not the kind of thing a Hemlock House girl should wear. Tara eyes me approvingly.
“This outfit is so you,” she says. “The sisters are gonna throw a bitch-fit when they see you, but I love it.”
I grin. “Who cares?”
This whole situation has put a lot of things into perspective. If I’m going to die today, or tomorrow, or next week, I don’t want to die wearing a fucking tube top and six-inch heels, masquerading as someone I’m not.
I want to do whatI want, what I like.
“I know that things right now are pretty fucked up,” Tara says when we’re in the hallway. “But, it’s great to see you being yourself. I feel like I’m meeting you for the first time.”
I chuckle. “Which version of me do you prefer?”
“Oh, Alize, hands down,” Tara says. “She’s a badass.”
“I’ve been thinking of changing my hair color. I never really liked this,” I say, pulling at a strand of my hair.
Tara smiles. “You want to go darker?”
“If I had a choice, I think I would actually want like…red hair or something. Maybe pink,” I say. “But, a darker blonde will have to do.”
“We could go to a salon in town—”
“Do you think that’s safe?” I cut in.
Tara sucks in an exasperated breath. “We’ll just take our guns.”
We spend the rest of the walk to the bistro going back and forth about how safe it would be, how to make it safer and if we’re even capable of protecting ourselves if there’s arealthreat—Tara is confident she could keep us safe, but I’m skeptical.
Off campus, anything goes.
The people after me blew up my house, and I don’t put it past any of the crazies at school to trail us into town so they can kill me without getting expelled. In the end, Tara agrees to shelve the conversation until we can work out a solution that works for both of us.
