Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 149510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Coach obviously knows something happened with Nadine since she’s off the squad and out of school, but the dean evidently felt he could leave it at that.
Thank everything.
My stomach growls as I pass the upperclassmen apartments, and I make a last-minute decision to reroute to Brower Center to grab a bite to eat. I’ve barely eaten anything since it all happened, save the sandwich that I’m pretty sure Julia made appear mysteriously at my door Saturday night, and a single apple first thing this morning. I cut through the alleyway between Delaney and the on-campus apartments and jog across Broadway when I find a break in traffic.
The lights of the Brower Center are still on, and a group of students wearing Santa hats and shaking jingle bells greets me near the door. I’m pretty sure they’re part of Dickson’s a cappella group who’ve chosen to spend the evening providing a Christmas-carol ambiance to any poor students who are still left on campus for winter break.
I start to offer a smile in their direction, but when a guy with red hair and a pirate’s smile looks at me curiously, my current reality hits me like a ton of bricks. I avert my eyes, but it’s too late. He knows who I am and spreads it among his friends hurriedly.
I run for the door and shove it open, but laughter interrupts their version of “Jingle Bells” before I can make it inside. I move quicker, letting the door fall closed behind me to separate us, but as I unwrap my scarf and trudge toward the double doors of the dining hall on the first floor, I hear them start a rendition of the song “Stacey’s Mom”—though, my name takes center stage in the chorus.
Scottie’s Mom.
Tears well in my eyes before I can even pick up a tray, and when my breath gets shaky and my vision turns blurry, I forgo the whole dining experience, sneak out the back entrance of Brower, and don’t look back.
The wind is still cold, but my body is an inferno of embarrassment. I run as fast as I can until I’m safely inside Delaney and take the stairs all the way to the fifth floor to avoid seeing anyone else.
My hands tremble from low blood sugar and I feel moments away from passing out, but I power through until I’m standing at my door, keys in hand. A plastic bag is hanging on the doorknob, and I pull it inside with me without looking because the less time I’m out of my dorm room, the better.
I drop my cheerleading bag to the floor and let the tears fall from my eyes unchecked. At this point, I’m so used to crying that I multitask while doing it.
I peer inside the bag and am surprised but grateful to see that it’s filled with a boatload of my favorite snacks. Granola bars, trail mix, cookies, chips—you name it, and it’s in here. I have no idea who dropped this off—I’m assuming Julia or Kayla—but I don’t waste any time tearing open a bag of Chips Ahoy and shoving a cookie into my mouth. My salty tears mingle with the sugary treat, and I plop down on my bed to sob and eat the rest of the bag at the same time.
I reach for the remote to my television to drown out the silence, putting on a new episode of Love is Blind for consistency. But they’re only just getting started on their blind dates when a soft knock sounds from my door.
Carefully, I tiptoe over and look through the peephole, half expecting to find an angry mob of Pitch Perfect wannabees, but all I see is a police officer in uniform instead.
“Scottie Bardeaux, it’s Officer Walters with the campus police,” his deep male voice announces. “I just wanted to chat with you for a few minutes.”
Son of a bitch.
For the past few days, Office Walters has left me several voice mails, trying to get me to come down to the station, and I’ve ignored every single one, but this in-person visit has officially put the kibosh on my avoidance.
It’s now or never. Time to get it over with.
I scrub a hand down my face to wipe away evidence of my sadness-snack-binge and answer the door.
“Scottie?” Officer Walters offers a soft smile, and I don’t have the strength to return it.
Instead, I nod. “That’s me.”
“Sorry to bother you, but it’s important that we get you down to the station to give an official statement about the events that took place on Friday night at the Delta Omega house.”
I sigh. I almost ask him if it’s necessary, but then I remember Finn’s involvement in all of it and Dane’s attempt at pressing charges for assault, and I know that I need to do what they ask, even if it feels like the equivalent of swallowing a cup full of nails.