everything and landed back in his charmed life, throwing touchdowns and luring girls too stupid to know better into doing things they shouldn’t.
After they’d escorted her from the building, after she’d packed her bags and turned in her dorm key, panic had swept through her, deep and immobilizing. She had no one to turn to, nowhere to go. And then Dex appeared, sliding up next to her as she stood on the sidewalk outside her dorm, the same way she’d slipped alongside Brett that morning.
At the time, she only knew Dex as someone who hung around Wade and his friends, dark hair and startling gray eyes. He wasn’t a student, and Eva could never figure out how he fit in. Like her, he rarely spoke, but he watched everything.
“I heard about what happened,” he’d said. “I’m sorry.”
She looked away, ashamed at how naive she’d been. How easily Wade had manipulated her. And how he’d gotten off and she’d gotten expelled.
Dex looked over her shoulder at some unseen object and spoke. “Look, it’s a shitty situation. But I think I can help you.”
She shoved her hands into her pockets against the cool fall night. “I doubt that.”
“You have a skill that I think can benefit both of us.”
She shook her head. “What are you talking about?”
“The drugs you made were great. I know a guy who can set you up with the equipment and the supplies to keep making them. His chemist is leaving the business, and he needs someone immediately. It’s a great opportunity, if you want it. Totally safe. You make the drugs, he’ll let you keep half to sell yourself. You can make more than five thousand dollars a week.” Dex laughed, a bitter sound puffing into the air around them. “A school like this always has a need for uppers. Little pills that will get these kids through the next test, the next class, whatever.” He gestured toward a group of students passing them on their way to the next bar or party, already drunk, laughing and in love with themselves. “They’re not like you or me. They take Daddy’s money, or the donor’s money, and think nothing can touch them.”
He looked into Eva’s eyes, and she felt a flicker of hope. Dex was throwing her a lifeline, and she’d be stupid not to take it. “How?” she asked.
“I have a place near here,” he said, “with a spare room you can crash in for a while. I help you, you help me.”
“How would I be helping you?”
“You’re exactly the kind of person my boss is looking for. Smart, and off everyone’s radar.”
Eva wanted to say no, but she was broke. She had no place to live. No skills with which to get a job. She imagined herself slinging her duffel bag over her shoulder and heading down to Telegraph Avenue, positioning herself among the other panhandlers, begging for money. Or returning to St. Joseph’s, the weight of Sister Bernadette’s disappointment, Sister Catherine’s curt nod, as if she’d always known Eva would turn out like her mother.
Eva had always been a survivor. But it was easy to be fearless when you’d already lost everything. “Tell me what I have to do.”
* * *
Dex’s voice pulled her back to the present. “A bunch of us are going into the city tonight to hear this new band, Arena, play. Come with us.”
Eva shot him a sideways glance. “Pass.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun. I’ll buy you Diet Cokes all night long. You need to get out more.”
She studied the way his stubble was beginning to turn gray near his jawline. The way the ends of his hair curled up near his collar. She sometimes had to remind herself that Dex was her handler, not her friend. This was his attempt to keep an eye on her, not give her a fun night out. “I get out plenty,” she said.
“Really?” he pressed. “When? With who?”
“Whom,” she corrected.
Dex gave a soft chuckle. “Don’t distract me with a grammar lesson, Professor.” He nudged her arm. “You need a social life. You’ve been doing this long enough to know that you don’t have to hide from the world. You’re allowed to have friends.”
Eva watched a mother sitting under a tree with her son, reading a book. “I’d spend all my time trying to hide things from them. Trust me. This is easier.”
But it was also what she preferred. She never had to explain anything, or answer the get-to-know-you questions that people always asked. Where