She walked back to the Glass House, watching for vampires in the fading afternoon and feeling pretty stupid for even thinking about it. She didn't see anybody except other college students, strolling along with bulging backpacks. Most of them traveled in bunches. Once she got past the area that catered to students, the stores were closed, lights off, and what few people were walking were hurrying.
At the corner of Gone with the Wind and The Munsters, the front gate was open. She closed it behind her, unlocked the door with the shiny new key that she'd found on her dresser that morning, and slammed the door behind her.
There was a shadow standing at the end of the hallway. A tall, broad shadow in a grungy yellow T-shirt and low-slung, faded jeans frayed at the bottom. A shadow in bare feet.
Shane.
He just looked at her for a few seconds, then said, "Eve put your crap up in your room."
"Thanks."
"What's that?"
"Stuff for dinner."
He cocked his head slightly, still staring at her. "For a smart girl, you do some stupid things. You know that?"
"I know." She walked toward him. He didn't move.
"Eve says you never saw Monica."
"That's what I said."
"You know what? I'm not buying it."
"You know what?" she shot back. "I don't care. Excuse me." She ducked past him, into the kitchen, and set her bags down. Her hands were shaking. She balled them into fists and started setting out things on the counter. Ground beef. Lettuce. Tomatoes. Onions. Refried beans. Hot sauce, the kind she liked, anyway. Cheese. Sour cream. Taco shells.
"Let me guess," Shane said from the doorway. "You're making Chinese."
She didn't answer. She was still too pissed and - all of a sudden - too scared. Scared of what, she didn't know. Everything. Nothing. Herself.
"Anything I can do?" His voice sounded different. Quieter, gentler, almost kind.
"Chop onions," she said, although she knew that wasn't exactly what he meant. Still, he came over, picked up the onions, and grabbed a huge scary-looking knife from a drawer. "You have to peel it first."
He shot her a dirty look, just like he would have Eve, and got to work.
"Um - I should probably call my mom," Claire said. "Can I use the phone?"
"You pay for long distance."
"Sure."
He shrugged, reached over, and grabbed the cordless phone, then pitched it underhanded to her. She nearly dropped it, but was kind of proud she didn't. She got out a big iron skillet from under the cabinet and put it on the counter, heated up the burner, and found some oil. As it was warming, she read over the thin little recipe book she'd bought at the store one more time, then dialed the phone.
Her mom answered on the second ring. "Yes?" It was never hello with her mother.
"Mom, it's Claire."
"Claire! Baby, where have you been? I've been trying to call you for days!"
"Classes," she said. "Sorry. I'm not home that much."
"Are you sleeping enough? If you don't get enough rest, you'll get sick - you know how you are - "
"Mom, I'm fine." Claire frowned down at the recipe on the counter in front of her. What did saute mean, exactly? Was it like frying? Diced, she understood. That was just cutting things into cubes, and Shane was doing that already. "Really. It's all okay now."
"Claire, I know it's hard. We really didn't want you to go even just the few hundred miles to TPU, honey. If you want to come back home, your dad and I would be so glad to have you back!"