wrong or weak to build a pool of allies. They could provide information gleaned from the campus gossip circuits, information on which professors I should avoid, a warm body to hold my spot when I got stuck in line at the accursed campus bookstore. I doubted they would have much to offer should the campus descend into mayhem, but . . . it would be nice to find a more current hairstyle.
“Yes, that would be . . . great,” I said, nodding slowly. “I would really appreciate that.”
“Awesome!” Keagan squealed. “We can watch The Notebook.”
“The what now?” I asked.
“It’s a movie,” Morgan told me.
“It’s the movie,” Keagan corrected her. “You’ve never watched The Notebook?”
“No.” I shook my head.
Morgan frowned. “But you have a boyfriend.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“What do you do when you’re together?” Keagan asked.
Oh, this sweet child was not prepared for the answer to that question.
Morgan seemed to grasp that as she held Keagan’s arm and shook her head. “You’d have to run right to confession, hon. For stuff you didn’t even do. Also, you’re not Catholic, so everybody would be confused.”
“I like you,” I told Morgan, wagging my finger at her.
“It doesn’t matter,” Meagan said. “We’ll watch it. You’ll love it. And then we’ll give you highlights!”
“Yes to the movie. No to the hair dye.”
Meagan smirked at me. “We’ll see.”
* * *
* * *
Over the next week, I spent more time in the company of the Gan Girls. I conceded to some very attractive buttery highlights that framed my face, but I managed to hide all of the scissors on the fourth floor to prevent Morgan from giving me sassy bangs. I taught the girls about the different types of blood, from carefully screened rare donor packets to the cheapest available plasma substitutes—if for no other reason than to stop poor Keagan from offering to open a vein when they ordered late-night pizza. Apparently, residents of Monkeys Eyebrow took hospitality very seriously, and she could not leave a guest hungry, no matter what the cost.
We watched The Notebook. I didn’t cry, no matter what Morgan claimed to have seen on my cheeks. I was sure I was just having an allergic reaction to the hideously overscented wickless candles the girls used in their rooms.
I found it was easier to avoid Kenton’s overtures when I was distracted by the girls and their antics. Sure, I was still talking to him in class, but I was blithely ignoring his invitations for coffee and field trips to intellectual havens. I told him I wasn’t sure what was happening to his Facebook messages, as I rarely checked my in-box. He kept pushing, of course, which was helping to reduce that attraction I felt and return my equilibrium. I was able to view his classroom pretensions as amusing rather than endearing. Honestly, he was trying so hard. Vampires near the century mark shouldn’t have to try that hard. But still, it was nice to receive attentions from an attractive man, no matter how futile and misguided.
Maybe I could get him sent to the Half-Moon Hollow Council office for some sort of internship. I would have to write that down on my list of potentially evil ideas, which I kept to amuse Georgie.
I assumed that at some point, Brianna had escaped from her basement prison, but she failed to confront me or even return to our room that I could see. I enjoyed the peace and tranquillity of an unofficial single room and the wealth of blissfully quiet study time that improved my chances of a straight-A midterm sweep. I’d already planted enough evidence on her side of the room—including meticulously forged diaries in which “Brianna” listed ways to frame me for hurting her—to make a plausible case for Brianna duct-taping herself in the basement in order to cause trouble for me. Because revenge on Brianna was sweet but not worth dying for.
Jamie texted on occasion, keeping me informed of his plans with his roommates or progress in his classes. But I didn’t push him to break those plans or drop his study time to come see me. When he wanted to see me, he would make time. And when he did, maybe I would be available. Or maybe I would have plans.
While I was still unsure of my footing, both on campus and in this new, more balanced approach to dating, I noticed the slow easing of a strange acidic weight at my throat. The grip of anxiety—the constant