“Shh,” I hiss at him, unable to pry my attention from the video.
The driver of the car steps out, and my jaw drops. My fingers tighten around Ricardo’s arm, making him cover my hand with his own and gently prying at my fingers.
He stops at the sight of the driver. Leaning toward the screen, he says, “Isn’t that—”
“Yes.” I’d know the back of that head anywhere. Have actually ridden in that car, though only once or twice.
It’s Kenneth’s.
He was on campus that night, mere minutes after Professor Rook was killed.
19
Kenneth is ducking my calls, and he hasn’t been on campus in days. According to Doctor Paloma, he’s not scheduled to do any intern hours at the academy for a week, but there is no way I can wait that long to question him about why he was on campus that night.
There’s no reason for him to be here, is there? It’s not like he and I were going to meet up. Neither would he be here to see Cal, Adrienne, or Genevieve. Now that I don’t feel so raw over the breakup, Adrienne’s been more forthcoming about how she felt about Kenneth. Genevieve too, for that matter.
They both like Ricardo a lot more, and I refuse to analyze why their words sizzle all the way down my throat.
My lack of patience is the reason I convince Ricardo to go across town to Kenneth’s apartment today after classes are over. If Kenneth won’t take my calls, I’ll show up at his apartment. Just like an obsessed ex-girlfriend. The irony doesn’t escape me as Ricardo swings our arms back and forth, looking for all the world like a boy ecstatic about being with me.
People move aside for us as we walk up the sidewalk toward the nearest subway station. Several old grannies give us simpering smiles, and it’s all down to Ricardo’s apparent bliss. He’s an excellent actor. Way better than me.
Even though I’m 100% committed to our plan of action, there’s a ripple of unease in the surface of my mental lake. A prickle caresses my spine, as if someone’s eyes are on me. I spin around to look behind us.
There’s no one there I recognize. Just people shopping and getting coffee and commuting home from work.
Still, my instincts are trying to tell me something, and I always listen to my gut.
I scan the sidewalk one more time, mostly satisfied that there’s no one following us.
Sighing, I take a deep breath as Ricardo pulls me down the stairs into the subway station. I tried to convince him to let me call a rideshare, but he said it was good for me to be among regular people, and if I’m deeply honest, he’s right. I never realized how sheltered my life has been until we rode the subway that first time.
But last time, there was plenty of room on the platform, and the cars were fairly empty.
This time, there is no room anywhere. Crowds of people huddle near the yellow line, waiting for the next train to arrive. It’s a high traffic time of day, and it’s going to be an ungraceful race to see who gets seats in the next train car. Body odors mix with perfumes in an unappealing smell that makes me wrinkle my nose and focus on the dingy wall on the opposite side of the tracks. There’s not near enough air in this concrete tube. I stuff down the nervous energy building inside me and focus on my breathing.
Our train arrives and we scramble inside, along with about a hundred other people. The car is absolutely packed. There are no vacant seats, and barely any empty space for standing. I grab one of the center poles with both hands and hunch my shoulders inward in an attempt to avoid coming into contact with anyone else. My personal space bubble is shot in a place like this. Closing my eyes, I try not to focus on the stench of body odor wafting off the grubby guy standing next to me. He smells like sweat and moldy concrete. It’s not pleasant.
The ceiling of the train is far too close. Even though I’m not short at 5’6”, I’m surrounded by taller bodies that block the windows so I can’t see out. Conscious of my speeding pulse, I clamp my eyes shut and take several slow inhales, letting the air out slowly through my mouth.
Someone presses close to my back, making me shrink inward closer to the