Lindsey would be so proud! Okay, what would she do next? I examine the courtyard, and I’m dismayed to find the situation looks even worse from in here—endless buildings, floors, and hallways. Locks everywhere. On everything. It’s a freaking fortress.
This was such a stupid idea. This was the stupidest idea of all of the stupid ideas I have ever had in my entire stupid life. I should go home. I’m still not even sure what I’d say to Cricket when I saw him. But I hate that I’ve already come this far. I crumple onto a bench and call Lindsey. “I need help.”
“What kind of help?” She’s suspicious.
“How do I find Cricket’s building and room number?”
“And you need that information why?”
My voice grows tiny. “Because I’m in Berkeley?”
A long pause. “Oh, Lola.” And then a sigh. “You want me to call him?”
“No!”
“So you’re just gonna show up? What if he’s not there?”
Crud. I hadn’t thought about that.
“Forget it,” Lindsey says. “Okay, call what’s-his-name. St. Clair.”
“Too embarrassing. Don’t you have access to school records or something?”
“If I had access to something like that, don’t you think I would have used it by now? No, you have to use a source. Your source is St. Clair.”
“It’s not you?”
“Bye, Lola.”
“Wait! If my parents call, tell them I’m in the bathroom. We’re eating pizza and watching Pushing Daisies.”
“I hate you.”
“I love you.”
She hangs up.
“All right,” an English accent says to me. “(A) You’re not in the toilets, (B) You’re not eating pizza, and (C) Whom do you love?”
I jump up and throw my arms around him. “I don’t believe it!”
St. Clair hugs me back before prying me off. “What are you doing at my dormitory?”
“I chose the right one?You live here? Which building?” I look around wildly as if it were about to light up.
“I don’t know. Should I trust a lying girl wearing a yellow raincoat on a sunny day?”
I smile. “Why are you always in the right place at the right time?”
“It’s a particular talent of mine.” He shrugs. “Are you looking for Cricket?”
“Will you show me where he lives?”
“Does he know you’re coming?” he asks.
I don’t answer.
“Ah,” he says.