“Because,” I say, struggling to keep my cool. “I need to talk to her before practice.”
He exhales. “I did text her. No reply. Don’t you have some classes with her?”
“First period.” I run my hand through my hair and avoid Reagan looking at me from across the crowded room. “She looked… I don’t know. Weird. Tired, sort of.”
“Look, Bates, I don’t know what’s going on with you two—”
“Nothing is going on,” I reply too quickly.
Tyson rolls his eyes. “Just don’t fuck with her, okay? She’s a nice girl and you’re...” Tyson makes a sweeping gesture.
I pull myself up. “And I’m what?”
He shrugs. “You. A Devil. She’s tough, but she’s not like you. She’s not the manipulative type.”
“You’ve known her for like three weeks,” I give him a long, sweeping glance. “What makes you the expert on Gwendolyn Adams.”
“I’m not saying I’m an expert on girls like Gwen, but guys like you?” He grimaces. “I know plenty of guys like you, and she doesn’t need whatever bullshit you’re slinging.”
Anger licks at the back of my spine and I react spontaneously, grabbing Tyson by the arm and dragging him into the hall. Once we’re away from the crowd, he pushes me off with two hands. “What the hell, Bates?”
“I’m not messing with Gwendolyn,” I say in a low voice. Little does he know how much that girl messes with me, intentional or not. “It’s not like that. I just need to talk to her—that’s all. If you see her, let me know, okay? You should have my number from the team list.”
He nods and I storm off, still not finished searching for her. This would be a whole lot easier if everyone would stop jumping to conclusions about my intentions. I check the library and the computer lab. The bell rings and everyone files into their classes. I look in the Chem room—her class after lunch. She’s not there, either. I skip my own class, exiting the main doors and walking across the campus. It’s not like her to disappear like this, and it wouldn’t be such a big deal—not normally—but after what happened to her in the hall the other day, I feel more on edge about it than I should. I’m already in the crazy habit of looking at people’s shoes, eyes peeled for any flash of orange.
I’m halfway across the quad, headed toward the fine arts building when I see Gwendolyn’s little sister.
“Hey,” I say, trotting over. “I’m looking for your sister. Any idea where she may be?”
“Hopefully in the infirmary,” she says nonchalantly, eyes fixed to her phone. “She looked like crap this morning.”
I blink in surprise. “She’s sick?”
“Looked like it. She played it off though, you know she loves to be the mar—”
“Martyr,” I echo. We both laugh. “Yeah, she does like that.” I scratch my neck, looking around. “Okay, well, thanks. I’ll see if she made it there.”
“Tell her not to come home and give whatever she’s got to the rest of us. I don’t want to spend my whole Thanksgiving break sick with whatever plague she’s carrying.”
This little girl is a piece of work.
“I’ll pass that along.”
She continues toward the fine arts building and I turn and head the other way. I duck in the nurse's office and ask, “Have you seen Gwendolyn Adams?”
“Not today,” Mrs. Tolbert replies. “Should she be here?”
I rap a quick rhythm on the desk. “Not sure.”
I walk back out before she asks any more questions. There’s only one other place to check—her dorm room—which definitely puts me in the position of obsessing over this. If Gwendolyn is in her room, then she’s not regret-confessing what we did last night, and she also isn’t being maimed by some wayward Devil. But that doesn’t stop me. Something else propels me across the campus toward her dormitory, where I punch in the code and enter the empty building. Since everyone’s at class, there’s no one around to stop or question me as I climb the stairs to the fourth floor. At her room, I tap on the door.
There’s no answer.
I try the knob and it twists, door opening easily.
My eyes sweep around the dark room, and at first glance, it appears empty. Then I distinguish the crumpled mass on the far side of the room, beside the bed, like a mountain of blankets on the floor. My heart thuds when I see feet sticking out, still in shoes. I walk over and drop to my knees, bending next to her. It’s Gwendolyn, still in her school uniform, including her shoes, flat on her stomach, fast asleep.
God, please let her just be asleep.