The Scammer(65)

“You got your tea? Hair wrapped up and whatnot?”

My sad empty mug sits untouched on the desk.

“Um, yeah.”

“Okay. Come to the window.”

The window?

I peer down into the dark courtyard. “Okay?”

“Look for the flashing light.”

Across the street, closest to the baseball field, a parked red car flashes its lights twice.

I let out a sharp gasp. “Seriously? You have a car!”

“Don’t tell the whole world. I only break it out for special occasions.”

“Aww, you think I’m special!”

“Let’s not get carried away,” he quips.

I strain to see his face in the darkness. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you, I guess.”

“You could’ve just called,” I counter.

“I am calling! From a very short distance.”

A warmth builds inside me, chasing away the terror. I step away from the window, worried he can see my blushing grin.

“You could just admit that you miss me.”

Nick chuckles. “Don’t have no problem admitting that now.”

I twirl and plop on my bed. The sound of a loud crunch fills the room as something cracks beneath me.

What the hell?

I jump back to my feet, staring at the bed.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks.

I yank the comforter back and find my bed full of broken glass, the shards digging holes into my sheets. If I had just got in as is, I would’ve been pulling glass out of my feet and ankles, legs covered in bleeding cuts.

My throat goes dry. “Um, yeah. I’m okay.”

“Okay, you go to sleep. I’ll be out here for a little while longer. You know, in case you need anything.”

I pick up a piece of the glass, holding it close to my face. “Night, Nick.”



* * *




There’s a turkey-themed dinner in the Malcolm Center today. The entire building smells like stuffing and candied yams. Some students have already started skipping classes, heading home early for the Thanksgiving holiday. I haven’t bought a ticket home yet and my parents aren’t exactly blowing up my line, eager to know my plans.

Truth is, I’d rather be here, stuck in my dorm, than stuck with them.

“A nasty ’ho,” someone whispers behind me.

I turn around and recognize one of the girls from Devonte’s meeting.

“’Ho,” another whispers.

The words hit a nerve.

“She’s been sleeping with everyone’s boyfriend since she got here.”

“Mmm-hmmm . . . legs always open.”

It’s been three days and the rumors about me being a slut have traveled at lightning speed. People avert their eyes or look straight on as I pass. How did I go from having a boyfriend to being a slut in a matter of weeks?

Is it that easy to destroy someone? To just make up a story and everyone believes it?

I toss my dinner and head to the FUSA office to clock in. Nick should be around. They were having a senate meeting tonight. I don’t want to say that I miss him, but every time I make a cup of tea before bed, I find myself wishing he had made it instead.

As soon as I walk into the office, Nick is standing there, as if he was waiting, hands in his pockets.

“Hey you,” I say.

“Hey,” he mumbles. “Can we talk?”

The loaded silence in the office is unmistakable. Something’s wrong.

“Umm sure?”

He motions to the door and I follow him into the hall.

“What’s going on?” I ask. Why are we out here?

He sighs. “First, are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” I roll my eyes. “Aside from the obvious. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors.”

“Yeahhhh. Just had a meeting with the other officers about it. That’s why . . . we have to talk.”

My stomach tightens. “Meeting? About what?”

I watch his face change, straining to say this next part.

“The executive board thinks that maybe it’s not the best time for you to be . . . seen hanging around the office.”

My mouth falls open. Is this a joke?

“I’m sorry, what?”

He squirms. “People are uncomfortable.”

“I . . . And you just went with that?” I hiss. “Didn’t bother to stand up for me?”

Nick blows out some nervous air. “It’s not like I had much of a choice. I was outvoted.”

“Seriously! They VOTED about me?” I let out a bitter laugh. “Well, thanks for being an ally!”

Nick runs his fingers through his hair, pity in his eyes. “Come on, Jordyn. That’s not fair. I’ve been putting my neck out for you for weeks!”

“Only ’cause you’re getting something in exchange.”

“You know that’s not the only reason,” he hisses.

He’s right. He has put his neck out for me and not just because of my campaign help. But the dog-piling mixed with frustration and guilt won’t let me admit that.

“God! What was I thinking, trusting you,” I snap. “I don’t even know you!”