4. Willa
CHAPTER 4
WILLA
B y the end of the week, I’m practically jumping out of my skin. Ever since I walked out of the library that night, I’ve had the sensation of being watched. It’s stupid. And paranoid. But every time I try to use logic to reassure myself it’s nothing my gut kicks back. The feeling is so strong, I constantly have to stop myself from reaching up to rub the back of my neck.
“Willa!” the barista shouts from behind the counter.
With a jolt, I grab my mocha and dash out the door, even though I have plenty of time to get to the library for my shift. Head down, I hurry through the quad, making sure to stick to the crowds, feeling safer surrounded by people.
A heavy hand drops down on my right shoulder, and I let out a little scream. Hot coffee spills out of the top of the lid and slides down my hand, but I only clench the paper cup tighter as I turn to see who grabbed me.
A bright blue jersey meets my gaze, and I flick my eyes up. Trent’s smiling down at me.
He laughs. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I’ve been calling your name since you left the coffee shop.”
I ease my grip and transfer the cup to my other hand. Shaking off the spilled coffee, I press my slightly burned hand against the back of my jeans. “Trent! Oh. Um. Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Thinking about mid-terms. What’s up?”
He pauses for a second but then flashes that signature smile. “My dad is going to be out of town on Monday. I know your Tuesdays are pretty booked, so I thought we could switch days next week.”
Surprised he remembered; I think about it for a second. “That would be wonderful, but I only work an hour on Monday. My shift ends around one p.m.”
He nods and pulls out his phone. “That works for me. I’ll grab us some lunch.”
“Umm, don’t worry about bringing lunch. I’m used to eating later,” I protest.
“Well, I try to stick to a strict eating schedule for football, so I’ll bring food, and if you want some, it will be there,” he replies with a shrug, then holds up his phone. “I would have called you about switching, but I didn’t have your number. Do you mind giving it to me?”
“555-493-7714,” I tell him.
Usually, I give my number to the students I’m tutoring when I set up the schedule. I can’t believe I forgot. My phone buzzes, and I pull it out of my pocket to see a text from Trent.
A shout from his friends has him turning away. “Thanks, Willa. See you Monday.”
I tuck my phone away and give him a half-hearted wave. As I leave, I see the blond cheerleader from the library staring at me with a frown on her face. Her gaze darts to Trent, then back to me. When Trent leans down and says something to her, she jerks around to face the rest of their group.
I take a sip of my coffee and continue on to the library. The sensation of being watched has dissipated. Maybe it was Trent I felt earlier. Or maybe my stressful workload is causing me to lose my mind. I laugh, but there’s a hollow ring to it.
* * *
On Monday, I walk out of my apartment to go to class and find a manila envelope under my windshield wiper. I frown. Lionel usually leaves notes on my apartment door, but maybe it’s mail or something. I grab it and jump in my car. After setting my backpack in the passenger seat, I open the flap and peer inside. It’s full of little squares. Confused, I pull one out and gasp.
It’s one of those tiny instant pictures. Almost like an old polaroid but smaller. In this one, I’m talking to Trent in the quad, his blue jersey shining in the sun. This was taken on Friday.
I reach in and grab another. Fingers clenching the corners, I take in all the details. Pink scrubs. I’m walking out of the rehab center. Clinicals are held on Thursdays.
With dread, I dump out the rest of the pictures into my lap. I pick one up, then another and another and another: me going to class, walking up the steps to my apartment, working in the library, and driving my car. My school, my home, my work, my car. All of the pictures seem to be from last week. One in particular catches my eye. I’m on the steps of the library, and it’s night. This picture of me is framed with branches. I knew it. There was somebody in the bush on Tuesday night.
Hands shaking, I stare at Lionel’s back door, wishing he was home, but I know he had an early tee off this morning. And he always turns off his phone when he’s golfing. If I leave the pics without an explanation, he’ll freak out. Kind of like I’m doing right now. I turn on the car and sit there, my mind racing, trying to figure out what to do. Should I go to the police?
A couple of tears slide down my face. More from nerves than anything. With shaking hands, I rub my face. I don’t know what to do. Go to class like normal? Wait for Lionel to get home? After thinking for a minute, I stuff the photos back into the envelope and toss it in on the passenger seat.
My phone pings. It’s an alert for a test I have in my second class today. Groaning at the reminder, I drop my head back on the seat. I can’t miss it. There are no make ups. And I sure as hell haven’t worked this hard to let my grades slip now.
Not knowing what else to do, I put the car in gear and head to class. At least at school, I’ll be surrounded by people. Safe. Or safer than being home alone.
I don’t understand. Who would want to stalk me? I lost touch with all my high school friends, what few I had, when I graduated. Besides Lexie and the students I tutor, I don’t speak to anyone at the university. I don’t date. Or even flirt. So, why me? I try to recall everyone I’ve come in contact with the last week. I don’t remember speaking to any strangers.
After acing the test in my second period class, I slowly walk to the library for my shift, my eyes flicking from one person to another, trying to catch someone watching me. Most don’t even glance in my direction. For the few who do, their gazes slide away almost instantly, as if they’re dismissing me. Tense, I keep walking.
The library steps come into view, and my eyes automatically slide to the bushes on the left. Unable to stop myself, I walk over to them and lean in, peering through the branches to the steps beyond. Not quite the same angle. I move to another bush and do the same thing. This is the one. I step back and look around the bush. For what, I’m not sure. I look down. There’s a faint impression of a shoe.
Whoever took the picture probably had to step into the bush to get a clear shot. Squatting down, I take a picture of it, then stand and study the image. The curved lines and perforations in the dirt make me think it’s a tennis shoe or sneaker. It looks big. I place my foot beside the one in the dirt. I wear a women’s size nine, which is pretty big. The shoe imprint dwarfs mine. Maybe a guy?
I back up another few feet, but too many people have walked the path near the bush, and I can’t tell which ones belong to my stalker. I snort. I don’t even know if this imprint belongs to him. Disappointed, I walk away and climb the stairs. Once I’m sitting at the circular desk, I pull the pic back up to study it.
Why would someone stalk me, of all people? It just doesn’t make sense. There are a lot of prettier and younger girls at this school. And why would they tell me? Sending me those pictures is almost like shouting it from the rooftops.
The smell of chicken makes me look up. Trent is standing there with a bag of food in one hand and his backpack in the other. “I hope you like chicken. The Roasted Shop smelled so good when I walked by earlier. I had to get it for our lunch.”
When I only stare at him blankly, he sets the bag on the counter. “Are you okay? You look… upset.”
Embarrassed, I nod. “Yes, sorry. No. Chicken sounds good. I’m fine. It’s just been a rough day. Why don’t you go upstairs, and I’ll meet you there in a minute. I have to wait until my replacement comes in.”
“If you’re sure,” he says hesitantly. With one last look at me, he grabs the food and makes his way to the staircase in the corner.
Tall with powerful-looking legs, I can’t help but watch him take the steps two at a time until he’s at the door of the conference room. He turns the knob to enter, but nothing happens.
Shit. The keys.
He turns, and I hold up the keys. Thankfully, my replacement appears at that exact moment, and after filling her in on the tasks for the day, I quickly grab my backpack and head up.
“Sorry, I forgot it was locked,” I tell him, shoving the key into the lock.
Once open, he strides past me, and the smell of roasted chicken intermingles with scents of cedar and citrus that I’ve come to associate with Trent. “I hope you’re hungry. Even I can’t eat all of this.” He flashes me one of his infamous grins. The same one they always show on the big screen at the games that makes all the girls giggle.
It’s potent, and my lips stretch into an answering smile.
Trent sets the bag on the table, then digs out the containers of food. “I got us chicken, of course. Green beans. Mac and cheese.” He holds up the last Styrofoam box. “And the best chocolate cake on campus.”
I help him open each box. “This looks amazing. I missed breakfast, and now I’m starving. Thank you.” I pat his arm, and he gives me a wolfish grin.
“Most girls would be throwing their arms around me while declaring they couldn’t possibly eat all this. You pat my arm,” he says with a grin.
I give him a stern look. “I’m tutoring you, not dating you. Speaking of…”
He holds up a finger. “Food first. Then you can whip my brain into shape.” His lips twitch, and he gives me a wicked grin. “The chocolate cake will be our reward.” His eyes move from the dessert to my lips, then he winks.
For the first few minutes, we eat in silence, but Trent suddenly tosses his fork down. “Are you sure you’re okay? I know it’s none of my business. We don’t know each other that well. It’s just. Well… you looked scared earlier. Were you? Scared?”
I swallow the bite stuck in the back of my throat and stare at him. Words fill me, hovering on the tip of my tongue, desperate to get out. I want to share this burden with someone. I want this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach to go away. I want somebody to protect me. But I say nothing. Trent is a stranger.
Forcing a smile, I shake my head. “Something spooked me earlier. But I’m fine. Really. I appreciate you asking.”
He says nothing for a long minute. “If you say so.” Picking up his fork, he finishes his meal, but I can see the wheels turning in his head. “Here’s my homework for the week.”
With the change in conversation, the session shifts back to tutoring. For the next hour, we walk through the homework he aced and review the topics coming up next, but it’s obvious things are strained between us.
“Come on. I’ll walk you to your car,” he states firmly, gathering his books.
Relieved to have some degree of safety, I don’t even think of refusing but lead the way. Once I’m in my car, I wave my thanks and speed off. It’s nice to have someone my age, or at least close to my age, worrying about me, especially a good-looking guy like Trent. It makes me feel normal.
I pull into the driveway and reach for my backpack and the envelope. When I don’t see it, I jump out and hurry over to the other side of the car. Maybe it fell down into the door well. I throw open the door, but I don’t see anything. The dome light isn’t that powerful, so I turn on my phone’s flashlight. Nothing. It’s empty, and it’s not on the floorboard either, which means someone broke into my car and stole it.