Condemned

5 | Sam

This is going to be awkward...

I'm about to leave my room in my full cheerleading getup. Bow, glitter, red warm-up suit, enough makeup that I look like someone else. The pleated skirt and crop top are tucked away, so it could be worse. They don't leave much to the imagination. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to that.

Welcome to college, Hadlee said to me, handing me my short, tight size 30.

I went to a conservative private high school, so, in comparison, my new uniform is very mature, let's say.

In the mirror, I tame an unruly fake curl in my high ponytail, and do a little more blending beneath my eye, hoping to God the pound of concealer I put on does the job. I think my black eye looks ridiculous, worse than it did without makeup, but at just a glance or from a distance, maybe no one will be sure enough to ask about it.

I wish I could call in sick. Because that's how I feel. Queasy. I can't, though. No one else can do what I do on such short notice.

A shot of Pepto Bismol might take the edge off, but I don't have any, can't really afford it, and don't have time to stop for some. I'm running late as it is.

Still, I pause at the door. I'm not ready for this, either...

The apartment has been quiet all afternoon, but over the last hour, I've heard footsteps in the office area, just outside my room. I assume it's Jael, but it could be his girlfriend.

What a fiasco earlier...

She scares the crap out of me, more than Jael ever could. And I doubt the whole cheerleader thing will invite me into her good graces.

It never does...

Why did Jael agree to a female roommate in the first place? Is he a glutton for punishment?

Maybe he's secure in his relationship and trusts himself in regard to any temptation...

Yeah, we'll go with that. And I will do my part. I will—at some point—stop replaying the shirtless motion picture of him in my mind. In fact, I'll find a way to put it in the mental shredder if it's the last thing I do.

I burst from the bedroom and collide into Jael's expressive gaze. Most guys do a better job of shielding their emotions, or they force the opposite just to throw a girl off and give themselves the upper hand.

Not Jael. What you see is what you get. I'm still learning, and men usually lead me astray with all the games they play, so I don't know all the nuances of "shock." But that's the category I'm working with.

"Game night," he comments, his gaze crumbling into chaos rather than deflecting to something safe and solid. It eventually finds his computer screen, but the gesture is wasted. His mind doesn't seem to join him there.

I shoulder my gym bag and lazily present myself with my other hand. "No, I just love red. Glitter everywhere. Mascara spiders. The whole bit."

He absorbs that like I was serious. There's scrutiny, confusion. Then his sarcasm reader turns on, and a smile quirks into his expression, but it doesn't last long. It fades into something solemn. "Are you going alone?"

"Yeah, I mean . . . I won't be alone when I get there or anything..."

That doesn't seem to placate him.

"I'll park as close as I can..."

Why am I rambling? Does he need to know the details? It's not like he's my boyfriend or father.

"It's somewhat well lit, and should be busy, and as long as I leave right after..."

He must be thinking about Ted, and now I'm thinking about Ted. He's been tracking me everywhere I go. Sure, we've made our peace, as much as he's capable, but will it last? He's so easy to provoke. And this won't be right after class. Everyone will be having a good time. There will be alcohol involved. Would anyone even hear me scream?