What could I tell her that wouldn’t sound insane? “No—uhhh. Can you tell her I need to talk to her, though, if you hear from her?”
“Sure, Dakota. But are you certain everything’s okay? How are you liking college?”
“Yeah. You know. It’s college. I just need to talk to her about books and a couple of things. But, ummm, I need to run to class. I’ll call you later and tell you all about it. Okay?”
I hung up, scratching my head. My mother never forgot to charge her phone. Something wasn’t right, and an uneasy feeling washed over me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I didn’t see or hear from Santiago for the next few days, but I knew he was there, watching. Even more annoying was that my dreams were completely contaminated by him. Sometimes they were dreams of him hunting me, but usually they were explicit dreams of us doing very explicit things: ravaging each other on the beach in broad daylight; making slow, passionate love next to a campfire—he loved camping, after all—and, of course, the shower.
It seemed that my immature hormones had followed me to college.
But I wasn’t going to let him win. I would find a way to extract him from my life. In fact, I’d already decided to go to the FBI on Monday. The only thing that made me uneasy was that part about him telling me to get prepared for my dad.
On the bright side, my mother finally texted me and said that she was at some spa retreat up in Napa with her girlfriends. I guess with me out of the house, she could finally take time for herself, which was awesome. Although, I still couldn’t shake that feeling of something not being right, like she was avoiding me. When I texted her back about Santiago showing up, and me needing to talk to her and Dad, she replied she’d try to track Dad down and call me later. That was all. Strange, to say the least. Almost as strange as the last time I’d mentioned Santiago and she did that weird thing with her face, and then pretended I hadn’t said anything. Maybe she really was afraid I’d gone bonkers.
In any case, I’d survived my first week of college and held myself together despite the bizarre noise in the background of my life. Of course, that’s because I’d kept myself insanely distracted—joined a few study groups, went to my first chem club, signed up to volunteer for the beach cleanup crew with our neighbor Christy, and Skyped with Mandy two nights in a row. I couldn’t believe the transformation. Her personality, her enthusiasm, even her clothes. She’d become a metropolitan socialite overnight. She said New York was hands down the most exciting place in the world, and made me promise to visit for the weekend. Given how expensive tickets were, I’d probably see her back home for Christmas before I’d get out there.
So while Mandy was out exploring the city nightlife with her new fashion friends, I planned to snack my way through Friday night and have a little History Channel alien documentary marathon on my laptop, after I had a quick therapy session.
I pulled out my brand-new journal, the one my father had given me, and looked at its exquisite workmanship. The leather binding, the thick paper, the embossing with my name. I’d have to ask him where he bought these because I’d never go back to a cheesy drugstore journal. I got out my favorite pen and started writing down the events of my first few days of college. I left everything out about Santiago. He wasn’t welcome in my memories. He was a ghost, I determined, and ghosts belonged in the shadows, confined to the realm of whispers and folklore.
“You coming?” Bridget popped her head inside the room. She wore a low-cut, baby-blue tank and her infamous short shorts. I wished I could get away with that outfit, but the Dane women were built for endurance and plowing fields or lifting cranes, or some shit like that. There wasn’t anything wrong with my body, but it simply wasn’t short shorts material.
“I think I’m going to stay in tonight. Get caught up on my shows.”
Bridget hissed. “Let me get this straight. It’s your first Friday away from home, possibly the biggest party night of the year, given it’s also pledge week, and you want to stay in our icky, gray dorm room? Get the hell out! You can watch TV tomorrow while you’re nursing a hangover.”
“No. I’m really—”
“You owe me a chauffeur.”
I looked at her and narrowed my eyes. “Not fair. Wait. I thought you said I’d be nursing a hangover?”
“Did I say that?” she replied with a guilty grin. “I meant you can watch TV tomorrow while I’m nursing a hangover. ’Cause you’re driving.”