Uncovering Officer Smith (The Discovering Trilogy #2) (7 page)

“Yes…” I stare at her, but she avoids my eyes. “Tom? Really, Meggie?”

“Ugh.” She folds, sitting on the stool where Tom just vacated. “Don’t remind me. We were just playing pool in the game room, he bent over to shoot, and I just caught a glance of that cute bum of his.” Her hands cup themselves in the shape of a bum to accentuate her point.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I will never look at him the same. She blinks, staring at the closed door.

“Why?” I lean against the doorpost.

“He’s like Clark Kent. Without those dorky glasses, he’s like Superman in the bedroom.” She giggles.

“Oh my God. Too much information.” I cover my ears. That’s when my alarm begins to blare to life from my bedroom. “Well, that’s my cue to get ready for class.”

“Whatever, nerd,” she calls, wandering back into her room and shutting the door.

By the time I’m ready and walk out into the living room again, Meggie is still nowhere to be found. I roll my eyes before picking up my bag and rushing out the door.

“Becca?” I hear my name before I even have my key out of the door. Tom’s grey eyes meet mine as I turn around. The black-rimmed glasses are back on. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing at what Meggie said.

“Let me walk you to class.”

“Sure,” I mutter, slinging my black messenger bag over my shoulder.

“That looks heavy. Do you want me to carry it?”

“Um, no, that’s okay. Thanks, though.”

“No problem.”

We walk down the hall in awkward silence. I get the feeling he wants to say something again, but never has the nerve to. Walking down the stairs, he attempts to stroll beside me until people pass from the opposite direction. It’s so strange between us. You would think it were
me
that slept with the guy. When we cross the football field, I break the silence.

“What class are you going to?”

“Chemistry 304.”

“Oh, I hate chemistry – I took two biology classes to avoid it.”

“It’s not so bad.” He shrugs.

The morning sun is beaming down on us as we continue. I’m just happy all the snow has melted. It seems like each passing winter is getting worse and worse. Walking to school during a blizzard is not fun. The teachers go harder on dormers – no excuses, they say. The dew from the field is seeping into my sneakers – meant more for a fashion statement than active wear. It’s a wonder they can be considered sneakers.

“What’s your major, Tom?” I don’t think I’ve ever asked.

“Physics? How about you?”

“Criminal Justice. I plan to apply to law schools next spring.”

“Law school?” His voice squeaks.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” I get that reaction a lot, though I don’t understand why.

“I just never would have guessed.”

“Why?”

He looks uncomfortable. “It’s just you’re… so… nice.”

“And lawyers are all assholes? Well, maybe law school changed them. Maybe there’s a class called ‘Put a Stick Up There.’” I smirk.

We approach the Old Building. I pause on the back entrance steps. “Well, this is me – see ya later.”

“Becca,” he calls as I open the door. I spin, locking eyes with him through his thick-rimmed glasses, “I hope you don’t change.”

With that, he zips around the side of the building heading down, leaving me to stare after him.

I wander into class right on time, but even that is too late for a good seat. Seats in college are like real estate. The ones with a view by the window are taken first. The back row is prime real estate, as well; they go second. Then the row along the far wall, until slowly the middle fills in, the last arrivers stuck in the front row. Ugh.

I hate front row, I think to myself, collapsing into my chair. I feel like everyone is staring at my back, which, technically, they are. Plus, you’re in a prime position to be called on by the professor—Not like I have anything to worry about. It’s just I hate sitting in front.

We don’t have to wait long before the professor comes traipsing in. Mrs. Carpenter takes a few minutes setting up notes before she begins lecture. Thankfully, I study the chapters before we learn them. It helps me understand more. Plus, I hate feeling stupid. A few students murmur behind me. They share a giggle. Mrs. Carpenter pauses in the middle of her sentence.

“I’m so glad you find this funny.” The long pencil skirt she’s wearing accentuates her thin frame. “The final is only a few weeks away and it will be cumulative of the entire semester.”

Groans erupt around me. I’ve been prepared for this. Maybe my memory of the previous problems will offset the new stuff I can’t seem to understand. Apparently, no one else agrees with me.

“Now, if you let me finish this last problem, I can hand out the study packet and focus on review.”

The class settles down and my incessant note taking begins again. Mrs. Carpenter is still explaining the problem when my eyes begin to blur. Slowly, my mind goes numb at the continued sound of her soft voice.

Lights flashing. A face swims before me. Laughter fills my ears. Strobe lights pass over me once. My eyes blink a few times. I’m trying to focus. The floor is floating. It’s moving in waves. I’m swaying like I’m in a boat. An arm grabs me.

“Whoa there, little lady. I think it’s time to take you home.”

“Take me home.” I hear my own voice repeat.

More laughter.

I blink, the green chalkboard before me once more.
Oh my God
, was that a flashback from this weekend? I remember the guys from the bar; they bought me a drink. Should I call John? I reach for my phone.

“Ms. Swanson, please put the phone away.”

“Oh, sorry.” My face turns bright red. This is why I hate being in front. As I slip my phone back into my pocket, I realize I don’t have John’s number. He took mine. I release a breath, reluctantly returning my attention to the teacher.

The days seem to fly by; there never seems to be enough time to study for finals. My life is a blur of papers and homework, study guides and lectures. But my older brother, Bedford, doesn’t seem to care about my future, because he insists on texting me a zillion times about his Memorial Day weekend barbeque.

His text messages go from friendly to threatening me with bodily harm if I don’t attend with Meg. I think he’s developed a crush since I brought her home for Thanksgiving last year.

I hardly see Meg anymore. She has her own
extracurricular
activities. Maybe she’s trying to keep busy to avoid thinking about Troy. I can’t say for sure, because we haven’t talked in a few days. Maybe I should worry, but I honestly hadn’t noticed until now. My grades come first. The only reason I even agree to go to Bedford’s party, it’s on the Friday of my very last exam. I won’t have my grades yet, but it will be my little reward for finishing them. Plus, I only have a week before summer session. The accelerated law program doesn’t leave much room for extracurricular activities. So, my brother’s party gives me an excuse to relax.

I’m unlocking the door to my dorm when I hear a commotion inside. My keys jingle against the door until it swings in. Meggie is on her hands and knees picking up shards of glass on the floor.

“What happened?” I step inside, crouching beside her.

“I threw that stupid glass figurine Troy got me.”

“Um, why?”

She peeks up at me, a red tendril falling across her face. “He hasn’t called.”

“Like at all?”

“Nope.” Her voice is so final; so defeated.

“He’s a total jerk. Don’t even give him a second thought.”

“Ugh, I know. I just need to get over him. What better way to get over him than to get under someone else.”

“Do you have someone in mind?” I giggle.

“Not yet. Want to come search with me?”

“As much as that sounds like fun—”

“I know. I know you have to study for finals.”

I pick up a few shards of glass. “My brother is having a barbeque next weekend if you want to go?”

“That hot, hunky brother of yours? Hmm, maybe.”

“Um, gross.”

“It’s true. Bedford is a total Hottie McHoterson.”

“That’s my brother.”

“I don’t mind.”

I laugh. “It’s not
you
I’m worried about.”

Once again, laughter brings my best friend back to life. It seems no matter how far guys knock us down, friends can always throw you a rope and help you up again. Maybe we have things all wrong. Could it possibly be that friends are our soul mates? Love is just some false façade, driven by attraction and lust.

The ceiling is littered with the shadow of trees. They loom above like creepy fingers taunting me. I’ve been staring at them for what seems like hours. Sleep has yet to find me tonight—The same the night before and the one before, as well. I’ve tried it all: warm milk, counting sheep, and not having coffee after two in the afternoon. Tonight, I resort to giving in to insomnia and staring at the ceiling until I pass out.

Maybe a change of scenery will allow my awareness to drift. I turn onto my side. The pillow intersecting half my vision, I force my mind to relax. The scent on my pillow is beginning to fade. For days, it’s carried the scent of Becca’s shampoo – roses. Now, the scent is waning and all I can seem to focus on is the fact that it’s missing.

“Ugh.” I bury my face in the pillow, still smelling roses.

“Smith. Smith!”

I pick my head off the table, almost knocking over a stack of papers. I rub the sleep from my eyes before glancing up at Matt’s amused face.

“Lab’s on line three for you.” He places the receiver down, allowing me to pick up the call.

“About time.” I swing the phone closer, press the line, and unravel the cord.

“Luce, any word on the sample I sent you?”

“Sorry, John, I’m swamped right now.” There’s rustling on the other end. “I tried looking for it, but it must be somewhere in this insane pile of samples.”

I sigh. “Okay, will you call me as soon as you finish running it?”

“You know I will.”

“Thanks, Luce. Talk to ya soon.”

“Bye.” She hangs up after a distant phone rings near her.

“Fuck.” I return the receiver and lean against my arm.

“I take it you didn’t sleep again last night?” Matt’s curious eyes peek across our conjoined desks.