Page 9 of The Cruelty of Thorns

“Are you all right?”

I startled, realizing someone was speaking to me. I turned my head to see an old lady standing beside me. “Yes, I…thought I saw someone I knew,” I replied lamely.

The lady patted my arm “Happens to me all the time, dear. After a while, everyone starts to look familiar.”

I smiled and thanked her for her concern, but I didn’t cross the street. I suddenly wasn’t in the mood for pastry, and instead headed back toward campus, trying to shake the encounter from my mind.

♦ ♦ ♦

Kristin was in our room when I got back, sprawled on her stomach on her bed with books and papers spread around her.

“Where did you go?” she asked absently as she leafed through what looked like her history textbook.

I dropped the bag from the bookstore on my bed and pulled out my purchases, determined to push what had just happened on the street from my thoughts. “Shopping,” I said.

Kristin looked up and frowned. “You’re the only person I know who can use that word to mean more books. You take all the fun out of it.”

“What would you rather I shop for?” I asked, arranging the new books on the narrow bookshelf next to my desk.

“Clothes, shoes, the usual.”

“I have all the clothes and shoes I need, thank you.” I opened my laptop and pulled out my notebook, intent on finishing my theme paper.

Kristin made a face of disapproval. “One of these days I’m going to take you shopping for real. No girl has enough clothes and shoes.”

“What are you working on?” I asked, changing the subject. I wasn’t in the mood for one of Kristin’s lectures, regardless of how well-meaning she might be.

“Studying for a test on the Crusades, if you can believe it. What possible use could there be in learning about a bunch of fanatics waging war on another bunch of fanatics? I’m so over Constantinople.”

“They had a nice library there.”

Kristin rolled her eyes. “Only you would care about that.”

I grinned and sat down at my desk, trying to push everything but nineteenth century literature out of my mind, but when I leafed through my notebook for my notes, I once again came face-to-face with him, staring at me from the page.

“Nope. Not tonight,” I murmured, turning the page.

“Talking to yourself over there?” Kristin asked, going back to her own studying.

“Just trying to get this theme paper done.”

“I thought you had finished that.”

“I still have to type up my last notes.”

It was quiet in the room for several minutes, enough time for me to get my head into the task at hand, before Kristin piped up. “Ron asked about you tonight.”

It took me a minute to process what she had said. “Ron?”

“Ron Beechman. He’s in your lit class.”

I knew exactly who she meant. “Why would he ask about me?”

“Apparently he was taken with your artistic ability.”

“Oh.” I shrugged. “He caught me doodling.”

Kristin snorted. “Some doodle. Girl, you got talent. Why aren’t you taking art classes?”

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