Page 21 of Brazen Criminals

Once everything is stashed as best as I can, I look around, tallying up all the things I need. Sighing, I pull my cash out of my backpack, count the bills, then look up my checking account balance on my phone. I only have $897 to my name after tuition comes out.

With my coffee shop job, I should have rent covered every month, but if I add in books and food? I’m not sure how long I’m going to last. I throw my phone on my pillows, flopping back onto the bed.

I could take out more loans, but the prospect of paying back what I’ve already borrowed is terrifying. With a grumble, I half crawl to the curtains I chose from the bargain bin at IKEA. I cobbled together a combination of patterns that mostly match, but my room is going to have a funky, off-beat vibe once they’re up. I lay them out on the floor in front of the windows: solid green, green leaf pattern on white, green and pink floral on white, solid pink. It’s a little pattern-heavy in the corner, but it looks too uniform when I alternate the solid colors, so I decide I’m fine with it.

Emma should call in a little over an hour—I want to be ready to crawl into bed and not get out again by the time we talk. There isn’t enough time to both finish this and take a bath, but maybe I’ll be able to squeeze in a shower.

I unwrap the curtain rods and unfold the black-and-white diagram directions. Damn. I need a drill to install the curtain rods. These big windows were so gorgeous this afternoon. It turns out that at night my view is a chain-link fence containing the beginnings of a rager at the house next door. Curtains are going to have to go up, the sooner the better.

I grab Jansen’s car keys and Walker’s scissors before heading upstairs. Walker said he’d be home all night. Now I just have to figure out which room is his—hopefully he has a drill I can borrow.

At the top of the stairs is another staircase going up to the attic, with what is probably a bathroom tucked underneath it. To the right, there are four doors, all closed. From here, I can hear the din from the poker game seeping out from the attic. Part of me wants to sneak up the stairs and find out what kind of poker game has catered food, but my curtains are more urgent, so I push my snooping aside for now. Knocking on the first three doors brings no answers, but the last door has music wafting out. This time, when I knock, Walker opens the door. “Hello,” I say.

“Hey. What’s up?” he asks, a piece of charcoal in his hand. He only opens the door a crack, but I can see a desk covered in papers and an easel-looking thing back by the window, a half-painted canvas of blues and greens behind him.

I hand him the scissors. “Thanks for these. Do you have a drill? I need to put up curtains, but the rods I bought weren’t the spring-loaded kind.”

“Give me a sec,” he says, closing the door in my face. After a second, he opens it back up and slips out, the charcoal replaced by a set of keys.

He strides to the second door from the top of the stairs and shoves a key into the handle. “Wait here,” he says, as he pushes open the door, flicking on the light. I glimpse a curved monitor and a space-age-looking computer chair before Walker once again closes the door in my face.

So weird. I mean, I guess privacy is important, but this borders on rude. I fiddle with Jansen’s car keys as I wait, trying to guess which of the two remaining rooms is his.

There’s a grunt, followed by a muffled crash. “Are you okay?” I call through the door.

“I’m fine. RJ’s a fucking slob. Almost got it,” Walker calls back.

More rustling follows, until Walker pops his head back out, handing me a top-of-the-line electric drill. “Here you go. I’m going to pick up in here. RJ will notice I made a mess, but he’ll never notice if I clean up after him.” Walker shakes his head, half of a grin on his face as he complains about his friend.

“Thanks. I also wanted to return Jansen’s car keys. Should I pop them into one of these rooms?”

Walker holds out his hand. “He probably locked his door. I’ll leave them on his desk.” He motions to the room between his and RJ’s with his head. I hand over the keys.

He starts closing the door again, but I shove the drill in the gap, stopping the swing. “Should I return this to you?”

Walker shakes his head. “Nah. You can give it back tomorrow. Any of us can get in here. RJ won’t miss it yet. No worries. Have fun with the curtains. Oh, there’s a stepladder in the downstairs hall closet if you need one.” With that, he shuts the door, leaving me in the hall with the drill. Some more rustling and muted cursing comes from the other side of the door.

Out of curiosity, I try Jansen’s door. It’s locked. I try the door at the top of the stairs, which must be Trips’ room, and it’s locked too. I didn’t even know old off-campus houses came with locks on individual rooms.

So they all lock their doors, but Walker has a key to others’ spaces. Are they locking me out? Or is it because of the poker game?

Curious, I hurry back down the stairs. Maybe my door has a lock. Either way, I need to get my curtains up before the house party next door is in full swing. No one wants a drunken audience while they’re weeping.

Chapter 13

Clara

Showersaredangerous.

As soon as the water touches my face, tears stream down my cheeks. I cry as loudly as I dare, the water muffling my sobs—I don’t want Walker to hear me.

The sobs escape, and the terrible thoughts I’ve been shoving away all day let loose as well. I mean, I had such a good thing with Bryce, so why did I just walk out like that? Did I let my anger destroy this? Leaving wasn’t calm and rational. I left in anger, and now everything is broken. I broke it.

Bryce always pushed me to be better. Perfection can’t be a bad thing, right? But if it is so great, why did being perfect make me so miserable? What’s wrong with me?

The warm water washes the tears from my cheeks. I take one deep breath of the humid air, followed by another.

Once I can think past my shuddering sobs, I have to face the fact that I wasn’t happy. I hadn’t been happy for a long time.

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