Page 108 of Wicked Games

Tate would know if I lied to him, though. So would Michaela, the third member of our trio; a friendship that had lasted since we were all seven years old.

“Honestly, I’m a little nervous,” I admitted, glancing at the belltower to our left. It was the centerpiece of Worthington University, made of gray stone with a spire proudly stretching toward the heavens as its bells softly chimed in the wind. Carved gargoyles perched on the edges, their weathered stone faces seemingly judging everyone who passed.

“About what?” Tate asked, cocking his head.

“Just being here, I guess,” I said, gesturing around us. I didn’t want to tell the whole truth. Not even to my best friends. I was tired of looking and sounding unhinged to everyone around me.

Michaela hooked her arm in mine. “Don’t worry. The campus seems massive at first, but once you get used to it, it’s really easy to find your way around.”

“Is that what you meant?” Tate asked. “You’re worried about getting lost?”

“No, it’s not just that.” I twisted my lips, looking back at the belltower again. A cluster of students had gathered at the base, and they were loudly discussing their schedules for the upcoming semester. “I feel kind of weird starting so much later than everyone else.”

He laughed. “Trust me, that’s not an issue at all. There are lots of older students. A guy in one of my classes last semester was in his fifties.”

“Exactly,” Michaela chimed in. “Besides, you’renineteen! Practically an embryo. So you don’t even count as an older student. You basically just took a gap year. Tons of people do that.”

“I guess that’s true.” I forced a smile and shook my head. “Don’t worry, I’m just being stupid. I’ll be fine.”

A girl walking in the opposite direction slowly passed us, eyes lingering on me. I swallowed hard and looked down. Maybe she was simply admiring my camel suede jacket… or maybe she recognized me.

Was I even recognizable on the streets these days? I’d changed a lot—dyed my hair, started wearing makeup, ditched my reading glasses for contacts. Still, if anyone looked closely, they could probably tell it was me. It mostly depended on how much they followed the Forrester case back in the day.

As if she’d read my mind, Michaela lightly touched my hip with her right elbow. “I forgot to say—I love the new hair color. It’s perfect.”

“Thanks.” I patted the side of my head. “It looks way more natural now, right?”

“Yeah. But the highlights you had before still looked really nice,” Tate replied, looking over at me with a faint smile. “It actually feels kinda weird seeing you as a brunette. I’m so used to the blonde.”

Michaela raised a brow. “Get used to it. It’s the new Sienna,” she said, sweeping one arm out like she was announcing the new and improved version of a tech product.

Tate laughed and dipped his chin toward the left. “That’s Whittaker Hall over there,” he said. “You’re on the fifth floor, right?”

“Yep. Dorm 512,” I said, eyes skating over the majestic grey stone building. It matched the other stately buildings on campus with its ornate arched windows and ivy vines clinging to the walls.

“I’m on the fourth floor,” Michaela said. “We’re practically neighbors!”

When we finally reached Whittaker, we hauled my suitcase and bags up to the top floor, shoes clattering loudly on the marble stairs. As I fumbled in my pocket for my new dormkey, Michaela gave Tate a side-eyed look, lips twisting with amusement.

“Why do you two look like you’re up to something?” I asked, brows scrunching together.

Tate grinned. “I know you absolutely hate surprises, but we had to do it anyway.”

“Do what?”

He nodded toward the door. “You’ll see.”

I finally located my key and turned it in the lock, pulse racing with anticipation. Tate threw open the door for me, and Michaela squealed right in my ear. “Ta-da!”

A sparkly banner reading ‘Welcome to Worthington!’ stretched across one of the walls of the spacious dorm. Colorful streamers hung from the other walls and bathroom door, and an enormous cake adorned with my name in pink frosting sat on the desk by the window.

“Oh my god.” I laughed softly and turned to my friends. “Thanks, guys. The cake looks awesome.”

“We managed to convince one of the RAs to let us in this morning,” Michaela explained, hurrying over to the desk. She produced a large knife from her coat pocket and raised a brow. “Want a piece now?”

“Sure! Thanks.” I tilted my head. “Have you been carrying that knife around all day?”

“Guilty as charged. Thank god we didn’t get pulled over and searched by cops on our way here,” she said with a grin. “Imagine trying to explain that one.”

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