Page 39 of Rush of Jealousy

Zander relaxes into a chair, and I kick my feet up on the sofa adjacent to him.

“Sorry about that,” I say, pointing to the outside. “I don’t even know where to start with that whole situation. So, let’s just forget it. Please tell me, is something wrong with your sister?”

“Nah. I mean, maybe.” He gives a shrug. “I plan to take a long weekend and go see her. Maybe she’ll open up to me, since my parents seem at a loss at what to do.”

I reach back behind me and grab an elastic band from the end table. It is resting beside Claire’s favorite cupcake-flavored lip gloss. I swear that girl has twenty of them scattered about this place. “When do you plan to go?” I pull my hair away from my face and wrap the tie around it, securing it into place.

“Well, that depends.”

I straighten my posture. “Okay…”

“I’m a little flexible over the next two weeks. But I was hoping to make a road trip out of it. I have a friend in San Fran who I can stay with for the night or just use as a rest stop.”

“Oh cool.”

Zander clears his throat. “But I was wondering if you wanted to come with me.”

I swallow hard at his offer. Wow. I have always wanted to go to California and see some sights. I love to travel and see places, but over the course of the past decade, I haven’t been able to see much of anything—other than missed opportunities. Family vacations stopped immediately with momma’s first diagnosis of ovarian cancer. It pretty much sealed us off from the world of germs. And when she died, going anywhere seemed like a waste of time and a nagging reminder that she was gone. Then after James passed, I moved across the state and haven’t really left since. Claire and I would work during the summers and maybe drive to an Oregon beach for a day.

“I, ah,” I say with hesitation.

“Don’t answer now. Just think about it.”

Zander’s eyes turn hopeful, and it pulls at my heart. We say goodnight to each other and I see him out. I lock my door and set the alarm system that I never asked for but that I suddenly feel compelled to use anyway. I guess being a little extra safe is not a bad thing.

Picking up my phone, I dial Resa’s number. When her recorded voice message plays in my ear, I take a deep breath. “Hey, Resa, it’s um, Angie. Just calling to see how you are. Things have gotten really rough here. Girls are getting drugged. I hope you are doing well.”

Once I end the call, I feel the familiar vibration alerting me of a text.

Resa: I’m sorry I’ve been MIA. I found a therapist in my hometown and talking to someone about the whole thing has helped. Just a lot going on inside my head. I heard of the Halloween party incident. Please don’t get involved, Angie.

Angie: I’ll be safe.

Resa may not have been drugged, but she was at the Campus Smoothie Cafe when other girls were drugged. Paul is in the middle of this mystery and whatever he is hiding, I will find out.

I see my painting near the shoe rack and carry it into the living room. My interpretation of the cherry blossoms never took on the full appeal of the instructor’s version; however, the memories made tonight will always make me smile. Especially the one where Zander drank from the red Solo cup of dirty paint water and spit it all over his canvas. I laughed so hard, amaretto sour came out of my nose, burning the inner lining. His face was priceless.

A few hours of fun snapped me out of my funk. It was exactly what I needed. In those little moments, I forget about the dark cloud hovering over my head, as I try to unlock the mystery happening around campus.

Graham may want to protect me, but I have an obligation to protect these innocent girls who are falling victim to some madman.

8

I wake to the smell of food that is not bacon and groan to myself in sadness. Oh no. I knew this winning streak would eventually come to an end. Something is wrong with the dynamic duo. Even my nose senses it.

I throw on some clothes and quickly get myself ready for class. A glance at my clock tells me I have plenty of time. However, I need to address the situation downstairs, and that may require a lot of tiptoeing around some conversational landmines.

When I make it into the kitchen, Claire is in the dining area with a bag of carrots, and I instantly feel faint.Please, God, no. Please no. I cannot revisit the shredded carrot diet again. I just can’t. As her roomie and bestie, I always feel compelled to go along with her initiatives. Oh, and because I’m scared of her.

Claire gets up from her seat, spots me, and gives me a half smile. I smile back and watch, paralyzed by fear of the future, as she goes over to the skillet and stirs what I know without a doubt is fake animal meat. The smell indicates it is plant-based and void of an appetizing flavor. Any sane person knows there is nothing organic or natural about trying to force the earth to be a mammal.

I lean my back against the island and watch her flitter robotically about the kitchen. Her silence is unnerving, and I am not used to it at all.

I look back at the table and see the start of a dream board that is situated beside the pile of freshly cleaned carrots. She has cut out her favorite flower—the sunflower—and glued it on the middle of the tripod board. Around the vibrant yellow centerpiece, she wrote the wordsempower,cleanse,detox,independence, andreflection.

Claire moves to the sink area and starts peeling overripe spotted bananas. Then one by one, she grinds them down the garbage disposal. Eek. Ethan better watch out or his manhood is next.

“Claire?”

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