An Anonymous Girl(25)

I’m about to stick it under her door when I think back to the messy apartment with the SkinnyPop popcorn and clothes lying about. Taylor might not even notice the scrap of paper. And even if she did, she probably still won’t contact me. It’s not like she has made any effort to return my call or text.

I turn to look at the door of the neighbor I just disturbed. I take a few steps to the side and hesitantly knock on it. The woman who answers is clutching a yellow highlighter. A smear of it bisects her chin. She is visibly unhappy.

“Sorry, I’m looking for Taylor or, uh . . .” I reach back in my memory for her roommate’s name and find it. “Or Mandy.”

The neighbor blinks at me. A strange premonition sweeps over me: She is going to say she doesn’t know who they are, that no girls by those names have ever lived next door.

“Who?” she begins.

My heart stutters.

Then her frown clears.

“Oh, yeah . . . I don’t know, finals are coming up, maybe they’re at the library. Although with those two, it’s more likely they’re at some party.”

She closes her door while I’m still standing there.

I wait until the feeling of light-headedness has passed, then head to the stairwell. I stand outside the building in the darkness, trying to think of my next move.

A girl with long straight hair passes me. Even though I instantly know she isn’t Taylor, I still turn to look at her as she shrugs a blue backpack higher up onto her shoulders and continues down the sidewalk.

I stare at the heavy-looking bag. Finals are coming up, the neighbor had said. Her impression of Taylor and Mandy meshed with mine: that these two don’t take school all that seriously.

It’s hard to picture the jaded young woman with the enviable bone structure who was tapping away at her Instagram feed now bent over a stack of textbooks.

But aren’t the most lackadaisical students sometimes the ones who have to cram the hardest before exams?

I spin around in a circle to orient myself, then head toward the NYU library.


The stacks are like a maze laid out for a laboratory rat. I begin at one corner, winding my way through the narrow passageways, hoping at every turn that I’ll stumble upon Taylor reaching for a book on a high shelf, or sitting at one of the desks near the outer walls. I finish scouring the first three floors, then I make my way to the fourth.

Frenetic energy propels me forward, even though it’s almost nine P.M. and I haven’t eaten anything since a turkey sandwich I gobbled between my early-afternoon clients. There are far fewer people on this floor, though the towers of books are just as high. Whispered conversations filtered through to me on the first three levels, but now the only sounds I hear are my own footsteps.

I’m deep into the center of the stacks when I abruptly turn a corner and almost walk into a guy and girl passionately kissing. They don’t break apart as I step around them.

Then I hear a familiar voice, stretched out into a whine: “Tay, let’s take a break. I need a chai latte.”

Relief courses through me and I have to restrain myself from sprinting in the direction of Mandy’s voice.

I find them in a corner of the room. Mandy is leaning against the edge of a desk piled high with books and a laptop, and Taylor is sitting in the chair. Both girls have their hair piled up in artfully messy buns and are wearing Juicy Couture sweats.

“Taylor!”

Her name comes out almost as a gasp.

She and Mandy both turn to look at me. Mandy’s nose wrinkles. Taylor wears a blank expression.

“Can I help you?” Taylor asks.

She has no idea who I am.

I draw closer. “It’s me, Jess.”

“Jess?” Mandy echoes.

“The makeup artist,” I say. “From BeautyBuzz.”

Taylor looks me up and down. I’m still in my work outfit, but my shirt has become untucked and I can feel the errant strands that have escaped from my low twist sticking to my neck.

“What are you doing here?” Taylor asks.

“I need to talk to you.”

Shhh! someone hushes us from a few desks away.

“Please, it’s important,” I whisper.

Maybe Taylor can sense my desperation, because she nods. She shoves her laptop into her bag but leaves her books. We take the elevator down to the lobby with Mandy trailing behind us. When we reach the main doors, Taylor pauses. “What is it?”

Now that I’ve finally found her, I don’t know where to begin.

“So, remember when I was doing your makeup and you mentioned a questionnaire?”

She shrugs. “Sort of.”

It’s been weeks since I took Taylors phone and listened to her voice mail. I try to recall what I knew back then.

“The one with the NYU professor about morality. It paid a lot of money. You were supposed to go the next morning . . .”

Taylor nods. “Yeah, that’s right. I was too tired, so I canceled.”

I take a deep breath.

“So . . . I ended up doing it.

Wariness fills Taylor’s eyes. She takes a step back.

Mandy makes a little sound in her throat: “Well, that’s weird,” she says.

“Yeah, anyway . . . I’m trying to find out a bit more about the professor.” I try to keep my voice steady as I look at Taylor.