Undecided(47)

I yawn and climb out of bed, buck naked, smiling foolishly as I fish out a pair of panties, shorts, and a sweatshirt, then head into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. Jeez. I’m glad Crosbie’s gone. Thelma’s blue shadow and extra thick mascara now ring my eyes, making me look like a crazed nineties raccoon.

I spit toothpaste into the sink, rinse my mouth, and tell myself not to be a Crosbabe. I’d seen plenty of girls trailing after him last year, girls who wanted to be with him or who had already been and wanted another round. I won’t be one of those girls, though I now understand where they’re coming from.

Tidied up and half-awake—there’s not much I can do about my hair except tie it back—I shuffle into the kitchen, squawking in terror when Kellan rises up from the far side of the kitchen island.

He jumps when I screech, a spoon flying out of his hand to crash into the cupboard behind him. “Nora!” he exclaims. “Shit!”

I cover my face with my hands and try not to have a heart attack. “What are you doing here?” I mumble through my fingers.

“I live here.”

“This early! This quiet!”

“I was being quiet because you were sleeping,” he says. “And then I thought you heard me.” He tosses the spoon in the sink and gets a new one from the drawer, then indicates the bowl of cereal on the counter. “I made breakfast while you were in the bathroom.”

I shake my head, guilt making me antsy. “Sorry.” I squeeze past him to grab a carton of orange juice from the fridge. “I was just surprised.” I pour a glass and join him at the island, my forgotten cell phone sitting on the counter. I check my missed messages and find five from Marcela, each more self-pitying than the last, promising to bequeath me all her belongings if she should die, and asking me to come find her corpse the next day so she’s not already half-decomposed at her funeral.

I smile and put down the phone, and it’s only when I notice Kellan’s smirk that I realize I’m still smiling, more than a few morbid texts can justify. I try my best to act casual. “What?”

“What’d you get up to last night?” He shoots a deliberate glance toward my half-open bedroom door. “You disappeared fast.”

Now he notices what I do? “I got tired.”

“If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to,” he says. “I just hope you had fun.”

“I did,” I assure him, desperate to change the subject. “Did you?”

“Actually, no.” He’s spooning cereal into his mouth with his right hand and checking his phone with his left. “I’m a little worried.”

I think about Miss Maryland and Miss Louisiana—is he worried about which beauty queen’s name to add to his list first? North-south or south-north? Alphabetical or chronological?

“What about?” I ask politely.

“Crosbie,” he says, thumb flicking over the keys. “He’s been acting weird lately, and last night I brought him two girls to choose from and he just took off. Said he’d be right back, then disappeared.”

“Oh?”

Kellan looks at me seriously. “I think he might be having problems at the frat house. He’s been spending a lot time here. That doesn’t bother you, does it?”

I stare into my glass and shake my head. “No. He’s okay.”

Kellan sighs and hits send. “I hope so.”

A muffled beep has us both twisting in our seats to locate the sound. A quick glance at our phones shows the screens are dark.

“Did you hear that?” Kellan asks, frowning and peering around the apartment.

I try not to let my mouth fall open as my gaze lands on the closet next to the dining table. Oh f*ck.

“It’s another text from Marcela,” I say, snatching up my phone and pretending to read. “She’s very sick.”

“It beeped right after I sent Crosbie a text.” Kellan looks unconvinced as he punches in another message. This one’s short: Where r u?

I hold my breath, but there’s no telltale notification. Crosbie must have turned off his phone.

Kellan exhales heavily. “Maybe I’m losing it,” he admits. “I had my pick of two very beautiful state representatives last night, and all I could think about was Crosbie.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“I spent the night in his room, waiting for him to show up.”

“Maybe he met somebody,” I offer. Then clarify: “A stranger.”

Kellan gives me a dry look. “I know everybody,” he says. “And everybody knows Crosbie. I asked if anyone had seen Superman and they hadn’t. The guy’s not easy to miss.”

“Hmm.”

“Do you think he’s depressed?”

“Depressed? I—no. I don’t think so, Kellan.”

“We talk about everything,” he frets, squeezing his hands together. “And I know I haven’t been very encouraging about his magic tricks, but if that’s getting him down—”

I’m going to die. “That’s probably it,” I say, barely succeeding at keeping a straight face. “Just support his magic a bit more.”

Kellan nods sagely. “You’re right. I will. I’ve been an ass.”