Page 29 of Limbo

Felicia bounces off the bed and returns to Cam’s. “Goodnight, beautiful.”

I flip her off, lying down. “Goodnight, beautiful.”

The riffraff has cleared out of my room by the time my alarm goes off. I shower, dress, and cross off another day on the calendar. Whatever the hell bothered me last night seems long gone, and I chalk it up to the stress of the weekend.

When Jordan knocks, I’m loading up my bag. With a notebook clenched in my teeth, I kind of say, “Come in.”

The door creaks open, and I glance up at him stepping in.

I drop the notebook in my bag before fetching the cup in his hand. “Good morning, Jordan.”

“Do you need a ride to class?” he asks.

I shake my head, studying him. Something’s off. “Thanks for the coffee.”

His mouth curves up at the corners, and he slaps the doorframe on his way out. I follow him to the common area, something about the interaction leaving me unsettled. He gives an unenthusiastic wave to Jess and Felicia and heads out the door.

“Was Jordan weird just now?” I ask.

“Like how?” Jess doesn’t look up from her book.

“I don’t know … off.”

“Everyone has their days,” Felicia says. “Maybe he’s having one.”

I nod and finish getting ready, ignoring the feeling of something being wrong.

At least, I try.

A few times during my first lecture, I catch myself wondering what changed between the texts last night and when he walked in this morning. Bad night’s sleep? Family drama? Lost his favorite guitar pick?

Unable to invent a reason, I decide to test the Waters when class dismisses.

He waits on the sidewalk, his expression brightening when I walk straight toward him. “Need a ride, beautiful?”

Satisfied by his response, I deem his behavior from earlier a fluke and only slow down enough to snag the drink. “No, but thank you.”

A little farther down the sidewalk, I check back, and he’s still watching me.

With Jordan around, I never need to check the time. Amazingly accurate, he knocks fifteen minutes before my next class.

“Right on time, Jordan,” I say, seeing him in the hall.

He stares at me, no attempt at a retort. Now nothing about him seems right. His expression flat, his eyes dull. Even his hair looks the wrong level of disorderly. As if he’s been repeatedly dragging his hands through it.

My eyebrows pull in, and I’m worried again. “This is where you say, ‘Do you need a ride to class, beautiful?’ Then I say, ‘No, Jordan, I don’t, but thank you.’”

He smiles—not his cocky grin or the real one capable of making my heart race, but an expression vaguely resembling my own, which always accompanies an,I’m fine, that means the opposite. Maybe I dismissed the way he acted earlier too soon.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer right away, and I’m about to ask again when a switch flips. A light returns along with his confident grin. “Of course I am. I just forgot my lines. Thanks for reminding me.”

Relieved Jordan’s back, I smile, and then I roll my eyes because, well, Jordan’s back.

“Whatever,” I tell him, shutting the door. “I’ll see you later.”

I gather up my stuff, and as I walk to my psych lecture, Cam texts that our biology lab has been canceled. Sometimes, she exhibits a cruel sense of humor, so I check my email to verify. The woman texts the truth.

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