Page 33 of The Obsession

Delilah looked up at the ceiling then at me and said, “It’s been terrible. Okay? And you know why it’s been terrible? Because, as it turns out, I have a stalker who wants to ruin my life.” She was near tears, her eyes shining, her voice shrill.

This was the worst part, knowing I was doing this to her, causing distress to my girl.But it’ll pass, I reminded myself. I caught her hand and led her out of the building into the bright sunshine. “Take a deep breath,” I said kindly.

She did as I said before glaring at me. “I hope you enjoyed that. You’re even controlling my breathing now.”

I sighed. “You know it’s not like that. I just want you to give us a chance. Let’s go have lunch. You’ll like my friends.”

“I like mine just fine,” she said.

She was so stubborn, she couldn’t see that I was trying to save her. Sophie was like that too. Anyone could tell she didn’t have the right friends. Sure enough, as soon as she ran into trouble with her class, her so-called friends melted away. A couple of them stuck around long enough to watch Sophie spiral into depression and frantic desperation before posting all about it on Draycott Dirt.

“Give it a chance,” I said again. I didn’t wait for a reply before taking her hand, gently but firmly, and leading her toward the cafeteria.

Noise spilled out, almost deafening, and Delilah instinctively clutched at my hand. I gave her a reassuring squeeze and said, “Just keep walking. You’ll be okay.”

Even on normal days, the cafeteria was a lot to take in—the air boiling with students yelling, babbling, laughing over some text or picture or video on their phones, and the scent thick with the smells of hot food and last night’s dinner. Delilah was so pale, I started to worry she’d burst into tears or puke or something. But I knew her. She was strong. She’d make it. Halfway there, she stumbled and would have fallen if I hadn’t caught her. The voices around us became excited murmurs, an almost physical cloud that clung to us like a sickly mist.

“Breathe,” I whispered.

She took in a shaky breath and kept going. When we neared the center table, my friends looked up and the conversation lulled to a halt.

“Hey, guys,” I said.

Their eyes moved from my face to Delilah’s to our hands, still linked tightly together. Another flash of concern from Josh. Had I been wrong about him? Did he tell everyone about my thing for Sophie? My unfortunate incident?

Moni was the first to break the silence.

“Hey,” she said, smiling. She always was the sweetheart of the group. “I’m Moni.”

“I know,” Delilah said. “You’re in Mrs. Holston’s class too.”

“That’s right! You always have the best answers. C’mon, take a seat.” Moni slid over and patted the spot next to hers. I wanted to sag with relief. I gave her a silent nod of thanks as Delilah let go of my hand and went to sit next to her.

Moni’s invitation broke the ice. The other two girls in the group leaned across the table, and soon Delilah was swallowed up in their conversation. I took my seat next to Josh.

He leaned close and lowered his voice. “So it’s official, huh?”

We glanced at Delilah, caught up in conversation with the girls, and Josh said, carefully, “She seems…cool.”

“You have no idea.”

Chapter Eleven

Delilah

As much as I hated to admit it, lunch with Logan and his friends wasn’t actually terrible. I’d always assumed that Josh and Matt would be the worst, but they turned out to be pretty nice. And the girls were great. Despite my wariness, despite my lack of interest in becoming one of them, I felt as though Moni, Hannah, and Tonya were genuinely welcoming me into their group.

“Maybe Delilah can resolve it,” Moni said when I’d settled in my seat and was comfortable enough to open my bottle of organic elderflower and apple juice. Everything at Draycott was organic. Four months in and I still wasn’t used to it.

“Resolve what?” I asked, instantly nervous. My first test.

Tonya sat up straight. She was a natural storyteller, the leader of the trio. She leaned in close enough for me to see the lack of pores on her skin and smell her perfume. Something expensive and very grown-up. She smelled like a woman, not a girl. “Hannah has a hot date this weekend with an older guy—a freshman from Stanford,” she said, solemnly.

I was impressed. Hannah didn’t strike me as the kind of girl who’d get asked out by a college guy. She was sweet and quiet, with a smooth, brown complexion that blotched red whenever she got embarrassed. “How do you know him?”

“He’s a friend of my brother’s. We met over the summer. It’s not really a date. He said they’re having a party at his frat house this weekend and invited me to go.” Her gaze flicked up for a split second, long enough for me to catch it—something I was very, very familiar with. Hannah was scared. Of what, I wasn’t sure, but I knew that look, the quiet panic of prey.

“But she doesn’t want to go.” Tonya delivered the line with triumph; the final twist in her story.

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