Page 32 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
“You like reading, don’t you?” he asks. “You’re an English major.”
“Journalism,” I say, taking a seat on the blanket. “But I do like reading.”
“I brought some of my favorite books. I thought you might like to borrow one.”
Those aren’t the words of someone who wants to kill me… right? At least, not tonight. I would never lend a book out to a soon-to-be-dead person.
I won’t let my guard down, but the truth of the matter is, he’s speaking my language. I hate it. This would be so much easier if he could keep being a prick.
Looking back, was he everactuallya prick, or was I prickly enough for both of us?
“Let’s see how terrible your taste is,” I say, picking up one of the books. I read the title, fingers skimming across the spine. “Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein?”
“I like the classics.”
“I can see that. The monstrous classics. Should I expect…” I pick up the next book, laughing out loud. “Ah. Dracula. I knew it.”
“You’re making fun of me,” he says, a smile twisting on his lips.
“No, no! I think it’s very on the nose at a school like this, but it’s cute.”
“There are no books about werecats, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. I like being a part of a covert species.” I slip Frankenstein into my bag. “I’ll borrow this one.”
“And next time,” he says. “You’ll bring one for me. One ofyourfavorites.”
“Does it have to be a classic?”
He shakes his head. “It can be anything that helps me get to know you.”
Caldwell’s gaze is penetrative. I have to figure him out, but for a moment, it seems like he is desperately trying to crawl into my head as well. It takes my breath away. My stomach is aflutter… probably with fear.
“Well… I’m right here.” I smooth down my skirt, glancing away as if I’m shy. “This is the perfect opportunity to get to know me.”
“Ah, but I find you so… mysterious.”
Said no one—ever.Caldwell is the most mysterious person I’ve met, and I can’t believe he’s turning it around on me, but… I am withholding. It’s purposeful, an attempt at staying alive in this school of horrors.
“I am a tough jar to open,” I say. “Can you be patient with me?”
“I can be very patient. That’s why I want to read your favorite book. Reading a book takes time, and I think it’s the best way to know someone without climbing over the barriers of the human mind.”
“That’s a good point. We may not have much time for barrier climbing, considering how things are going on campus.” I attempt to broach more important topics.
How long do I have to flirt with danger before I get down to business?
The smile in his eyes leaves, replaced with a dangerous flash. His head ducks down, lips turning into a frown. “Are you afraid?”
“You aren’t?” I laugh, not sounding nearly as scared as I am. It’s the sound of disbelief bubbling up from the pit of my stomach. “People are dying.”
“They are.” He looks down at the picnic blanket, his fingers distracting themselves with the fringe at the corner. “I’m not afraid of death. I haven’t been for a while.”
Spoken like a true vampire. But it’s something I can relate to, and that scares me. I shouldn’t relate toanythingCaldwell says. Maybe Margaux is right. I have become too reckless.
“You’re arrogant,” I say.
I’m supposed to be flirting, I know, but this is easier.
