The moment I left lecture hall B-107 that afternoon, I knew I hadn’t heard a single damn word the professor said. Something about European political history…whatever.
My notebook had a whole page of scribbles, but none of it was really notes. Just random pen scratches, half-formed sentences and Skylar’s name underlined three times.
She wasn’t answering my calls.
I pulled out my phone again, thumb hovering over her contact.
Four missed calls from me already. Three unread texts from me. Hey, are you okay? Where are you? Talk to me, please.
All sitting there with that smug little “delivered” under them.
Nothing back. And it was making me really worried.
I cursed under my breath, shoved the phone into my pocket and shouldered my way through the crowd spilling out into the quad.
St
