"I can't remember what happened that night. I'm not talking slippery details or fuzzy-edged visions; I mean a complete and utter blackout. Like I wasn't even there. Except... I know I was."
Since the death of her boyfriend six months ago, Morgan Cai...
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The two Starbucks cups tipped precariously in their cardboard holder as I rounded the corner, almost flying face first into a trio of girls wearing sorority T-shirts. There was just time to mouth "Sorry!" before I had to dart sideways and avoid a loved-up couple walking arm in arm, and by then I was seriously regretting making this cross-campus journey at the exact time final classes let out for the day. Hanna's face better light up like a Christmas tree when she saw me.
I was on the way to the new GXRL office: a disused study room Hanna had managed to secure by sucking up big time to her favorite journalism professor. Situated on the first floor of the business building, it was a small space with an unfortunate view of the cafeteria dumpsters, but it met her two critical criteria: it had enough desk and wall space for brainstorming, and it was suitably far away from the office of her main rival, The Davidson Daily. As long as she was half a campus away from asshole-in-chief David Stephenson at all times, Hanna was happy.
Good thing, really, considering how much time she now spent in that place. Despite the new premises, GXRL was still lagging on the recruitment front; poaching disgruntled female writers from the Daily had become a whole lot harder since David had caught on to what she was doing. In the meantime, Hanna had been plugging the gap left by the four writer vacancies she was desperately trying to fill. It meant long hours, zombie eyes, and a whole lot of stress—especially when she was up against a print deadline for the latest issue. And this deadline, in the last week of classes before we were due to head off on winter break, was more important than most.
Hence coffee—venti triple-shot latte with a shit-ton of gingerbread syrup, to be precise—was now the key to her heart. And pretty much the only way I could get a conversation out of her.
Reaching the office door, I balanced the coffee in one hand and knocked with the other. "Hey, it's me. Can I come in?"
I didn't wait for an answer, since it had never been a no before, pulling down the handle and letting myself in. But once the room opened up, the sight of two figures and the abrupt halt to their conversation told me I may have made a mistake.
"Morgan," Hanna said, with a note of surprise, as she turned in her swivel chair.
With her huge circle of friends, it really could have been anyone standing across from her, leaning against the table. But I never expected it to be someone from my own circle.
"Cat," I said, trying not to let my confusion show. "Hey."
I was so used to seeing her in that bright-green polo or all dressed up for a party that it was almost jarring to see her in a casual sweatshirt and jeans. Her dark hair had grown just long enough to scrape into a low ponytail, and she was fresh-faced without a trace of make-up. She gave me a small smile. "Hey."
"I brought coffee," I said, in an effort to explain away the intrusion. "Only two, though, as I didn't know anyone else would be here—so you're welcome to my latte if you want it, Cat."
