The Girl in the Boys' Dorms

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Never take a crazy person at face value.

(for @sparksofmadness, who made the adorable cover on the side)

The Girl in the Boys' Dorms - Chapter Twenty-Eight: Never take a crazy person at face value. And especially not when said crazy person is your campaign manager. 

I sat in the classroom even after the door had slammed behind Evan. I could hear his footsteps echoing down the hall, the sound of sneakers slapping against tile bouncing off of the walls. I blew out the breath I hadn't known I'd been holding as soon as whoosh of wind blew throughout the empty building, which confirmed the fact that he was outside.

He was full of shit.

Evan had no right accusing me of playing games. I hadn't done anything to hurt him. I wasn't the one who was too deeply invested in another relationship to commit to ours. I wasn't the one who had feelings for another person, while I was leading someone else on. I wasn't the one who'd lied about something as significant as already having a girlfriend. That was him. It was his fault we had crumbled.

But as the anger ebbed away, I felt a nagging surge of guilt. A miniscule part of me seemed to whisper that I was burdened with just as much blame as he was.

And maybe it was true. I did have feelings for Chase, and even if they were slight, they were still definitely existent. I had kissed him yesterday, while the two of us had been alone, with no spectators to witness our affection. As these thoughts filtered through my mind, each more pressing than the last, my fingers curled themselves around the pendant at the hollow of my throat. It was still there, days after the first round of the pageant, resting against my neck, burning a rose-shaped hole into my skin, a constant reminder of Chase.

Tears of frustration pricking at my vision, I snatched my bag up from where it was on the floor. I rummaged through the mess of items, searching for the packet of tissues I kept in one of the pockets. But before I could locate it, my hand froze on the spiral binding on a very familiar sketchbook.

Brows scrunching on my forehead, I pulled it from the haphazard arrangement of textbooks and pencils and folders. It was Evan's. I'd never given it back to him. 

A folded sheet of paper slipped out before I could even contemplate what to do with his notebook, and as it fluttered to the floor, I felt my heart contract in disbelief. The drawing I'd avoided coming to a conclusion about, and it was all still there; half-colored waves of hair, slightly disproportionate gray eyes, lopsided smile. And when my gaze flickered over the scratched out letters at the top of the page, reality sunk in without hesitation - Bailey.

. . .

What was the single worst thing I could've run into while on my way back from the classroom I'd just been with Evan in?

Andrea, still clutching the sign she'd paraded around the auditorium the other night, and chanting something nonsensical to a group of amused onlookers. She was parked in the center of the school courtyard, arms hoisting the enormous poster above her head, brows furrowed like she was determined to get her point across. And to no one's surprise, she wasn't doing a good job of it - people would pause in their tracks for a moment, squint to read what was written on the board, laugh at what she was shouting, and then continue on their paths.

The best part - or worst, considering what angle you chose to take on the matter - was that she'd gotten an entire scene prepared for herself. It was nearing six in the evening, which meant the early-November sky was deepening into a rich shade of navy, which didn't exactly provide adequate lighting for whatever Andrea was doing. But she'd found a way around that, too; there were two lamps in each of the dorm rooms at North Shore, and Andrea had managed to arrange both of the ones she had access to around herself. They were plugged into an extension cord that led somewhere unbeknownst to anyone other than Andrea, but she'd placed them so that there was a quite radiant glow surrounding her slim frame.