A failing grade.
I had never failed a quiz, or a test, or a paper, or anything before in my life. God, on the first day of kindergarten I had gotten a gold star on my paper for having the best printing.
I felt like I wanted to cry.
It’s just a dumb test, I told myself. It’s just one quiz that you’ll be able to make up. Maybe you can talk to Dr. Tropiano, maybe she’ll let you do some extra credit.
I knew it was all true, but none of it was making me feel better.
Besides, the grade wasn’t the point. It wasn’t the point at all. The point was that I was becoming someone I didn’t recognize. I was the girl who hadn’t done the reading, who showed up at class unprepared and was left scrambling and worried about how she was going to do.
What had I been thinking? I’d spent my whole weekend consumed in a boy.
Chasing a boy. A boy who had law enforcement at his apartment this morning, a boy who beat people up for a living and was constantly bruised and broken.
A boy who wouldn’t let me in, no matter how hard I tried.
When I was done with my quiz, I turned it in with the rest of the class, and then decided to leave. There was still going to be a lecture, but I didn’t care. What was the point? Maybe I would just flunk out of school. I could move back home to Ohio, or maybe I’d go overseas and get a job teaching children English or something. I read a book once about a girl who did that and she found it completely rewarding.
When I got outside, the campus was quiet. Everyone was in class, and the next block of classes hadn’t started yet, so people weren’t wandering around the way they usually were. I debated between either heading back to my room and curling up under my comforter with a sappy Netflix movie or walking into the city and buying myself an ice cream sundae. It was a little early for ice cream, so I was halfway back to my room when my phone buzzed with a text.
Justin?
But it wasn’t.
It was Carter.
Hey– can u come to the science office? Need to talk to u – I’ll b here most of the day.
Seeing Carter’s name on my phone filled me with comfort. Things might be weird with me and Justin and things might even be a little weird with me and school, but at least I still had my research assistant position. At least I was still doing something right.
Suddenly, the idea of being in the science office was extremely appealing. I didn’t care if Carter put me to work doing all kinds of boring paperwork. The thought of being back in my room, which just a second ago seemed inviting, now seemed like a complete waste of time.
I was Lindsay Cramer. I was valedictorian of my high school class. I wasn’t just going to roll over the first time I didn’t do well on a quiz. Look what happened when I messed up writing the paper for Dr. Klaxton. I was still able to get one of the research assistant jobs. Because I didn’t give up.
It wasn’t because you didn’t give up. It was because Carter saved you. And the reason you almost messed that one up in the first place was because of Justin.
I took in a deep breath and shook that thought out of my head. The past didn’t matter. All that mattered was the present. And right now it was time to find my solace where I’d always found it in the past. In work. In science. It was time to get back to basics.
JUSTIN
“You should have a seat,” the shorter agent said, after Lindsay had gone.
“I’d rather stand,” I said. “What was your name again?”
The two FBI agents glanced at each other, as if to say, this one’s going to be trouble.
“My name is Agent Cairns and this is my partner, Agent Driscoll,” he said, gesturing to the taller man.
“How do I know you’re really agents and not just impersonators or something?”
Now Agent Cairns really was starting to look annoyed. His mouth puckered, but still he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet again. Then he quickly slid a business card out and handed it over to me.
The card had an official looking seal of the Department of Justice on the top corner, and then in the middle, his name: Nick Cairns, and beneath that, his title: Special Agent. In the lower right corner was his contact info.
“Call the number,” he said.
I ran my thumb over the seal and shook my head. “I believe you.” I hated to say it, but it was true. The card was obviously real. It even had that polish to it that the really nice fancy business cards had.
“Well if you get to wondering again, just call. It will bring you the DOJ’s main service number and then you can dial my extension, or even ask for me by name if it makes you feel better.”
“I don’t think I’ll be calling it anytime soon.” Part of me had wanted to bust his balls, but another part of me had honestly been hoping that maybe this was all a big lie—
an elaborate prank or maybe even a scam. Anything other than what it was—the truth.