Crossroads (Crossroads Academy #1)

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Crossroads (Crossroads Academy #1) Page 22

by J.J. Bonds


  Chapter Nine

  It’s difficult not to notice Shaye’s absence from Anatomy. The first day I don’t think much of it, but when she’s still a no show later in the week I begin to worry. What could possibly be keeping her from class? No one else seems to care. I doubt most of our classmates have even noticed the empty desk. Like me she’s in no danger of winning a popularity contest. But Shaye’s absence gnaws at me. Attendance is mandatory, and there’s no way she’s getting away with skipping two classes in a row.

  When Professor Hooke wraps up his lecture on the differences between human and vampire musculature, I linger behind while the rest of the class trickles out.

  “Professor Hooke?”

  “Yes, Katia. What is it?” he replies hurriedly, barely looking up from his desk and filing our homework assignments in his briefcase. It would appear he’s on a tight schedule today.

  “Would you like me to take the assignments to Shaye? She’s missed two classes now. It would be a shame for her to fall behind. You know how much she loves Anatomy.” It’s a white lie, but I doubt he’s really listening to me anyway. He hasn’t paid much attention to me at all since the day I fell asleep in class. The day Shaye saved my ass.

  “It’s very good of you to offer,” he says, pausing to pull some blank worksheets from his bag. He hands me the forms. “Just tell her to bring them with her when she returns to class.”

  “Will do. Umm… Can you also look up her room number for me?”

  “You don’t know it?” he asks, clearly exasperated.

  It will only take him a moment to look it up on his desktop computer, so I just smile and do my best to look completely oblivious to the fact that I’m asking him to break a rule by disclosing personal information. He checks the time on his wristwatch and frowns. Hooke’s running late, and it works in my favor. His fingers fly over the keyboard, accessing the course roster and the information I need.

  “Three fourteen.”

  “Thanks!” I take the worksheets and get out of there before he can ask any more questions.

  When I arrive at Shaye’s door, I find it locked. I knock gently and wait for her to answer. She doesn’t. I knock again. This time harder and more urgently. I know Shaye can hear me. If she’s home. When she still doesn’t answer, I resign myself to the fact that she’s not there and slide the homework assignments under the door.

  I’m not sure what else to do. It’s not like I can go to the headmaster’s office and demand an explanation. Just as I’m about to give up, the door opens a crack. Shaye is home after all.

  “It’s really not a good time, Katia,” she whispers hoarsely.

  Something isn’t right. Her voice sounds funny and what little I can see of her looks terrible. What’s going on here? I make a snap decision and shove the door open. Shaye makes no effort to resist. She steps back and allows the door to swing wide open.

  “Might as well come in then,” she says, wearily retreating back to the comfort of her bed. She ignores the worksheets on the floor so I do the same. Shaye’s wearing baggy gray sweats and looks like she hasn’t showered in days. As she tucks herself back into bed, I notice that her eyes are bloodshot and sallow. Deep purple bruises lay under her eyes.

  “You look awful. What’s wrong? Why haven’t you been in class?” I demand. Shaye’s used to me and isn’t put off my bluntness.

  “I haven’t exactly been feeling well,” she replies, settling back into a pile of pillows.

  “I don’t understand. How can that be? What are you talking about?” I’m bombarding her with questions, but I can’t help it. She’s not making any sense.

  “I’m not well, Katia.”

  “Not well? You’ll have to do better than that, Shaye.”

  “Look at me,” she says simply. “You’re a smart girl. You can figure it out.”

  Actually, I’m not sure that I can. All of the signs and her comments point to one answer but it can’t be right. She’s too young. Even though my head is telling me that it can’t be, my heart is telling me that I’m right.

  “Otrava de sange?” I ask quietly. Blood disease.

  “First try. Impressive.”

  “But how can that be?” I ask, ignoring her mocking tone. You’re so young. I thought….” I trail off. Of all people I should understand how unpredictable life can be. There are no certainties.

  “It’s rare but not unheard of.”

  Talk about an understatement. The blood disease only affects a small percentage of our species. The number of youth plagued with it has to be infinitesimally small.

  “Is there anything I can do?” I ask. “Have you fed today?

  She stares at me with a blank expression. What a stupid question! I berate myself mentally. She’s dying, and I offer her a glass of blood.

  “Sorry. I’m nervous. I’m not good at things like this, and I’m not sure what to say,” I tell her honestly, sitting down next to her on the bed. For the first time I stop to check out her room. It’s surprisingly feminine and is counter to everything I’ve seen of Shaye thus far. I’m surrounded by pastels and flowers. I cringe inwardly. It looks like Martha Stewart threw up in here. Definitely not my style.

  “It’s okay,” she says smiling weakly. “I’m not going to die today. Maybe I won’t die at all. Some of the best minds in the world are working on a cure. I just have to be tough and stay strong until they find it.”

  She’s got moxie. I’ll give her that. It can’t be easy going about your everyday life while facing certain death.

  “How long?” I ask.

  “Two years. It started slow. I just felt tired a lot and needed to feed frequently. My family thought it was just adolescence, you know? Anyway, some days are better than others. My situation isn’t so bad yet. I’ve got time. And hope.”

  “That’s good.”

  “You lack faith.” Her tone isn’t exactly accusing, but I can tell she’s disappointed by this revelation.

  “I really am sorry.” There’s no point discussing my faith or lack thereof. “I didn’t mean to ambush you like this and pry into your personal life. I was just worried when you didn’t show up for class again. I didn’t want you to fall behind.” This excuse sounds contrived even to me. I can only imagine how it sounds to her.

  “Actually, I’m glad you came.” She smiles, perking up a bit. I’m full of crap, and Shaye knows it. I could care less if she falls behind in Anatomy. Even though I don’t say it, she knows I was just plain worried about her.

  “It’s nice to finally tell someone. Carrying a secret like this is a heavy burden. There’s so much pressure all of the time. Now I don’t have to pretend any more. Not with you at least.”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” I say, squeezing her hand in what I hope is a comforting gesture. She nods in assent. Shaye knows that she doesn’t have to ask me to keep her secret.

  “You might try it you know,” she whispers, raising her eyes to mine.

  “Huh? Try what?” I ask confused.

  “The truth. Stop running. Stop hiding,” she says, her body wracked by a fit of coughs. She reaches for a box of tissues on the nightstand and covers her mouth. A drop of blood passes her lips, staining the tissue. She looks so small and helpless surrounded by that awful flowered bedspread. I’ve never thought of Shaye this way before. I hope that I won’t always think of her like this. “You can talk to me. You can trust me,” she says, stuffing the tissue in the pocket of her sweatshirt.

  I wave her off casually although her words terrify me. She’s getting a little too deep here. There’s no way she could know, is there? I don’t think so, but I decide to get out of there anyway.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I’d better get going. You need your rest, and I’ve got an appointment with Anya in a little while.”

  “Do me a favor?” she asks before I can flee the room.

  “Sure.”

  “Can you run down to the stables and let Keegan know I’m okay?” she as
ks awkwardly. “I texted him, but he doesn’t believe me. He wants to see how I’m doing for himself.” She pauses, idly tracing the floral pattern on the bedspread with her finger. “I’d like to see him, but it’s not a good idea. Too many inquiring eyes here in the dorm.”

  “Sure,” I reply. “I’ll go now.”

  “Thanks, Katia.”

  “What’re friends for?” I can tell I’ve made her day. I might be imagining it, but aside from the bloody tissue peeking out from her pocket, she looks a little better than when I arrived. She’s smiling from ear to ear as I leave.

 

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