tina'

screen of my phone unt

WESTBRIDGE,

t my ribs. I had spent the last four hours staring at the ceiling, analyzing e

epeating the lie and hoping it'd soun

ryptic text message. Don Rossi didn't play games. He would

ow me into the ba

girl looking lost. Maybe they got my name from the dorm registry

my pillow. I was not going to let para

I jumped, startled by the voice. My roommate, Chloe, was sitting cross-legged on her bed, perfectly applying a coat of m

ng up and rubbing my eyes.

s. Where are you from? What's your major? And most importantly, how did you manage to abs

tly. Chloe was funny, a little

time of being surrounded by guarded, dangerous

falling into my practiced cover story. "I'm undeclared. And Damon

conspiratorial whisper. "But I respect the rebellion. Seriously, you're alre

I really could do this. Maybe I could just be normal. Two hours later, I walked into the We

of rubber soles on hardwood and the smacks of volleyballs hitting the floor. I strapp

d disappeared. There were no anonymous text messages here.

ball, and

plays with ease. When it was my turn to hit, I leaped into the air, feeling the

silent for a

Rossi," she called out, her voice booming across the gym. "You're starting outside hitter. Go get your practice gear." A rush of triumph washed over me. Th

lasted exactl

ding the high of making the team. The path back to the dorms cut

anding right by the sideline fence, casually hol

Blac

thletic frame, a sheen of sweat making his dark hair stick to

o

. From the look on his face, I could tell he recognized me instantly. He paused,

amon called out, his voice carrying easi

what their captain was looking at. A group of girls from my volle

hing his arrogant stare. "Well, if it isn't the guy wh

g with a gleam I couldn't decipher. "You've got a sharp tongue, Ros

my chest. "I suggest you watch your back. Or at least learn how to steer." His teammates let out a

rating us. The banter was gone, replaced by a

ured, his voice dropping to

red back, before turning on my heel and wa

the way back to North Hall. I felt invincible. I felt l

ly who I was. When I reached the third floor and walke

l, unmarked brown cardboard package. There was no postage. No return address. No s

I saw no one. I scooped the box up, hurried inside, and locked the door beh

at a cheap, black burner phone. Beneath it was a single, cris

RUN FROM W

enly, the silence of the room was shattered by a ring. The burner ph

k as I reached down, grabbed the plastic device, and pres

ng over the phone. "Who is this?" I demanded, trying to force the steel back into my voice. Still nothing. Only

-

ure raised a camera with a long-range telephoto lens, aiming it upward at the third-floor window. Through the glass, Valenti

d out a smartphone, attaching the high-

t conf

stepped out of the shadows, and blended seamlessly