Instead, she’s sitting on her bed in a lotus position, just watching me. It’s a little creepy. Our bedroom is too small for two people to share—we’re always on top of one another. There’s just barely room for both of our beds, our desks, one dresser, and a single bookcase. We have to share a single closet. I can’t even walk into the room without tripping on something.
“Are you waiting for your boyfriend to call you?”
I look up at Rachel, who is blinking innocently. I make a face. “His name is Landon. And… he’s going to call any second now.”
Rachel snorts. “Just don’t get too hung up on the guy. If he dumps you, you might turn to pills. And I don’t want to be the one who finds you when you…”
“What?”
Rachel makes a choking sound as she clutches her neck.
I stare at her, horrified. “I’m not going to overdose on pills!”
“You never know. I mean, who walks into medical school thinking, ‘Hey, I’m going to become a drug addict’?”
My mouth falls open.
“The question is,” she goes on, “where are the drugs coming from?”
I shake my head. “What do you mean?”
“Three students in three years got their hands on enough pills that they accidentally died. Someone is giving them those pills.”
“So… another student?”
“Maybe.” She twists her body to one side then the other. “But for so many years in a row? More likely, it’s one of theprofessors. A first-year professor, who can get to all the students early.”
We got introduced to every single one of the first-year professors this week, and none of them seem like drug dealers. Especially not Dr. Conlon with his dorky bowtie. The idea is laughable.
I’m about to tell Rachel that she’s full of it when my phone starts ringing with Landon’s number. My ringtone is Miley Cyrus’s “Party in the USA,” which resulted in some choice comments from Rachel last night. But screw her. I like that song.
“Hello,” I answer breathlessly.
I hear chewing on the other line. “’Lo?”
“Hey,” I say, rising from my bed. Rachel is still staring at me, so I back out of our bedroom into the living room. “What’s up?”
More chewing. “Not much.”
“Um,” I say. “Are you eating?”
“Just an apple.” I hear him swallow.
“Didn’t you get dinner?”
“Yeah,” Landon says. “But, like, I got hungry again.”
Typical Landon. He always gets hungry about an hour after dinner.
“Oh,” I say. I grip the phone tighter. I wish I could give Landon a hug, feel his body against me. The person on the other line almost doesn’t seem like it’s him. We’ve barely been apart for a week, and already, this long-distance thing sucks. I didn’t expect it to feel so… distant.
Landon and I first met in freshman chemistry. We were assigned to be lab partners, and I got taken in by his dimples and brown curls. Also, he was just sosmart. I would have burned the lab down with my Bunsen burner if not for him.
For months, Landon and I were just friends. Then, one day, while we were walking together, I felt his hand slide into mine. We’ve been together ever since.
“I miss you,” I say to him.
“I miss you too,” he says.
