Page 83 of Patrick

“You do? There are only two days—maybe two and a half if you count today,” Tamara says.

“No way you can create another glam dress,” Darcy says. “Not something that would be worthy of this class.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But I’m not about to give up trying.”

She shakes her head and snickers like I’m some kind of pathetic delusional person, but she doesn’t know me, doesn’t understand what I can do when I put my mind to it—and everything else I have.

She doesn’t know that an idea has already taken root and is gaining momentum as I put it together in my head.

Whipping out my sketch pad, I get to work.

My phone wakes me way too early after a lot of restless non-sleep, but I reflexively answer it because it could be Trick.

“Sofia? This is Professor Matami. Can you come to my office this morning to discuss the incident and your project?”

“Of course.”

In a blur of time, punctured by desperate gulps of coffee to get my brain de-fogged, I end up speed-walking down the empty hallway in a rush toward my professor’s office. The door is open, but I stand on the threshold, tapping on the door frame as I take in the magnificence of the most outstanding office of any professor I’ve ever seen.

The original solid oak floors are the only recognizable feature, although they’re polished to a blinding gleam. The large window behind her desk can’t be the same as every other office window, and yet I know it is. But the frame of this one is painted in black and shellacked so hard it looks like an evil mirror reflecting the tiny white lights that surround it.

The walls are matte gray, the bookshelves lacquered lavender, and the opposite wall without a bookcase is dotted with colorful shiny lavender and mauve framed photos of her designs, most of which I recognize as award-winning. The largest photo is of her accepting an award at Paris’s fashion week two years ago.

“Come in. Sit.” She waves her arm in the direction of one of the two fluffy white guest chairs, and it turns out they’re also comfortable.

“Gorgeous office.”

She nods, but her smile is unconvincing.

“I asked you to come in to discuss your project, but first I want to update you on the campus police investigation into the vandalism. They checked the classroom last night, and since there was no sign of forced entry, they think it was an inside job, that someone had a key.”

“A key? Like maybe a janitor?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. They’re not ruling it out. They also checked all the cameras in the area, and they saw a person near the building’s entry who they described as a female with a black hoodie, torn jeans, and heavy dark work boots. They were in the area the night before we discovered the vandalism.”

I open my mouth, but I can’t say what pops into my head out loud.

“Sound like someone you know?” Professor M arches a brow, nodding with a world-weary look on her face.

“You don’t think…”

“I do. Darcy fits the profile.” She pauses as if to let the absurd notion sink in. It does, and with it, a sick feeling comes with it.

She continues, “I gave her a key to the classroom so she could drop off a belt.” She shakes her head. “I should have known better.”

“But…” I don’t want it to make sense, but the pieces are falling together, and I realize Darcy’s attitude toward me has been more than rude. She’s jealous. Which is crazy because she⁠—

“I told the police that I gave Darcy the key and that she almost always wears ripped jeans and work boots, which gives her opportunity and possibly puts her in the vicinity.” She takes a breath. “I also told them she might have a motive.”

I stare at her, hoping she’s not going to confirm my crazy suspicion, but her sad expression tells me otherwise.

“I told them Darcy is jealous of you. It’s been clear to me almost from day one. I tried to talk to her about it, but she brushed me off, saying I was being ridiculous.”

“Wow.” It’s all I can say because I’m too confused and still not willing to believe that Darcy is a jealous psycho.

“I’m afraid she’s a troubled young lady. The police will be questioning her once they check the janitorial staff and anyone else who has a key. It may take a few days. They probably won’t be talking to her until after the fashion show. I realize that will be awkward at the very least under the circumstances, but I hope you can⁠—”

“We’re roommates.”