Meet Me When the Sun Goes Down (Forged Bloodlines #2) Page 12

  “I only want to know you, won’t you allow me this simple request?” I saw the first trace of real emotion on his face as Jakob tried to digest what I’d said, and I felt a stab of pity for him.

  “If you want to get to know me, maybe you can buy me a cup of coffee sometime, alright?” I caved, immediately rewarded by a childlike glee that lit his face from within. “But call me sometime, don’t show up unannounced. I take it you have my phone number?”

  “I do,” he beamed, but there was no trace of the smugness that turned me off before.

  “Fine, I’m going up to my apartment. Go do whatever it is you do when you’re not stalking me. And if I get a single whiff that you’re manipulating my dreams again, all bets are off. Do we have an understanding?”

  “What if you dream of me of your own accord?” His eyes fairly sparked with mischief.

  “I can practically guarantee that won’t happen,” I muttered. “Goodnight, Jakob.” Without looking back, I slipped into my building, refusing to look back for fear of what I might do should I look deep enough into those blue eyes again.

  Chapter Eleven

  I slept like crap without Bishop by my side. Okay, so technically that’s not true, because when I was out like a light during the bulk of the day I didn’t strictly notice he wasn’t there. But without that biological weakness to the rays of the sun I don’t think I would’ve been able to fall asleep at all. Completely blowing off school the next morning, I moped around my apartment, in no mood to see or talk to anyone apart from a certain dark and dreamy vampire cop. Eventually the sun won out though, and I passed out an hour or so past dawn. When I woke to find myself alone in my cold bed, a fresh sense of loss washed over me, especially when I checked and saw there were no messages or texts from him. Nothing to acknowledge the long winded, teary voicemail I’d left him the night before.

  I know, I know, it sounds pathetic and clingy, but I was convinced that if I’d just be able to get Bishop alone for a few minutes to show him how much I wanted to make it work between us, I could somehow get him to believe we stood a chance at happiness.

  There wasn’t any choir practice scheduled for that night, and nothing Bridget could say or do tempted me to leave the solace of my fluffy blanket and the quart of ice cream I found in the freezer. Eventually she gave up, going out with Rob for the night. Even Jakob gave me a wide berth, finally clueing into the fact that I needed some space, perhaps.

  There was only so much moping I could handle though. By the time the next dawn rolled around, I dragged myself out of my blanket cocoon and forced myself to go to school. Only when I got into my first class, there was a note waiting for me, asking me to report to the Dean’s office immediately. Immediately? I cast my mind back over the conversation we’d had with Jakob at the reception the other night. Had Jakob gone back and done or said something to him? Or was it about my “rude” treatment of Mr. Thorsen?

  What is it about being called to the Dean’s office that makes you feel guilty as anything? I’d never been called to the Dean’s office before. Sure, I’d had scheduled visits once per quarter, all students did, but nothing even remotely disciplinary. Why I assumed it was something bad instead of something good I don’t know, but the sight of both my parents in his office when his secretary ushered me inside wasn’t a good sign.

  “Mom, Dad… what are you doing here? Is something wrong?” I demanded, my worry cranking up a notch. Would they call me into the Dean’s office if something bad happened to Grandma? Or Hanna?

  “Have a seat, baby,” my mother said with a watery smile. My father wouldn’t even look at me. Just when I thought the day couldn’t get any worse.

  “What’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming into the city today? You should have come the night before last when I had my concert.”

  The door opened and Dean Abrams came in with another woman I vaguely recognized from the campus, but I had no idea what her name was. “Ah good, we’re all here,” the Dean said with forced cheer. “Everyone please take a seat,” he gestured to the chairs lined up opposite his desk. The woman sat to my right, giving me a sympathetic smile that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t good.

  Instead of sitting, Dean Abrams went to the window, pulling his blinds completely open. Bright sunlight streamed into the room, bringing with it an uncomfortable sting across every bit of my exposed skin. Sinking lower in my chair, I contemplated whether or not I’d be able to get away with putting my sunglasses on, but decided to tug my scarf up higher instead. Luckily, I hadn’t removed my knit hat, though I was willing to bet my parents didn’t approve of my wearing it inside. Well tough, that was the least of my problems.

  One empty chair remained, but with a look at his watch, the Dean took his seat. “I’m sure you know why we’re meeting here today, Miss Evans.”

  “No, I really don’t,” I replied honestly. “Is there a problem with my grades?” The fact that I had no idea where I stood in most of my classes was probably a bad sign. Usually I knew exactly what my grades were like, I was the first person in line to ask for extra credit if needed. I’d just been distracted lately, what with the being undead and all.

  Dean Abrams cleared his throat uncomfortably. “It pains me to have to bring us all together like this, but yes, there is a disturbing trend with your grades, Anja. I’m afraid there will be serious consequences if you can’t turn things around.”

  “Serious consequences like what?” My face felt like it was on fire, and I wasn’t sure if it burned from shame or the heat of the sun on my skin.

  “We’ve been as lenient as we could with the adjustments to your course schedule, but if you can’t maintain a certain GPA and course load, you won’t be able to perform with the rest of your class.”

  “You’re taking away my performance privileges?” My mouth dropped open at the same time my mother gasped.

  “What adjustments to her course schedule?”

  “We were concerned you were unaware of the changes, Mrs. Evans, that’s why we called you in here today instead of talking to your daughter directly.” The Dean passed over a page with my course schedule on it, the afternoon classes lined out with a highlighter. “As you can see, she’s cut her coarse load nearly in half. This will have a serious impact on her eligibility to graduate with her class.”

  Frak… “Mom, I was going to tell you about this. It’s okay, I talked to my guidance counselor about it before I dropped them. As long as I pick up some online classes and take evening classes in the summer sessions I should be able to graduate on time.” Guidance counselor… was that who sat on my right? I’d never seen the woman, just talked to her on the phone.

  “That presupposes that you maintain a certain level of excellence in class, which sadly, you have been lacking as of late,” Dean Abrams interjected.

  “Anja, how could you make such a serious change like this without consulting us first?” my mother demanded and I bit back the instinct to tell her to cool it while I figured out how deep of a hole I’d dug for myself.

  “With all due respect, Mom, I’m twenty-one, not twelve. I have a right to make my own course adjustments.”

  “With all due respect, missy, we are paying your tuition, I think we have a say in what you do and where you go for the duration of the academic year,” she retorted icily.

  “How bad is it?” I appealed to the Dean, hoping to cut off any more escalation of that topic.

  Once more he handed over a sheet of paper, this one with a breakdown of assignments missed and my percentages to date. I barely had a chance to glance over it when my mother snatched it from my fingers to peer at it closely. “With all the classes you’ve been missing, you’ll be hard pressed to make it up in time by the end of the semester.”

  “She’ll do better, I promise you that, Dean Abrams,” my mother piped up emphatically. My father remained curiously silent, refusing to look my way. “We didn’t raise her to neglect her responsibiliti
es like this, I can guarantee you’ll see an immediate change in her behavior.”

  “Uncharacteristic changes in behavior like this can often be a symptom of a much deeper problem,” the woman to my right chimed in.

  You’re not wrong there… “I swear I’m going to try my hardest, but I’ve had some… health concerns.” Not a lie… “I hadn’t realized things had slipped so far but I’ve got the message loud and clear now, you don’t have to worry.”

  “What kind of deeper problems are you referring to?” my mother asked, and that’s when I realized who the other woman was. Not the guidance counselor, she was a substance abuse counselor!

  “I am not on drugs!” I insisted, sure my face was completely red, not from the exposure to the sun but from indignation.

  “And yet that was your first instinct to respond when no accusations were made,” the counselor smiled smugly.

  “This is not happening to me.”

  “Oh Anja, you should have come to us for help,” my mother clucked, on the verge of tears. So was I, but for different reasons. I shifted in my chair before jumping up to pace to a cooler part of the room out of the sun. If that made me look like an addict, so be it, but my eyes were streaming from all the direct sunlight.

  “Mom, there’s honestly nothing going on that the two of you could help with in any way, trust me.”

  “But something clearly is going on with you, look at you, baby. You’re all pale and disheveled. You look like you want to jump out of your own skin,” she sniffed. “If it’s not drugs, what is it?” She looked at me with such a heartrending combination of disappointment and compassion, it broke my heart not to tell her the truth. The door opened, saving me the trouble of coming up with a convenient lie and my sister Hanna dashed in, looking bright eyed and apple cheeked from the cold. A stark contradiction to my… what had my mother called me? Disheveled.

  “Sorry I’m late, I had to lock Skittles in my bedroom. She keeps escaping the garage no matter what I do to lock her up,” she smiled, plopping into the empty chair with a sigh.

  “Skittles is her dog, she’s not deranged,” our mother felt the need to explain.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Hanna deadpanned, unwinding the pink scarf around her neck. “I got the message this was a matter of grave importance,” her voice fell dramatically. “What did I miss?”

  “You missed the part where everyone in the room thinks I’m a junkie crack whore,” I muttered and Hanna laughed, sobering quickly when she realized no one else in the room cracked a smile.

  “Oh, you’re serious. Wait, we are talking about Anja right? My baby sister who doesn’t like to drink caffeine after eight o’clock?”

  “Be that as it may, her behavior has been erratic lately,” Dean Abrams insisted. “I have notes from her teachers and there has been an inquiry from the police to deal with. That’s why we thought it best to call the family together instead of just a reprimand.”

  “The police? What do the police want with my daughter?” My father finally found his voice.

  “A girl I knew was killed, that’s all. The police talked to me about it because I’d spoken to her the night before.” I could kill that lousy detective for bringing me into his investigation…

  “Losing your way isn’t anything to be ashamed of, the important thing is that you get help,” the counselor said, and I had to clench my hands to keep from wanting to punch her in the mouth. Maybe it was my newbie vamp status, but my emotions were all over the place and I fought to keep it together before I did something not-fixable.

  “I don’t need any help,” I said as evenly as I could manage, hating that I could see them exchange knowing looks about my being in denial. I caught myself just in time before I offered to take a drug test of their choosing, the less exposure I had to any kind of medical procedure the better.

  Hanna stuck up for me, and I’d never been so glad to have a sister in my entire life. “I don’t think Anja’s behavior is all that out of the norm for a girl her age. Isn’t college supposed to be the time of life where we all cut loose? You should hear some of the stories from my college years,” she cleared her throat at catching a glare from my father. “But that’s not important right now. The point is, I turned out fine.”

  “Well, I suppose…” my mother frowned, and Hanna kept on going.

  “Is she actually failing anything?”

  “No, but…”

  “Then I’m sure she’ll pull through. Anja’s been getting straight A’s since what… birth? I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.” Hanna dropped me a quick wink and I resisted the urge to wink back.

  “I promise, I’ll get to all the missed assignments and I’ll even speak to my teachers about extra credit,” I piped up.

  The Dean cleared his throat, taking control of the conversation again. “I do have one bright spot of news here I should mention.”

  “See, there’s a bright spot!” I tried to get my father to look at me, but he didn’t budge.

  “I’ve received an inquiry for a private performance from a very generous benefactor.”

  “What do you mean by private performance?” My brows drew together in puzzlement.

  “Simply that, an engagement to entertain at a private party. A very sizable fee was offered and you were requested specifically. It’s a great honor.” Now his smile was all benevolent. Was he really sitting there talking about pimping me out to make the college a few bucks?

  “You mean I’d go all by myself? Or are there a bunch of students going?”

  “The request is for a solo performance. Is that a problem, Miss Evans?” All eyes swung to me and I felt trapped. If I said yes, I’d be playing right into the theory that I didn’t deserve to be there. If I said no, I’d be roped into singing by myself, something I hated even having plenty of time to work myself up to it.

  “I think I’d have to know a little more information about it,” I answered carefully.

  “Anja, don’t be silly,” my mother shushed me. “She’d be honored to accept.”

  “It’s just that I’ll have a lot of school work to catch up on, I don’t even know when and where it is,” I objected, reasonably in my mind.

  “I’ll have my secretary gather all the particulars for you,” the Dean smiled as if it was a done deal and all of a sudden his body language indicated he thought we were finished with my intervention.

  “A private performance,” my mother smiled happily, gathering her purse. “I wonder who it’s for? Let me know as soon as you have the information, Anja, we’ll want to make certain you’re suitably dressed.” She looked askance at my jeans, hoodie, hat and scarf covering nearly every inch of my body, but didn’t say anything further.

  My father rose to his feet, offering his hand to the Dean. “Thank you for bringing this matter to our attention, we’ll handle it,” he said, ignoring the talk about the performance. I didn’t bother to add my promises to that. I’d already said I’d take care of the missing assignments and classes, as far as I was concerned, there wasn’t anything left to say. Instead I got out of there and into the blessedly cool hallway, removing my hat before I could be scolded for wearing it inside.

  We walked en masse to the front of the building, stopping in a quiet corner of the waiting area. I prepared myself for the blistering lecture I was sure to be in for, but instead my parents stood there with an expectant look on their faces.

  “What?” I blinked. “I told you, I’m not on drugs, I’m not in trouble,” that was debatable… “and I’m going to make the work up. It won’t be a problem, I swear.”

  “This is inexcusable, Anja, dragging your poor father and I down here, not to mention your sister,” my mother scolded and Hanna stepped up to my rescue again.

  “She’s not the one who called you down here, it was the Dean. Who ever heard of calling a family intervention for a few missed classes?” she waved it off. “Now, before Daddy pops a vein, why don’t we all relax and take a breath?”

  “Hanna, I do
n’t appreciate you trivializing this,” my mom fretted, and I laid a hand on her arm.

  “I’m not taking it lightly, Mom. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

  “Yeah,” Hanna gave our mom a one armed hug. “You told her to shape up, she got the memo, let’s go get some pancakes.”

  “Your father and I need to be getting home. I don’t understand this, Anja. This isn’t like you at all. You said something about health issues? What’s wrong?”

  I could hear the concern in her voice, that was harder to deal with than the accusations, especially since I wasn’t sure how to respond. “The doctor thinks it might be mono,” I lied glibly, having used that one before. “It makes it difficult to attend classes, that’s why I changed my schedule. Speaking of which, I really should get to my next class.”

  “Mono? That sounds serious.” My mother brushed her hand over my hair. “Would you like me to make an appointment with Dr. Shaughnessy?” My pediatrician.

  “No, Mom, I have my own doctor here, I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m not so sure,” she murmured, looking to my father for his input. He let out a long breath, tugging on his coat with short, angry movements.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Anja,” he said simply, and I felt my heart rise into my throat. “I expected better from you. I trust won’t see a repeat performance of this meeting?”

  I nodded, barely finding my voice. “I understand, Daddy. I’ll try harder, I promise.”

  “Make me proud.” His face softened a little, but that was as good as it got. My mother gave me a hug, making me promise to call her as soon as I had more information on the solo performance. Hanna and I watched them leave, breathing twin sighs of relief when they disappeared from sight.

  “Geez Louise, you’d think you came to Thanksgiving dinner knocked up and strung out on pills or something,” she shook her head.