Part Three

                                    

                                          
    I stare at the ceiling of my cell, the stars giving way to the pale grey of dawn. Parker's been back almost three weeks now. Yesterday was one of the worst days yet, out there on the trail. Most of the people on the run yesterday were focused on making it to the end with collapsing, though, so maybe she'll get lucky and no one will think twice about it.
                          
    Brigit likely has another challenge planned in a few days. I wonder if the blue-eyed guy will show. I'd like to thank him properly, learn his name, see if that rush of feeling was a fluke.
                          
    It had to be. I don't want to find out what would happen if I experienced it again. And I definitely don't want to know if it went both ways.
                          
    Climbing out of bed, I pad into the bathroom to assess the damage from the trail. I twist back and forth in front of the mirror, searching for bruises, swelling. There's nothing out of the ordinary. Just the same, pale, smooth skin, rippling over muscle. Flexing my torso, I watch in fascination as the ropes of muscle along my back move once more. A slow, tentative grin tips my lips. Now I see what Brij has been ragging on. I wonder if there's more.
                          
A loud beep from my cell jolts my gaze away from the mirror. If I don't get in the shower now, I'll be late.
                          
    The shower is a different experience today. The water is hotter, more relaxing, washing away the aches and unease brewing inside over Parker and Shannon and my own impending dance with science. I run soap along my arms, my legs, cruising through the dips and bumps as more of those tiny protests spring to life. What is it about this vessel that makes it a necessity for life? It's nothing remarkable. Skin, housing muscle and bone, veins and organs.
                          
    The water shuts off abruptly, as it does when it senses I'm running behind, and I curse, stepping out of the shower. Dawn has edged into the familiar golds, and I throw on a sweater and jeans while I shovel my breakfast down, hunting for shoes before I gather my datpads and step into the VRM, stomach clenching as I wonder if Parker will have reined in her touching or if she's going to continue on her downward spiral.
                          
    Bee hurries up to me as I limp toward the entrance to the Arts Building. "Wasn't sure you'd be here this morning." Her cheeks are flushed from the cool air, and she grins.
                          
    "Why wouldn't I be?" I should have remembered a jacket. It's a little too cold out to go without these days. Edging toward winter, and I always forget because my cell stays warm all the time. Cool air sneaks tricky little fingers under my sweater, and I shiver, scanning the walkway for Parker. 
                          
    "Oh, come on. The run Brij forced us on yesterday? I wouldn't have been able to drag my sorry ass out of bed this morning if it hadn't been for the AI constantly shoving protein and sports drinks on me."
                          
    I'd only had two drinks and the muscle cream. I'd had to call for everything else. The AI hadn't kept watch over me like it had Bee. Does it think Bee is incapable of taking care of herself? She's not a child. Something fire-hot flares and catches in my blood, like anger simmering and waiting to boil over. I quicken my pace. I have a lecture to give, office hours to get through, a TA meeting to attend. I don't have time to sort out my confused thoughts and deal with my growing anxiety over Parker. Clutching the datpads to my chest, I ignore Bee's chattering until we reach the wood doors of the Arts Building. "Lexi? You okay?" 
                          
    The fire dies. Getting myself worked up over something this small is counterproductive. "Yeah, I'm fine. Running late and about five million things to do today." Forcing a smile, I open the door and join the flow of students rushing through the halls.
                          
    Freshman seminars are popular because they give more credits than your standard 101 classes, and this particular seminar, on theatre as literature, has been packed from the start. The small lecture hall echoes with the chatter of all those students, waiting for me to start class and proceed as usual when all I want is to hole up in my office and sort myself out. Normal is stretching off farther and farther into the distance as I reach the front of the room.