I caught the direction of her thoughts. “You think I’m, what, number two? That I was supposed to be the second victim?”

“You were the second victim,” she said. She used the remote to turn off the television. “And I think it’s an awfully big coincidence that your throat was ripped out on campus. It’s not exactly a park, but it’s close enough. Look,” she said, pointing back at the television.

A picture of Jennifer Porter, a small shot from an ID card, filled the screen. Dark brown hair, blue eyes, just like me.

We shared a moment of silence.

“And speaking of heinous people,” Mallory finally said, “how was the visit home?” Mallory had met my parents only once, when I couldn’t hold off an introduction any longer. She’d just adopted the blue-hair regimen. Needless to say, they weren’t impressed. Creativity, even if benign, was not tolerated in the Merit house. After the one visit, during which Mal had barely avoided socking my father in the jaw, I decided not to force them on her again.

“Not great.”

“I’m sorry.”

I shrugged. “My expectations were low going in, just not as low as they should have been.” I took a long look at the giant leather Canon on top of the coffee table, then reached out and pulled it into my lap. “They were concerned, I guess, but mostly I got a lecture about embarrassing the family.” I put my hands in the air, waggled my fingers for dramatic effect. “You know, the Chicago Merits. Like that means anything.”

Mallory snorted softly. “Unfortunately, it does mean something. You only have to look at the Trib to know that. Did you go see your grandpa?”

“Not yet.”

“You need to.”

“I will,” I quickly replied, “when I’m up to it.”