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And she usually wants to make people miserable.”
    “She doesn’t scare me,” I shrug. “I’ve helped cows give birth before. If I can handle cow vaginas, I can handle her.”
    “I’ve heard things too.” The acrid sarcasm is gone from Iris’s voice, for once. “She prides herself on how many freshman girls she can scare into transferring. She behaves when Brooklyn’s around, but Brooklyn’s on track to try out for the Olympics next year and everyone says that Sigrid is basically running Phi Delta Chi these days. She’s on a power trip and you should try to avoid pissing her off, Fiona.”
    “That’s what people said about Hitler, too. Look how great ignoring him turned out.”
    “I mean it,” Iris growls. “I don’t want a dead roommate.”
    I elbow her. “But then I wouldn’t be able to talk all the time and annoy you! Wait, yes I would. I would just have to haunt you instead.”
    She shakes me off. “Promise not to annoy Sigrid or I’ll put bleach in your hair conditioner.”
    She would, too. “Fine. But only because I’d make a terrible blonde.”
    There’s a moment of awkward silence in which I stew, Iris glowers, and Mags fidgets. Finally Mags says, “Do you guys know what you’re wearing to the party? I’m thinking a high-waisted skirt, long-sleeved blouse, and black tights.”
    “I’m going in a thin sheet of bubble wrap,” I announce.
    Her eyes go wide. “But don’t you want to win the Games?”
    “I want to win the Games about as much as I want to insert my toes into a paper shredder.” I’m in a bad mood. Guess it’s my longstanding allergy to authority. I was always getting goat-milking duty for disagreeing with the preacher.
    “You don’t want to go out with James?” she gasps.
    “Jesus Christ. No. Not interested,” I laugh. “This whole James Games thing is a joke. That guy probably gets with whoever he wants, whenever he wants. I doubt he saves himself for the winner of our little competition every year.”
    Mags shakes her head. “If he does get with girls, they’re not from UCSD. Actually, he has a reputation for ignoring every girl who tries to talk to him. Except the winner of the Games. And according to past winners, he’s only polite to them for one night and then ignores them the next day.”
    “That’s cold. He sounds like a jerk.” A cool breeze dusts through the night air and I hug myself to ward off goosebumps. “Why would anyone want to date him?”
    Mags and Iris exchange a look. “You haven’t seen him,” Iris says again.
    I groan at the moon. “Show him to me, then. Show me what the fuss is all about.”
    Mags pulls out her phone. The case is light pink and it’s got a big bow on the back. Of course. She scrolls through something, the tip of her tongue sticking out just slightly, until she finds the photo she wants. She holds the phone up to my face.
    The backlight is all the way up, and I squint for a second. Then I see a strong jawline.
    And sculpted cheekbones.
    And wavy, tousled blonde surfer hair.
    And eyes like twin storms, that I last saw looking at me at a coat closet at a concert.
    I stop dead. Iris and Mags come to a halt too. Iris smirks at me, sure I’ve been stunned into silence by his pure beauty. I don’t even have the energy to snark at her.
    James Reid…is my masked stranger.
    ~5~
     
    I curse whatever demon lord convinced me it would be a good idea to sign up for an eight a.m. class. Who wants to learn about philosophy at the asscrack of dawn? Answer: the devil that apparently possessed me when I selected my class schedule.
    Iris is walking with me, since she’s got an early lab across campus. Although ‘floating’ would be a more appropriate word. Not the nice kind of floating. The slack-jawed, unhinged-from-reality kind of floating that’s plagued her ever since I told her that James Reid was the one who fucked me through a wall at a concert.
    “Iris?” I try for the millionth time, waving my hand through