I stare at him in utter amazement. “Ha, ha, you’re funny, Russell. You know who I am,” I say, but I see by the look on his face that he is confused now.

“What’s my name, Russell?” I ask, almost pleading.

He frowns. “Well, I’m startin’ to suspect that I should know the answer to that one. There’s somethin’ ‘bouty’ all that’s darn familiar but…” He reaches out and touches my hair. Closing his eyes, he says, “I keep seein’ red, like the color…does that make sense?”

“Yeah, you’ve been calling me Red from the moment you met me. Do you remember meeting me yesterday on the walk to the lake?” I ask hopefully.

His sexy brown eyes scan my face. “I…ahh, I remember… somethin’…the lake…my head is startin’ to ache like I was doin’ shots of Yeger last night,” Russell says, dropping my hair and cradling his face in the palms of his hands. “Y’all were there… and someone else was there…and I had to walk away, but I wanted to stop…got on the bus…runnin’ have to get back… Evie!” he says, looking up at me with a startled expression. He’s reliving it somewhat.

“I’m okay, Russell, I’m fine…it’s okay. And you didn’t just walk away,” I say, getting up from my chair and moving to the one next to his. Holding his hand, I squeeze it. “How do you feel?” I ask him with concern.

“I feel like I’ve been playin’ football without my freakin’ helmet,” he answers angrily, “and the offensive line can’t block anyone.”

“Oh, so you’re familiar with the style of play executed by my former high school team. That’s unfortunate,” I tease him. I study him awhile as he continues to cradle his head in his hands, then I say in a thoughtful tone, “You wouldn’t promise me. That’s it, isn’t it…when did you go and talk to Reed? Was it right after you left me last night, or did you see him this morning?”

“Uhh, I don’t know whatyer talkin’ ‘bout, Red, but I could use some aspirin,” he says evasively.

“Ahh, Russell,” I say angrily, dropping his hand. Springing out of my chair, I go back to the one across from his, sitting back in it in a huff. My eyes narrow. “I asked you not to go near him. You know, I saw him this morning, and I noticed that he had both his arms still attached, so I assumed you took the high road. What were you thinking? Reed is really dangerous,” I ask. Rifling through my bag, I find a small bottle of aspirin, which I set in front of Russell. Then I push my bottled water at him.

“Ahh, hell, Evie!” Russell says after he takes an aspirin. “So yer sayin’ it’s okay for y’all to talk to that…that…thing, but I’m not allowed to, is that it?” Russell inquires angrily.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I told you, his voice doesn’t work on me. I can have a conversation with him without getting mind controlled,” I say defensively. “When did you talk to him? Can you recall any of your conversation?”

Russell bends over again, cradling his face in his hands like his head weighs a ton. With his arm bent, his bicep bulges out of his t-shirt prominently, distracting me from my train of thought. His voice comes out muffled when he says, “I saw him this mornin’, when I was comin’ across campus, after my mornin’ workout.”

“And, what did you say?” I prompt after a brief pause.

“Well, that’s between us men, now isn’t it, Red?” he asks. “Well, between a man and whatever the hell he is…”

And there it is. Russell has figured out something that I had not wanted to admit, even to myself. If Reed is not a man…then what, indeed, is he? And what am I?

“So Reed told you to forget about what happened last night, is that it?” I ask, trying to put the puzzle together.

“No, if he’d done that, I probably wouldn’t be this pissed off now. No, what he said was, ‘Forget about Genevieve; she’s not for you this time.’”

I would laugh because Russell’s attempt to imitate Reed came out very nasal and nothing like the voice in question. But I’m not laughing because the meaning behind what he said is sending chills through me.

“Oh,” I say thoughtfully. “But you remembered me anyway. Not at first, of course, but you beat it…but not without consequences,” I say, acknowledging his aching head. “That is significant…you must be very stubborn,” I say lamely.

“I am, when I want somethin’,” he replies and manages a ghost of a smile.

“Well, it looks like being my friend might turn out to be hazardous to your health, Russell,” I say sadly.

“Whaddaya mean?” Russell asks, tensing up.

“What do you mean?” I counter. “Having your mind erased wasn’t enough for you? This isn’t your problem. Thanks for all your help, but this is outta hand. I’m not going to make you a target.”

“A target for what, Evie? You know more than yer sayin’, don’t ya?” Russell’s eyes narrow accusingly.

“It’s complicated, Russell. I really don’t know what’s going on. I haven’t had time to think. I just need to think,” I say as I take an aspirin, too.

Russell stares at me for a few moments, then he says, “Okay, somethin’ happened that ya think ya can’t talk to me ‘bout…I get that…I even get that y’all were raised a bit differently up here than most of the girls I know back home. Y’all are more independent, less inclined to ask for help, even when ya need it—and ya do, Red. Ya need help badly.” I start to deny what he is saying, but he holds up his hand to stop me. His brown eyes narrow a little as he adds, “Now, I don’t know how much help I can give ya. I’m not quite equipped for what’s bein’ thrown at me. But, I’m yer friend, and I’ll do what I can and maybe… when yer ready, ya can tell me whatcha know.”

When he finishes, I am speechless. He hardly knows me at all, and in the last twenty-four hours he has been subjected to things that would make most people run away in terror. My eyes fill up with tears. I want to hug him, I want to push him away, I want to thank him, I want to protect him, I want to tell him everything, and I want him to stay in the dark about everything.

“Well, Red, that looks like one hell of a battle ya got goin’ on in yer head. How ‘bout we just go and see if we can get us some books at the bookstore downstairs. That’s an easy enough task to get done for now,” Russell says, coming around to my seat and pulling my chair out for me to stand.

We walk together to the bookstore. We have little trouble purchasing what we need. It’s fortunate for me that Russell offers to help me with my books because when I have them all, I almost need a crane to get them back to my room.

“How are we going to get all of these books back, Russell? With your books and my books, we’ll need a wagon at the very least,” I speculate.

“Naw,” Russell says and starts putting a couple of books in each of our bags. He stacks the rest of the books in a pile haphazardly. Then he picks up the pile and says, “If ya can get our bags, we can walk across the street to Brady Hall, and I’ll run in and drop mine off.”

I follow Russell out the doors and across the street to Brady Hall. When we arrive at the doors to the lobby, he sets the books on the ground and sorts them. He stuffs my books in our bags, picking up his pile, he asks, “Can y’all wait here while I run these to my room? I don’t think I’ll ever get used to not being able to have any females ‘round. It seems just so unnatural.”

He’s alluding to the fact that Brady Hall is a men’s dormitory and that I couldn’t even enter the lobby during the weekdays.

“Ah, so you’re a player,” I say, teasing him about his comment.

“Red, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that I have two younger sisters who have a passel of friends ‘round all the time. Now there aren’t any. It’s almost disturbin’ not to hear them talkin’ a hundred miles an hour ‘bout nothin’ at all,” he says, smiling at me.

“Ah, I see. You have sisters? What are their names?” I ask, trying to imagine Russell taking care of two little sisters.

“If I tell ya, do ya promise not to laugh?” he asks with a quirk of his brow.

“Of course, how bad can it be?” I ask, frowning at him.

“Ya asked for it. The one that’s two years younger than me is named Scarlett and the youngest, who is four years younger than me, is named Melanie,” he says apologetically as he waits to see if I make the connection.

“Russell, how did you escape not being a Rhett or, God forbid, an Ashley?” I ask as I immediately make the literary connection to Gone With The Wind.

“Well, my dad’s a Russell, so I have him to thank,” he says in relief that I’m not laughing at him.

“Ah, so you’re a junior,” I say, smiling as the mental image of a nice southern family begins to take shape in my mind.

What was that like? Growing up with two parents and a couple of little sisters in a nice town where you’re the football star. Sounds ideal, I think.

“Actually, I’m ‘the third.’ My grandaddy was a Russell, too.” The door opens to the dorm as a young man steps out. Russell calls to him, “Could ya hold the door? I’ll be right back, Red.”

“Okay,” I say.

I smile awkwardly at a young man as he passes me. Feeling like a loiterer, I go over to a huge tree just off the sidewalk. The entire campus is littered with big oak and maple trees. I can’t wait for the leaves to start turning colors. Crestwood will be magical in mid-autumn.

Hearing the door of the dorm bang closed, I peek from my position under the tree and see Russell approaching me. “Ready?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’m starved. Let’s go eat first, since the cafeteria is right here, and then we can take yer books to yer dorm,” he says, and I nod in agreement. “Wait a sec, I’ll get that,” he says, bending down to pick up my heavy bag from the ground.

As he stands back up, his necklace appears from under his collar, swinging forward and catching the light. I freeze instantly, staring at the two silver pendants that are lying against his t-shirt suspended by a worn brown leather strap.

Nearly choking, I recognize the necklace from my dream— my nightmare, I murmur, “Russell, your necklace…it’s mad cool…where did you get it?”

“Uh, this?” Russell asks, lifting it up by one round pendant. “It’s kinda my family joke, Red.”

“Your family joke?” I prompt, feeling faint.

“Yeah, it’s a long story. Here, let’s go to Saga, and I’ll explain what I mean over lunch,” Russell says, taking my hand.

We walk together to the cafeteria. After we get our food and are seated at a table, I study Russell’s necklace from my seat. One of the pendants looks like a tarnished silver circle while the other looks like an elongated figure eight.