Red is for Remembrance Read Online Free PDF

Jacob, the dreams would be all squishy and romantic? Not about some pale-ass death-girl who chants in twisted rhyme about some blue girl.
    I mean, I hate to sound like a mega-beeatch or anything, but just because you dream about water, it doesn't mean that you're dreaming about Jacob."
    I take a giant breath. "It's not just about the water," I say. "What about the boy?"
    "What boy?"
    "I told you." I sigh. "The boy who might die if I don't help the girl-so-blue. What if that boy is Jacob?"
    "Stacey, honey-- Jacob's already dead. I know you don't want to hear that or deal with it or whatever, but he is."
    "Believe whatever you want," I snap, "but I think the mere fact that I'm dreaming again is a good thing ... a hopeful thing."
    "I guess," Amber says, propping herself up on her elbows, looking at me like I'm a giant puzzle.
    I reach into the fridge for something cold, wet, and fizzy, forgetting for a second that its contents are labeled and
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    spoken for. I slam the door shut and collapse back in bed, trying to put Amber's doubt out of my head, trying instead to trust my instincts.
    39

Stacey
    Amber makes a deal with me: if I agree to go straighten things out with Mr. President, she'll agree to treat me to a chocodile sundae at Ice Cream Coma downtown-- a fair deal, especially considering that the tuna sandwich Amber brought back for me from the cafeteria last night is now warm and fuzzy. Not to mention that I really would like to get all this president business straightened out. Suddenly the idea of going back home, having to face a much-disappointed 40
    mother who never even had the opportunity to go to college, let alone to do so on a free ride, isn't so appealing.
    I phone the president's secretary back and she gets all snippy with me, telling me that Dr.
    Wallace waited over a half-hour for my arrival before heading off to a meeting, for which he ended up late-- on my account, of course. I try to slip in an apology, but she's talking so fast, going through his jam-packed schedule, reiterating how busy Dr. Wallace is, how he doesn't have time to wait around and meet with tardy students. Finally she finds me another open slot, apparently squeezing me in before his meeting with the college provost.
     
    "Can you be here in an hour?" she asks.
    I grunt out an affirmative, hang up, and then dial in to get my phone messages. I have four of them-- one from my mother, one from Drea, another from Chad, and one from the Student Activities Director, announcing the week's worth of on-campus festivities. I delete Mr. Student Activities' voice right away and focus on the others. Drea and I have been best friends since our freshman year of high school. She and Chad, her on-again-now-off-again boyfriend, my ex-boyfriend, went off to Payton College this past September, over four hundred miles away. They both want me to call them back, but it doesn't sound like it's anything big. Ever since Jacob's disappearance, they've made it a habit to call me every couple days to see how I'm doing-- to be sure I'm still breathing, more likely. My mother wants me to call her back as well. Unfortunately, they'll all have to wait.
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    I head over to the main campus to search for his office. Standing in front of the student center, facing the tall iron clock, as Amber suggested, I take a deep breath and look down at my campus map. The place is absolutely huge, like Hillcrest Prep times twenty. There are buildings scattered all about-- ivy-covered brick ones, a couple bulky glass ones, tall ones, short ones, and a bunch of cobblestone revivals in between. Amber's marked a giant red X over the quad area, and drawn a winding line that leads me to Ketcher Hall. It appears as though my most direct route involves walking up three brick pathways, crossing one duck pond, going across one footbridge, and cutting through two playing fields. I sigh at just the thought of it. If I start now, I should be able to get there in just under an hour and, hopefully, I