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the same sensation as when a stranger is staring at you from across the room. She hated them. Hated hated hated them, with all her heart.
    She hated them even more because she needed them. The cameras were paying for her college.
    Kendal’s partial scholarship wouldn’t have been enough to cover her tuition without the supplementary income the cameras provided. No one on campus knew about the cameras. And even if they knew, they couldn’t watch; the webcams were blocked from everyone in the state of Illinois. But the other forty-nine states, and the rest of the globe, could tune into http://www.hotsororietygirlslive.com and spy on the sisters at Epsilon Epsilon Delta twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, as long as they had a working credit card.
    Some of the sisters performed for the cameras. Of the six that lived in Double-E-D, two were attention grabbers, and two were certifiable exhibitionists. Only Kendal and Linda—Kendal’s only real friend and the one who got her into the sorority—were more reserved. They didn’t bring their boyfriends back to the house (not that Kendal had a boyfriend) to secretly make-out for the cameras, like the other girls. They didn’t strip or masturbate—though Linda did flash her boobs in accordance with her Free the Nipple stance. They both (Kendal mostly) kept their client chats non-sexual, even though they’d make more in tips if they cut loose a little.
    Kendal wasn’t the cutting loose type.
    She left the house at exactly 12:29, counting the steps in her head as she walked to the quad. While walking, her mind went over the review sheets for the test today, which covered two sections of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition.
    Kendal knew more about mental disorders than any nineteen-year-old on campus, and probably more than many of the seniors taking Advanced Abnormal Psych. She’d lived with obsessive compulsive disorder, and with the more extreme mental disorders of close family members, for her entire life.
    They’d recently been studying gender dysphoria, and disruptive, impulse-control, and conduct disorders. The latter was a particularly relevant section for Kendal, because it was where the DSM-V categorized antisocial personality.
    In other words, it was where they put the psychopaths.
    Psychos—particularly Theodore Millon’s tyrannical subtype who got off on the pain of others—freaked Kendal out.
    With good reason. Kendal had known sadists. She had the scars to prove it. Both mental, and physical.
    Oddly, the psychological damage done to Kendal hadn’t turned her into a total shrinking violet, and while she erred to paranoia, she was a long way from how she used to be, living in constant fear. She had learned to trust people again. She dated, occasionally. Kendal also sometimes read horror novels; as long as they involved a monster or demon or supernatural element. But she stayed away from torture porn, or serial killer thrillers where the maniac wanted to punish women.
    Who thought up sick shit like that and called it entertainment?
    At five hundred and two steps Kendal had to swerve to avoid a spider on the sidewalk. Ick. Those things grossed her out, big time. Too many legs. Too many eyes. Curved fangs. Immobilizing victims in webs to suck their blood. She shivered. Awful creatures. And Kendal read, somewhere, that the average person swallows eight spiders a year while they sleep. They’re attracted to carbon dioxide, or something, and crawl into your mouth.
    As far as the animal world went, Kendal couldn’t think of anything worse.
    Unfortunately, in the human world, there was worse to be found. Much worse.
    But Kendal didn’t want to think about that.
    At six hundred and eight steps toward the quad, Kendal felt a tingle on the back of her neck.
    Someone’s watching me.
    Kendal knew the feeling well. She lived with the feeling every day, at the sorority house. Eyes were on her, and it made all the tiny little