C.R. Daems - Kazak 2 - The Unthinkable by C. R. Daems

proved the most stressful for Karin. I was everywhere she stood, sat, or walked. In the student cafeteria, I insisted we sit off to the side where I had a good view of everything and my back to the wall.
    "Why? My friends, old and new, are going to think I'm weird," Karin wined.
    "So I can see the entire room. You can tell your friends I'm paranoid, having grown up with a warlord as a father. In fact, you can use that as an explanation for most of the things you and they consider weird. Karin, I know you think this is all unnecessary, and I hope it turns out that way. Until then, I'll spend every minute of every day surveying every area you're in. I'll risk my life to keep you safe, so humor me."
    "I know it's weird, but I almost would like to be attacked to see how you'd react."
    "Careful what you wish for."
    "Karin's first class was Capital Markets, introducing the things that determined the pricing of stocks, bonds, and other financial instruments. I found it interesting, although I had my mind split between observing everyone and everything, and the lecture. We had just finished the class when a good-looking young man approached.
    "Hi, Karin, who's your friend?"
    "Lana, this is Carl, if you want to know the location of tonight's party ask him or follow him. Tuck only accepted him because his father gave Dartmouth a ten million dollar grant.
    "Carl, this is Lana. She's the daughter of an Afghan warlord, who's my father's ally and friend." Karin said tentatively. For her first performance, it was respectable.
    "Hello, Lana. I'm pleased to meet you." He smiled and put out his hand.
    "Motasharfon bemarefatclh...sorry, nice to meet you, Carl. I'm still not used to speaking English in my responses." I gave a slight nod but didn't take his hand.
    "You have a beautiful voice in either language."
    We met several other friends of Karin's and slowly my cover story was solidified. We attended three more classes that day. At dinner, I insisted on eating at a table in the corner. Rather than me looking strange to her friends, they thought me interesting. By the end of the day, Karin was mentally exhausted from explaining my presence and trying to say the right things.
    "You did well today, Karin. It may be easier than I thought. Your friends and others see me as a novelty and find my supposed idiosyncrasies interesting. You can play on that."
    "This would be fun, if it wasn't so much work. You seem to take to it naturally."
    "Think of it as a game you're playing with your friends, teachers, and new people you meet. Enjoy it. No one is being hurt by it. Actually, everyone is enjoying me and my strange ways," I said trying to ease her tension. It looked to be a long semester. The first two or three weeks would be the toughest.
    ***
    The first week went well. People not only accepted my presence, but also went out of their way to meet and talk with Karin. Boys were particularly interesting in hitting on me. I managed to hold them off with my Muslim ethics. Unfortunately, that just seemed to encourage them to be creative. Karin's first party proved a real challenge.
    When we arrived, it was chaos with men and women dancing, drinking, popping drugs, and running up the stairs to bedrooms. It would be impossible for me to follow Karin, so I parked myself on the stairway about halfway up. At least, I could scan the room and keep an eye on her-most of the time. My cover would unravel if I tried to follow her as close as I would like or dragged her back to our room. So, I kept an eye on her as best I could, while continuously scanning the crowd for anything out of place. It seemed ridiculous. The college kids were easy to identify; hence, anyone else would stand out. I had been sitting there for only a few minutes when this tall, freckled-face red-haired young man sat down next to me. He wasn't drunk but high on something.
    "You're that girl from Afghan whose father is a warlord. Welcome to America."
    "Thank you," I said without turning in his