Suddenly, though, he looks up, his gaze snapping onto mine. Inadvertently, I gasp. My fingers curl around the seat of my chair, gripping it with desperate strength. It feels a bit like the floor has fallen away—and if I don’t hold on for dear life, I’ll fall.
Harrisford clocks my movements, and the corners of his lips quirk slightly. Not quite a smirk, but close enough. I narrow my eyes to slits and, with a huff, pointedly face forward again.
“It could be a burner,” Heli muses, thankfully distracting me from thoughts of Harrisford-fucking-Briggs. “Or someone just impersonating them.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Whatever it is, we should investigate. This account is following almost everyone we’ve got listed as potentially linked to the MLO.”
“Miss Chan, Miss Chapman,” Professor Pickering barks, suddenly, from up on stage. His thin lips twist into a sneer. “Care to share with the group whatever it is that you find so interesting?”
“No, Professor,” Heli mumbles as I go red and slide down farther into my chair.
A few minutes later, when Professor Pickering has lulled us all back into a stupor, I sneak another look at Harrisford. He’s no longer looking at me. Instead, he’s watching the stage…but there’s an unmistakable tilt to his lips that suggests he’s suppressing a smile.
By now, Pen seems to have dozed off. Their head has slipped off their hand, their chin resting on their chest.
Once again, I turn to face the front. It really is hard to imaginePen Ferguson being involved in the MLO. In fact, as recently as a week ago, I would never have believed it.
But this week? Everything’s changed.
And I have to remember that anything—anything—is possible.
Later, when we knock on Pen’s dorm door, they open it so it’s only slightly ajar.
“Oh, hi, Gwen, Heloise.” They exhale, seemingly in relief. The door swings open wider. “D’you need something?”
I smile at them. “We need to speak with you.”
A pause. “About what?” they say slowly.
“About the MLO,” Heli says.
Pen’s face flushes red, and they go to slam the door shut.
Heli’s too quick, though. And strong. She catches the door handle and keeps it cracked open. “Hey! We’re not gonna get you in trouble, you know.”
“We’re just searching for information about the MLO,” I add. “We thought maybe you could help.”
Pen just stares at us, red-faced. Heli and I exchange a look, then turn back to them, both of us sporting our most winsome smiles.
“All right, all right!” Pen’s flustered, their words coming out all tremulous. They shoot a nervous glance up and down the empty hall. “Just stop saying it out loud!”
“Saying what?” I frown. “ ‘ML—’ ”
“Shush!” Frantically, Pen reaches out, grabs both our shirts, and drags us into their room. The door snicks shut behind us with an audible click.
Pen’s dorm is absolutely crammed full of electronic equipment. Given their retro style of dress and their romance book obsession(I’m pretty sure they’re a book influencer in their spare time), I hadn’t expected anything so…tech heavy.
But in complete contrast to the electronics, their decor is all vintage. Fussy, even. Large-print floral curtains, crocheted rugs, and lace doilies, all in tones of pink and green. Books cover every surface. In the center is the pièce de résistance: a shiny, chrome-legged 1950s-style laminate table with four matching hot pink chairs.
It’s incredible, because two weeks ago I’d never ventured into anyone’s room at Seamere except for mine and Heloise’s. Since then, I’ve been inside Harrisford’s, Conall’s, and now Pen Ferguson’s room. And I think, of all of them, this one might be my favorite.
Pen shifts a stack of books off their sofa to clear a space and gestures at us to sit. They’re still looking rather harried.
I sink onto the green velvet surface and pull up the picture we’d been staring at during the lecture. “Is this you, Pen?”
Pen doesn’t answer immediately; they just give a nervous laugh. But finally, they say, “Well, go on, then. How’d you find me out?”
“It’s clearly you,” Heli says, suppressing a smile. “The cardigan, the tattoos—”
“The cat memes,” I add.
