“Mostly, you look like a bookworm.”
“Probably because I didn’t know my birth parents until I was pretty much fully grown.”
“That makes sense. So, um, yeah. If you’re the Prez’s daughter…”
“Rex,” she offers, as if she thinks I’m testing her.
“Your mom’s Rachel Laker?”
“She’s why I’m here.”
“She’s an alumnus?”
“No. Before… I attended Juilliard and Columbia in a combined liberal arts major.”
“Wait, aren’t you studying to be an attorney?”
Her grin’s sheepish. “Yeah. Oakwood’s law program leads the country so I transferred. Guess I wanted to follow in her footsteps.”
“You’re a junior, right?”
She nods. “I hated majoring in English. God, I felt like crap for constantly changing my mind. First schools, then majors…”
“That’s why you wanted to become a Veronian?”
Sheepishly, she mutters, “Wanted to prove I could stick to something while maybe helping my family in the future."
I whistle. “The dumb shit we do.”
“At least you meant well. I wanted to prove that I’m not a stupid kid by being a stupid kid.”
“Parents are duty bound to always see us as their stupid kids. It’s in the job description.”
“Last night, I felt as if I were writingtheirjob description. ‘Must corral wayward nerd daughter who thinks a secret society is a way to impress her cool parents.’” When my nose wrinkles, she chortles. “You can think it. Thank you for not saying it.”
“What?!”
“The only thing cool about me is that my hands never get warm.” At my chuckle, she sneaks me a smile. “You doing okay?”
She deserves my candor: “No. But I will be.” And not only because Maxim is heading over here later.
“How do you know that?”
“Because we have to get on with it. Or we freeze.” I run my finger around the rim of Shay’s coffee cup. “I truly believe he’d have killed me last night.”
“That’s what scares me. More than… well, it rammed home what they are. I’m frightened of losing myself to this numbskull idea of mine, Victoria. My parents would think I was cool if I suddenly started appreciating Metallica. Here I am, upping the stakes to Shonda Rimes’ level suspense.”
I stick out my pinkie finger. “Let’s make ourselves a deal. If we think we’re going too far, then we yank each other back and make the other see sense.”
Relief colors her cheeks. “That sounds like a good deal to me. What if… we don’t, though.”
“Then we stick together.”
“Agreed.”
As we curl our pinkies together, I ask, “Do you think I’m a monster?”
“I think we’re about to get into bed with a whole bunch of monsters and they’re not called Mike and Sulley.”
