Page 114 of Ruthless Court

Noor raises her cup.

“To research.”

Lila lifts one hand from the wheel.

“To repeated trials.”

I eat the fry.

“Strictly academic. He’s not for me. Too much testosterone paired with drama.”

“Girl… maybe you are cray cray…” Noor motions with her fingers by her ear circling with her index finger.

I sigh, as I sit back into the seat. “Dual personalities. That’ll scare him off.”

“I still don’t understand why you want to ‘scare’ off Kane freaking Haverhill.”

“Then I guess after a month you still don’t know me.”

Noor catches my eyes in the rearview as she turns the left blinker on. “I do. You need a nerdy bookie… maybe he’s into eighteenth century German poetry and organic gluten-free scones. Imported ones.”

“YASSS!” I scream. “Where is he?”

“Down Salem street throwing down fives at the drag bar. Girlie… your dream man is gay—whereas Haverhill…,” Lila snorts.

“Is not for me. Period. End of story. Mark it in the footnotes.”

“Me thinks, you protest too much,” she throws a fry at me.

“He’s hot okay. But Krista? Eww— I don’t want her leftovers.”

“Kane Haverhill a leftover? I’m dying. Only Hannah thinks The KANE HAVERHILL is a LEFTOVER. Honey, he’s a main meal.”

“More like Krista’s midnight snack,” I retort.

Dead silence ensues. “No. I’m not jealous. I’m not.” I repeated more to myself than for them.

“Okayyy…” Noor turns on the radio and that is that. Or so I thought.

Eleven

KANE

Hannah Goodwin exists.

Sandy does not.

I confirm both before I get home.

Hannah’s social media is almost empty. One profile picture. Dark hair down, no glasses, small silver hoops, the same black top she wore tonight.

Archaeology major.

Chicago.

Freshman.

Her account has fewer than two hundred followers and no public posts. Most tagged photos are from high school academic events, graduation, and one youth basketball team account that posted her standing beside seven middle-school boys.