Page 96 of Ruthless Court

None of the photos match.

Eli clicks through public social accounts next.

One Sandy has pink hair.

Another plays lacrosse.

A third is a graduate student with two children.

He points at the screen.

“This one has glasses.”

“She’s forty.”

“You’re being picky.”

“Bookworm is eighteen.”

“Nineteen?”

“Freshman.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“Keep looking.”

Ten minutes later, we have nothing.

No photos.

No tagged posts.

No obvious freshman named Sandy living in Briar, Hawthorne, or any of the older dorms.

Eli turns around.

“She gave you a fake name.”

“She shook my hand.”

“People can lie while touching you.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

I glare at him.

He smiles.

“Maybe her name is Bookworm.”

“She’s in my seminar. I’ll find out next class.”

“Then why are we doing this?”

Because next class is two days away.