Page 90 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

I was positive Lucas would be hurt and angry, that he’d pick a fight about how I must be ashamed of him. At the very least I thought Lucas would remind me that he’s been nothing but open and honest about our relationship, has proudly called me his girlfriend in front of relatives, neighbors, and classmates.

But Lucas’s apology sounds genuine.

When I’m quiet, he pulls me onto his lap. “I always thought it sucked to be the one of the poorest kids at Caltech⁠—”

“You don’t know that⁠—”

He brings his hand to my lips. “Everyone is supposed to live on campus, even transfers. Choose a house: Dabney or Fleming, Ricketts, Lloyd or Blacker. I could have taken out a loan to live on campus, but I petitioned to stay at home. Less temptation for a life I can’t afford, you know?”

I nod, because I understand perfectly. “Easier to say no to parties and outings when you’re not invited in the first place.”

Because it’s never just a party. It’s a gathering where everyone else can afford to contribute to the booze, where they have rotating outfits to choose from. It’s ski trips where everyone tells you they’ll try to keep the cost down but then you have to live with knowing you’re the reason they rented a cheaper place, the reason they’re ordering cheap pizza instead of carousing at local bars.

“I know I’m one of the poorest because when I went to the residential support office, I heard them whispering about me.”

Lucas leans forward and smooths a piece of hair away from my face. “My mother handed me a credit card, knowing neither of us could pay off anything I might charge. At the time, I felt sorry for myself. But your situation? The way your father has all the money he could want but wields it like a weapon? There’s no comparison.”

I expected anger or disbelief; Lucas has given me acceptance and understanding.

Even more than when he told me he loves me, this terrifies me. And so I do the only thing I can think of: I kiss him. I run my hands over and then under Lucas’s shirt until he’s panting, incoherently muttering about how he should be comforting me up until the moment I wrap my hands and mouth around him.

He waits until I’m pretending to be asleep before he whispers those three forbidden words into my hair.

I keep my breathing even as Lucas repeats the words as if they’re a litany, squeezing me tightly to him.

The next morning, we both fly out.

29

THE GREEN-HAIRED JEZEBEL

PRESENT

Lucas doesn’t stop me from grabbing a taxi back to the hotel, and I spend most of the afternoon in my room tracking how well our press-management strategy is going.

Surprisingly, because one always expects a gap between expectation and reality, almost everything is landing. There are pictures of Brody, winning and losing at golf. He’s a clever mimic, and some of the posing is almost identical to what was photographed at the luau, which will make the searches for him easier to obfuscate.

The pictures with Vi and Khloe e-biking are also being shared—those are more in their publicists’ traditional wheelhouse, and for every commenter who questions why they’re wearing five digits’ worth of designer clothes, even that commentary leans positive.

The only slight wrinkle are pictures of Lucas and me at the sanctuary. They capture the moments right after I ran outside the building. Because I’m in both the Brody-luau pictures and these, because my pictures with Tatum are easily unearthed, I’m suddenly the green-haired Jezebel.

And because only the good die young or stay quiet, someone digs up Arjun Gupta, who’s working at one of his grandfather’s companies:

According to Arjun Gupta, former ICPC training partner and current senior project lead at Apex Algorithmic Insights, “She was always a bit of a maneater. We all knew she made Team A because of her relationship with Lucas Murray.”

It takes the focus off of Brody and Vi, which was the purpose. And Lucas’s image doesn’t seem to be suffering, since most of the comments are variations of She’s not even that pretty, and WTF is she doing with her hair? and How’d she get those dudes? and my personal favorite What’s she even done since college?

No one actually blames Lucas; they’re too busy being offended on his behalf.

Gwendy and Daisy are, of course, blowing up my phone with text messages of love and support. I respond enough to (hopefully) convince them not to fly out and comfort me.

Brody texts, thanking me and checking in.

Vera too.

Closing my laptop, I huff out a sigh: 5:30 p.m., but it feels like death o’clock. My headache’s so awful I’m borderline nauseous.

Project Elrond’s will gather again in the morning. I sink into the couch and hope no one will notice if I skip dinner.