Page 8 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

Elliot smiled.

ELLIOT: tragedy

The typing bubble appeared immediately.

RONAN: Don't ask me to bring it.

ELLIOT: wasn't going to

RONAN: Liar.

Elliot leaned against the wall outside the classroom.

ELLIOT: you know me so well

The bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

RONAN: Unfortunately.

Elliot's smile widened.

“What's that face?”

He locked his phone. Claire Bennett stood beside him holding a paper cup with ELLIOT written across it in thick black marker. He looked at the cup. Then at her.

“You stole my coffee.”

“I bought your coffee.”

“You bought yourself my coffee.”

“You weren't here.”

“I am standing here.”

“You weren't here seven minutes ago.”

Claire handed him the cup. Elliot accepted it.

“Thank you.”

“Vanilla latte. Extra shot.”

“I forgive you.”

“You're welcome.”

Claire had been Elliot's closest friend since their second week at Bellweather, when she'd sat beside him during freshman orientation because every other chair was occupied and informed him within three minutes that the entire event felt like a cult induction. She had not become more tactful with age. Her dark brown hair was twisted into a loose knot today, held together by what appeared to be a pencil. She wore a massive gray Bellweather sweatshirt over black leggings and had sunglasses pushed onto her head despite being indoors. She looked exhausted.

“You look terrible,” Elliot said.

“I hate you.”

“Late night?”

“Studying.”

“That's disgusting.”