Page 18 of Five

“What did he need?” Kate asks. It’s her dangerous voice. The voice she reserves for the collegiate debate finals each year.

Oliver looks uncomfortable, but I can’t tell if it’s because he knows what Five was doing and doesn’t want to say, or it’s just Kate’s growl. “I’m not sure. I just know I went inside to get—” He stops short.

“What?” Kate demands. “What did you go inside to get?”

Oliver looks to the left, his tell for lying.

“Don’t even think about lying, Ollie,” I say, doing my best to make my words all serious and menacing like Kate can.

“I wasn’t. I just needed to get him something. And I can’t tell you what because it’s a surprise. For you, Rory.”

“Liar!” Kate says. “You better tell the truth or else I’ll—”

But then my phone dings a weird chime. I look at it, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.

“Who’s that?” Kate asks, leaning in to get a look at my screen.

“It’s…” I laugh. “It’s a Love Note. From Five.”

And it says…

01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 means ‘I love you’ in nerd.

I might melt.

“Oh, my God,” Kate says through her laugh as she grabs my hand to look at the screen. “My brother has no game at all. That is the stupidest love note ever.”

“Yeah,” I say, hugging the phone to my chest. “But it’s my stupid love note.”

And Five Aston is living in Crazytown if he thinks I’m gonna let him get away again. I don’t care what he’s doing here, he’s not leaving until he sets things straight with our happily ever after and I get the truth out of him.

Chapter Six - Five

I listen because I have no choice.

I nod my head and smile. I drink with them. I laugh with them. I eat with them.

I blend in.

Because that’s what I do.

When a guy gets into Oxford mid-year at fifteen it’s easy to think he’s something special. And when your last name is Aston you grow up with certain expectations. You will be accepted, you will be invited to things, you will be included.

And I was. I’m not complaining about how I was treated at Oxford.

But everyone who’s anyone at Oxford is an Aston. They are all old-money geniuses.

I’d heard about the infamous drinking societies. Who hasn’t? But I was fifteen. So I was ignored.

It didn’t last. By second year it became very clear that people expected things of me. When I opted out of their offers because of my age that first year, they gave me a pass. But that didn’t last either because you can legally drink at private functions if you’re sixteen and being served by an adult. By the end of second year—right around the time I was thinking about going home to Colorado for the summer to see Rory—everything changed.

And it all started with Jack Joseph.

“So…” Jack says. The night is old and the tent is filled with people now. Mostly older couples dancing and laughing. There’s a string quartet playing and the drinks are generously flowing. “What do you say to the offer, Aston?”

Our eyes meet. His are dull blue. I hate his accent. It’s so pretentiously British. “I’m not staying in the US, Jack. I’m on my way to Mars, actually.”

He bellows out a laugh so loud, several couples look over at us. “Mars,” he chortles. “Good one, Aston.”