Page 41

She found it locked, as it always was.

Before

Without knocking, Alannah entered Molly’s room and threw herself onto the bed with a flop. Roy and Simon filtered in a moment later.

“Aster Bishop is the worst,” Alannah announced. “How have you survived so many classes with him?”

“It’s just three this semester,” Molly said from her desk. Three had felt like a win; Bishop seemed to have the unfortunate habit of picking the same advanced coursework she did. And for being the most obnoxiously arrogant person Molly had ever met.

“I don’t think I’ll survive sharing the one,” Alannah said.

Roy hovered near Molly’s bed, like he couldn’t decide if he should sit on it with Alannah there. Molly watched, amused by his indecision. She could have offered him her desk, but it was fun watching him squirm. She’d never known Roy with a crush before, and it was so cute seeing him bashful, watching him fuss over his clothes or his hair for the first time in literally his entire life.

He’d asked Molly the other day, doing a terrible job feigning nonchalance, if girls thought baseball was a “hot sport.” He didn’t seem to appreciate Molly’s inability to smother her smile, nor her inquiry into what constituted a hot sport to begin with.

While Roy contemplated his seating options, Molly asked, “Medieval History is going well, then?”

“There were at least three comments today about us being serfs,” Simon said. “Wasn’t even that creative, but Bishop sure thinks he’s hilarious.”

Molly’s breath caught. She hadn’t realized Simon had drifted so close to her, casually leaning a hip against her desk. He’d joined a rec rugby team halfway through their first semester, and the bulk of his new muscles and stronger frame had Molly feeling distinctly off-kilter in a very distracting way.

She ought to have taken pity on Roy, because now who would take pity on her? How was she meant to survive Simon smiling down at her like their commiseration over Aster Bishop was a shared joke?

Roy finally decided on a lean against Molly’s bed frame.

“It’s best to ignore him, I’ve found,” she said a bit faintly.

“Tried that.” Alannah rolled to her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. “It somehow made him more annoying. Apparently his watch costs more than our mom’s salary.”

“That’s when he was finally told to stop interrupting,” Roy added.

“If it’s any consolation,” Molly began, “he might be ruining Medieval History for you, but I’ve already ruined Global Ethics for him.”

Alannah let out a delighted sound. “Yes! Tell me everything.”

“He stomped up to me after class the other day. Said I was looking smug when we got our first paper back and wanted to know my grade.”

“Annnnnnnd?” Alannah prompted.

“I gave him my smuggest grin when I told him I got a perfect score.” She paused before adding, “I might have also implied he had some inherited ethical deficits working against him, what with using his daddy’s connections as primary sources and all. Apparently he interviewed a senator and a CEO.”

Simon let out a cackle that bloomed warm pride beneath Molly’s skin. Roy, on the other hand, shook his head and said, “That is the nerdiest insult I’ve ever heard.”

“It got to him though,” Molly said. “He called me Charity Case and stormed out. Hasn’t bothered me since.”

Chapter 5

Alannah Waters

Molly might not have opened all the floodgates she’d been avoiding, but she’d certainly opened some of them. Rather than being swept to sea as she might have expected, she found herself awash in Bishop’s—Aster’s—charm: a version of him she never knew existed. The whirlpool she’d found in his eyes after leaving the hospital had started spinning faster, pulling her in, orbiting them both around some unknown force at the center that drew them either toward drowning or dry land.

“What do I even wear to a one-year-old’s birthday party?” Molly asked.

Aster appeared by the bedroom door, which she’d left open without considering the novelty of it. Another barrier bypassed in the strangeness of getting to know the man she lived with. He did, however, continue treating the room as off-limits if she was in it, an honorable attempt at respecting boundaries. But presently, she needed help picking something to wear, and all he seemed interested in doing was leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets and legs crossed at the ankles, looking far too amused and casually elegant for his own good.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Quit looking so smug and please help.” It was difficult enough to acknowledge that his image-obsessed upbringing had its benefits. There was something bizarre and unsettling about wanting to make a good impression with the whole Clay clan—people she’d known for years—when it felt like she was meeting some of them for the first time again.

“As the lady commands,” he said, the barest hint of a smile peeking through. With the faintest hesitation, he stepped into the room. “Considering this fête will most likely be . . . fairly chaotic, let’s start by finding something you’ll be comfortable in. No one should suffer the dual agony of physical and emotional discomfort.”