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Fine.
“I promise. Really,” I said lightly, genuinely.
That he read as the truth. Tray nodded, kissing me hard and then crawled back in bed.
He looked gorgeous, well, he looked gorgeous when he was awake, but there was an angelic perfection to him when he closed his eyes like that.
I sighed, recognizing the forbidding feeling in my stomach. So I left. Fully content to stay in denial land.
Parking in the lot at school, I went to the locker room and changed into some different clothes. It was just a baggy hoodie and jeans, but it worked. I was comfortable. But I’d kept the tank-top I wore last night on. It smelled of Tray—I know. I’m acting like one of those sickening girls.
Everyone noticed the social elite was missing and that I was there. After my fourth yawn, the sound not silenced, my teacher suggested politely, “You are excused, Miss Matthews, to get some coffee.”
I blinked, tiredly, and then left, heading straight for the coffee cart. Thank goodness our administration felt sympathetic for the young hard-working plight of the over-achieving student body—which often equated to no sleep.
Juniors and seniors got special privileges—off campus lunches and coffee!
I chose study hall for second period and scoured the internet, bringing up anything I could find on Jace and Galverson—which wasn’t a whole lot except arrest notifications.
I made it till fourth period where I slumped into the seat next to Molly.
She was still wearing the pink frames.
“Hi!” She blinked in surprise.
“Hey.” I yawned.
“Where is everyone?” she asked, eager for the gossip. “Everyone’s gone. Like, they’re all skipping.”
No, not everyone was missing—just the social elite, which apparently, are the only ones that count.
I pointed out, “I’m not skipping.”
“Yeah, but,” she rolled her eyes before continuing, “you’re not…you’re one of us. You know what I mean.”
“Anyway,” I changed the subject, uncaring if it was rude, “you’re a science person.”
“Hmm?”
“So, are you good with computers, too?”
“Uh—”
“Or do you know anyone who’s good with computers? And I’m talking, like, really, really good with computers. Like a hacker?” I whispered.
“A hacker?” Molly squeaked, flushing.
“Yeah,” I said dryly, but my eyes were drawn to her neck. “Oh my God!”
“What?” She looked down, flushing again when she realized what I was looking at. “Oh.”
“That’s a hickey.” It sounded like an accusation.
Molly didn’t answer, she was too busy blushing. Like a full-out, full-body blush.
“Larkins called.” I smiled widely, nodding in approval. “Good for him.”
“Please,” she mumbled, avoiding my gaze.
