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“Ow!” I cried, rubbing the spot on my bicep where she hit me.
Honk—honk.
“You’re starting to like him, aren’t you?”
“What?” I pulled a face, grimacing. “No. That’s absurd. I’ve only talked to him for, like, two weeks. Not even. That would be crazy.”
“Crazy or not, it’s true.”
Honk—honk—honk.
“No way.” I shook my head.
“Mmhm,” Scarlett murmured, then finally turned her eyes to the road and pressed the gas. “Fine. If you don’t like him, are you still on your quest to get a juicy piece of dirt on him? You know, for insurance or revenge or whatever.”
“I’m playing it by ear,” I said, refusing to meet her gaze, knowing how that would sound.
Scarlett grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “Fair enough. But I just have one question.”
I stiffened and braced myself. I had a feeling I didn’t want to hear it. “What?”
“Once you’re ready to admit you maybe kinda like him, when are you going to tell him that you’re actually Julie?”
I crossed my arms over my chest, annoyed with the question even as my stomach sunk to my feet. “It’s not going to happen, so there’s no need. The plan isn’t totally off. Like I told you, I’m watching and waiting. Once I have what I need, Julie can simply vanish into thin air. No harm, no foul.”
“Right,”Scarlett drawled, and I hated how she saw too much.
Chapter 16
PENELOPE
Mylegshookfuriouslyunderneathmydesk.
I sat in econ, waiting for Topher to show up, my conversation with Scarlett fresh on my mind.
Deep down, I knew what I was doing was wrong, a mistake at best, and I couldn’t keep up the charade forever. Even if I didn’t give into Homecoming, sooner or later, he was going to ask Julie out, and I’d be faced with either telling him the truth or rejecting him before he discovered I was playing him. Only I wasn’t fully lying to him, was I? Everything I told him about myself was true. Our conversations were one hundred percent authentic. I was just lying about one teeny tiny detail—my name.
My gaze shot to the door as Topher sauntered inside. I tried not to stare, but it was hard, all things considered. His wild blond hair was untamed like he just rolled out of bed, and his hooded eyes and a lazy smile made him look sleepy in the most adorable way.
He made his way to his seat, only instead of sitting behind me, he sat next to me and in front of his friends.
When he caught me staring, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe it was that he didn’t care because he nodded in greeting before his eyes flickered from my face, down the length of my body.
I crossed my legs, feeling every inch of the exposed skin from my skirt, thinking maybe this outfit had been a bad idea.
Ridiculously self-aware, I glanced back at him one last time to see him grin.
“‘Sup, P,” he said in his raspy voice.
My insides squeezed. “Uh, not much.” Then I pressed my lips together and turned toward the front of the class before my cheeks could get any hotter, and when Ms. Stone entered, I felt awash with relief.
Twenty minutes later, the class was knee-deep in a lecture on producer and consumer surplus when I heard the rumblings of a chuckle behind me. I slouched slightly as my pencil scratched over my notebook and ignored the burning in my ears that told me whatever was so funny had something to do with me.
Years of being the focus of Royal pranks had made me paranoid. And for good reason.
When I felt something hit the back of my neck, my hand reflexively moved toward it to find a little ball of paper tangled in my hair.
A spit wad. Gross.
