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“Uh, who’s Harriet?” I ask. “Do I need to answer?” I still have to keep up appearances with anyone who’snotfamily or security. The outside world needs to think all is well. I have all my memories. Nothing to see here!
The whole pretending thing sounds like I’ve been planted in aParent Trapmovie and instructed to take the place of my long-lost twin. Only, I don’t have that twin to help guide me in this charade, which makes it infinitesimally harder.
“Harriet,” Tom groans. “Just hang up.”
“Luna wouldn’t be rude to her,” Eliot defends.
I’m befuddled. “So do I like Harriet or not?” The call is about to ring out. “Someone tell me fast.”
“You like her,” Eliot and Tom say together, and Tom adds, “But I personally have mixed, mostly negative, feelings.”
I look to Donnelly.
“She’s your lab partner at Penn.” He tells me the name of the class super quickly, and I answer on the last ring, putting the call on speaker in case I need help.
“Hey, Hi, Holy Cow,” I say and then cringe. I doubt OG Luna would say that.
“Hey, Luna,” Harriet says casually, but her tone has a bit of sour bite. “So I know you’re dealing with family stuff. But the professor told me to tell you that if you miss another lab, he’s going to fail you. He’s being more dickish than usual. I can cover the lab work—but you know I can’t actually clone you, so you’re going to have to show up.”
I don’t say anything.
“Luna?”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.”I must have a schedule somewhere. Maybe on my laptop.
“Cool. Cool,” she deadpans. “Sorry to be the bearer of shitty news.”
“It’s okay. Thanks for looping me in.”
She says a quick goodbye. When I end the call, Eliot applauds. Tom claps, a little less enthused since Harriet is involved, I’m guessing.
“Brilliant,” Eliot says and tosses sugar packets my way like rose petals. “A masterclass in acting.”
“Ten points to Hufflepuff,” Tom says.
I smile, even if residual nerves swim in my stomach. “What’s with the Harriet hate?” I ask Tom. “She sounds nice.”
“Toyou, yeah.” Tom combs a hand through his golden-brown hair. “She auditioned for the Carraways to be the drummer—”
“Daniel is on drums.”
“Daniel quit.”
“Good riddance,” Eliot says, setting down the steaming coffee pot.
Donnelly is half-listening. He’s glancing back at security. He must be tuning in more to comms.
“Harriet wasgood,” Tom says. “I admit that, but she’s seventeen, and the label doesn’t want minors in the band. So she sends me an email and asks if the spot is still available when she’s eighteen can she be considered. I say,we’re not interested in pursuing you in the future.It was very professional, was it not?” He’s asking Eliot.
“It sounded professional to me,” Eliot says, “but a little angry with the way you recited it.”
Tom lets out a long groan again. “Then she sends thisrantyemail to Warner about how I’m going to sink the band—myband! She’s trying to…usurpmy authority, and I barely know her.”
“How’d she get your personal emails?”
“She was sending them to the band’s email but addressing Warner personally, so I could see everything she wrote.” Warner is the bassist in the Carraways.Still the same there.
“But you still have no drummer?” I ask.
