The Anti-Prom - By Abby McDonald Page 0,83

me, dashing into the library stacks until we’re out of sight, surrounded by tall rows of books and abandoned stepladders.

I catch my breath, leaning against a section of ancient philosophy. “Sorry,” I manage to say. “I was, umm, in the middle of something.”

“Should I even ask, or is this top secret too?” Scott raises his eyebrows. He peers around a shelf and scans the floor, hand above his eyes in an exaggerated gesture. He ducks back. “All clear. He’s napping again.”

“Thanks.” I relax. Then I think of the last time I saw him — and my less than polite exit. “Did it go all right, with those sorority girls?” I bite my lip, remembering their wrath. “Sorry I had to bail like that, but . . .”

“But they were pretty mad,” he agrees. “It’s OK. I threw down gossip magazines to distract them, and eventually they went looking for easier prey.”

I blink, but then the edge of his lip tugs in a grin, and I realize that he’s joking.

“Oh.” I laugh. “Good move. Although, maybe you should keep a spare US Weekly on you, just in case they come back. Or some diet snack bars.”

“Not that, you know, we’re making shallow assumptions about those fine members of the college community,” he adds, mock-serious.

“Of course not.” I grin.

There’s a pause. Scott tilts his head to look at me. I shift slightly under his gaze, but I’m surprised to find I don’t feel self-conscious in this dress anymore. I stand a little straighter. “There was this party,” I say, waving my hand vaguely. “I was . . . trying to impress someone.”

He nods. “So, what’s this latest mission you’re on?”

“I’m not sure I’m at liberty to tell you. . . .” I reply, but my voice comes out more teasing than I meant.

He laughs. “Well, if you need any help, I just finished up here for the night.”

“This late? Ouch.”

“Finals,” he agrees, looking briefly woeful. “So if you can give me any distraction at all . . .”

“Well.” I pause, but it doesn’t just seem like an empty offer; Scott hoists up his book bag and waits expectantly. “I need to borrow an ID to break into Westville dorm.” I tell him matter-of-factly. “In the next ten minutes or so.”

He stops. “Wait, you’re serious?” He laughs. “You really are a little criminal, aren’t you?”

I give a private smile, well aware of the irony. “That’s me,” I quip lightly. “Woman of mystery. So”— I stick my hands in my hoodie pockets and give him a cautious look —“can you help?”

“Sure,” he says immediately. “Use mine.”

“Great.” I let out a breath, relieved at the plan — and the fact that he doesn’t seem outraged by my proposal of minor fraud and deception. “You’re the best.”

“Can you put that on a sticker, maybe? Or a cap.” He grins, eyes crinkling behind those square, retro glasses. “Or just keep repeating it for the rest of my life.”

Oh.

I glance away, thrown by the sudden twist in my stomach and the bright look in his eyes. But that’s ridiculous; he’s a college student. He can’t . . .

I peek back. He’s lounged against the book case, and even with mussed-up hair and a faded old T-shirt, he’s still older and cute and a hundred times cooler than I’ll ever be.

That’s enough of that.

This time, it’s my own voice drowning out those insecurities, stern enough to make me giggle.

Scott raises an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” I tell him, trying not to blush. “So, let’s see this ID of yours.”

Once I explain everything, Scott insists on coming with me, even though I could just take the ID and return it later. “It’s fine,” he promises, strolling beside me. “I was planning to have some coffee and study straight through. Besides”— he gives me a look —“I kind of want to see if you pull this off.”

“We’d better.” I walk quicker. “That diary is too dangerous to leave laying around.”

“And then what, you’ll destroy it?”

“Somehow. Although, we used up all the lighter fluid already. . . .” I giggle.

“Uh-oh.” Scott elbows me lightly, just a nudge. “You’re going to be trouble; I can tell.”

The idea that I, Meg Rose Zuckerman, could ever be trouble — let alone a woman of mystery and intrigue — would have been laughable even a day ago. But now I smile to myself, hugging my arms around me as we walk.

We round the last corner. “Is your exam first thing, or —?” The words fade from my lips as