him.
I’m not really sure why I’m doing this dog and pony show of coming to class. It’s not like I’m going to be able to retain any piece of knowledge from this lecture, or any of the ones that follow. But if I stayed home, then I would just raise my mother’s suspicions. Right now, she thinks I’ve been a little bit more secretive because of a girl. And even though she’s not completely wrong, it would benefit me immensely if my mother continues to think all my problems only revolve around Stone.
But I guess they kind of do, don’t they?
East is also surprisingly quiet today, diligently taking notes, which is mind-boggling, to say the least. But upon closer inspection, I see what he’s really doing is sketching the profile of some girl’s head on his notebook.
Wait. I know that ponytail.
I look around the classroom and, lo and behold, just a few rows down is the girl he gave shit to a few weeks back. I’m about to tease the fucker, going for the notebook, but he’s too quick for me and stashes it in his book bag before I can reach it.
“Ah, come on now, Picasso. Don’t go shy on me. Show me what you were drawing,” I tease him.
“Stop giving me shit,” he rebukes coldly.
“Woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, did you?”
“Worse. Didn’t even make it to bed,” he laments, tapping his pencil on his knee.
“What were you doing all night? On second thought, I don’t want to know.”
“It’s not like that. I spent the whole weekend up at Lincoln’s trying to find out something about you-know-who,” he explains bitterly with a scowl deeply ingrained on his face.
“Any luck?” I ask hopefully, but the sentiment quickly disappears when East shakes his head.
“Motherfuckers are goddamn ghosts. We couldn’t find a trace of them anywhere.”
My face slumps, feeling the metaphorical noose tightening around my neck.
“Finn, we’ll find these assholes. Okay, brother?” He nudges his knee with mine, trying to uplift my spirits. “How about you, though? How are things with Stone? Is she still giving you the silent treatment?”
“We went out yesterday,” I explain with a dismal taint to each word.
“You did?” he asks, surprised.
“Kind of. Yeah.” I nod.
“So, everything is good with you guys then?” he asks skeptically. “Because you don’t look like a guy who got some last night,” he adds with a forced chuckle.
“That’s none of your business, asshole.”
“So touchy this early in the morning. But it’s cool. I’ll back off as long your head is still in the game.”
“I really wish people would stop telling me that,” I mumble under my breath, letting out a long exhale.
“Sorry, brother,” East begins, giving me a light squeeze on the shoulder. “It is what it is. Just be thankful that hanging around Stone is enough to placate, for now, whatever nefarious plan The Society is up to. Pretty soon, they’ll ask for more. You just watch.”
I start to open my mouth, ready to tell him about the box I received last night, but then shut it closed. If I tell Easton or any of the guys, they’ll pressure me into fulfilling The Society’s command. The only one who would probably have my back would be Lincoln, but I can’t be sure.
I can’t fuck this up. There are too many lives at stake, but there’s only one that I’m really worried about. And no one needs a crystal ball to know I’m not talking about my own.
Chapter 20
Finn
After four days of wracking my brain, trying to come to terms with what to do, it’s my heart that ends up making the decision. I give in to its wants and text the Southie who has plagued my mind and soul non-stop since the minute I landed eyes on her.
I look at my phone, thinking of any excuse in the book to get her to see me, but in the end, my lame ass just texts her with the douchiest one-liner that can come up with.
Me: Want to hang out or something?
Brat: Are you for real?
Me: Hmm, yeah.
Brat: I’m too busy for ‘or something’, quarterback.
Me: Aren’t Thursday’s your night off, though?
Me: And no one is too busy for ‘or something’. *winky emoji*
Brat: Yep, I’m not working tonight, but that doesn’t mean I’m not busy.
Brat: We are talking about sex, right? I never know with you. ‘Or something’ could be geek code for some meteor shower you want to take me to watch.
Me: Busy doing what?
Me: Just so