Truly Devious (Truly Devious #1) - Maureen Johnson Page 0,32
was tall, with a shock of partially curly, partially wild dark hair that likely hadn’t seen a pair of scissors in months. Many people in the yurt were casually dressed, but David was leaning a little more toward shabby—cargo shorts with visible wear and holes; a thin, dark-blue T-shirt with a logo that had faded into obscurity; broke-down-looking skate shoes.
In that first moment, Stevie had the feeling she had met David before. Something about him that just had a suggestion of . . . something she couldn’t place. Something that made her brain itch.
“This is David,” Ellie said from her position clinging to his torso. “He’s the last member of House Minerva. Say hello, David.”
Stevie had a strange thought that she really hoped he didn’t say “hello, David” in reply, but that was exactly what happened. Another point on the scorecard. Maybe people at Ellingham were not so different after all.
David’s eyes, which were deep brown and bright, went right to hers, as if he had clocked her disapproval. His peaked brows peaked a bit higher into his forehead, and he gave a long, thin smile. He set Ellie down on the back of the sofa and dropped between Stevie and Nate in a space not quite big enough for him to fit. Ellie did the introductions as she decorated David’s hair with loose feathers from her boa.
David dug into a pocket and produced a battered deck of cards.
“Pick one,” he said, presenting the pack to Stevie. As he leaned in, Stevie picked up a number of scents. There was something low and funky that she couldn’t place, along with the stale air from a plane.
Stevie did not want to pick a card, but the pack was outstretched. So she pulled one out.
“Look at it,” David said. “Don’t show me.”
Stevie eyed the jack of hearts in her palm.
“Okay,” David said, tipping his head back, looking at the ceiling of the yurt. “Is it . . . the three of clubs?”
“No.”
“Okay. The six of diamonds?”
“No.”
“The ace of spades?”
“No.”
David hmmed. Nate shifted in commiseration, but Janelle gave an obliging smile. Ellie draped herself over the back of the sofa.
“Seven of hearts?” he said.
“You should probably give up now,” Stevie replied.
“No, no,” he said, “I always get it within the first fifty-two guesses.”
That got a little laugh from Janelle, but Stevie suspected it was simply politeness.
“Okay,” David said, looking back down and taking a deep breath. “Last guess. Is it . . . the king of clubs?”
Stevie held up the jack of hearts.
“Yeah,” he said. “I wasn’t going to guess that. I was just naming cards.”
He plucked the card from her hand and shoved it back in the deck. Stevie felt a burning rush of blood to her cheeks. Was this mockery? What the hell did it mean? Stevie could handle mockery. What she couldn’t stand was not understanding. The yurt was close and the air thick.
Ellie gently whacked David on the head, sending feathers flying.
“You’re so dumb, David,” she said affectionately. She gave Stevie a reassuring smile over his head. “I was starting to worry you weren’t coming.”
“I almost didn’t make it,” he said. Then, to everyone, he said, “I was a little distracted last year.”
“He sat in his room and smoked weed and played video games,” Ellie clarified.
“You make it sound like I was doing nothing,” David replied. “It was all research.”
“David makes video games,” Ellie said. “Or he says he does.”
“So,” David said. “Who are you people?”
More introductions went around, thanks to Janelle. Nate was again singled out as the one who wrote that book that one time. And then they got to Stevie.
“She researches crime,” Janelle said.
“Researches crime?” he repeated. “What does that mean?”
“What it sounds like,” Stevie said.
“You . . . watch a lot of Discovery ID?” he said.
She did watch a lot of Discovery ID, as it happened. That was the all-murder channel. She did not say this, though.
“She does criminology and things like that,” Janelle said, maybe a little defensively. “And she knows everything about the Ellingham case. That’s why she’s here.”
“What, are you here to solve it?” he asked.
Stevie gulped in some air.
Yes, that was kind of the plan. But no one else was supposed to say it, and they really weren’t supposed to say it like that. It was like he had just taken her dreams, which had been floating so gently and rising so high this whole day, and with one prick of a pin, popped them, exploded them. Rubbery dream pieces all