Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
When Marketing ends, I check for notifications.
Your order has been delivered.
I clap around my books and weave through the people funneling out of classes.
Escaping through the door, I aim for MSC.
The smell of fried food from The Hive hits me the second I open the door.
It’s already packed in here, but I snag my package, ask a friend in line to order me a quesadilla and bolt out the second I have it in hand.
The grease burns my hands, but I inhale lunch on my way to the lounge.
When it comes to lunch, I’m not a Hive-and-hide kind of person.
That’s Ayumi’s MO. I crave Saga’s chaos and possibility.
But today, this package is heralding Christmas morning. I’m not waiting another two hours.
Running into the suite, I almost flatten Ayumi herself. “Oh. Hey. Where have you been? You’re, like, nowhere lately.”
“Oh,” she says, quiet as ever. “Um, G2?” She points up.
I open my mouth to ask more, but she escapes out the door without another word.
Okay, then.
Tossing the last of my quesadilla on the lounge coffee table, I rip open the cardboard. A brand-new Bible. Hardcover, crisp pages, spiral-bound. The wide margins beg to be filled with the ink of these pretty, aesthetic pens.
I flip to Esther again and melt into the pages.
She’s the Katniss Everdeen of the Bible—brave because she has to be, risks everything for her people, and clever too. She stays in the danger. She sacrifices.
I write, underline, highlight in every pen. With every flip of a page, life flows from the words into color. It’s alive. I don’t realize how much time has passed until the clunk of the stairwell door jolts me to reality. I check my watch.
I’m late!
My pile of books bounces in my arms as I sprint to class. The whole way, I wish I had covered up my Bible. It’s not really a secret, but it’s private. Precious. Just for me and Jesus.
Snagging the seat next to Izzy, I dodge a questioning glance from our Bible professor.
I only missed a couple minutes. And now after running full speed, sitting still feels impossible.
He drones on about expectations for our exegesis paper.
It’s all in the syllabus, so I tune it out and busy myself with calc problems.
Izzy edges in. “Free tonight to be our adopted G3-er? Now that you’re a free woman.”
I’d normally save tonight to see Austin, but … Future Sophie rattles the door of the closet. A no-Austin night would really be for the best.
“Yeah, I think so. What’s the adventure tonight?”
“Glow-in-the-dark putt-putt after dinner.”
I should be thrilled. I think I am. But my mind is still tangled in Esther’s story, in the way I couldn’t stop reading. Something magnetic is in those pages. I just want to slip back there. But what if Austin asks to hang out tonight? I can’t survive that again. I need a solid plan.
“I’m in.”
At her room after my run, Izzy digs through her bursting closet.
“So, Miss Recently Single. You don’t seem bummed.”
My stomach twists. Not this topic. “Not really.”
“Cruel.” She says it like a compliment, pulling out a pair of maroon pants. “Tell me more.”
“I just shouldn’t have dated Leo.” I busy myself by running a hand over the pants. “This color is so fun.”
“Why not?”
“Kinda knew it wouldn’t work out.” I hold them up to her waist. “Are you gonna go tone on tone or pair it with a neutral?”
“Why was it not going to work out?”
I suppress a sigh. “Eh, a vibe thing. This is such a good cut too. You could go crop top or bodysuit or oversized.”
“Fine, don’t tell me.”
I bite my lips together. I have to give her something. “I … like someone else. It’s a major secret, okay?”
“How juicy.”
“Have your eye on anyone?” I ask too quickly. “I hear A2 is full of snacks.”
“Wait, Austin Scott?” She twists around. “He’s in your little crew, isn’t he?” A dangerous smirk. “I bet you could snag a date.”
Izzy isn’t known for her discretion. I eye the door.
“Oh, you want him, like, long-term?” She huffs a laugh. “You might have noticed he’s, like, Mayberry famous.”
I shrug and stand. Can’t afford to spill anything else.
“You aim high, girl. So what’s your plan?” She whips through shirt after shirt.
I mess with the hair on the back of my neck, ooching toward the doorway. “No plan. He doesn’t know, and he can’t.”
Unimpressed, she rips a shirt off the hanger and changes clothes like we’re in a locker room. “Do you, boo. Now down to your room. Can I pick your fit?”
Passing Turner Hall, I look for a blank set of poster boards in the windows. Yesterday, the second message was completed:
NO
SPOILERS
YET
The hangman game has been the talk of campus.
Whoever is orchestrating this is brilliant.
Only sending the social handle to those who texted the for-sale signs number made it feel like a big secret.
So of course it spread like wildfire. On our tiny campus, hundreds of votes stream in every night for which letters should be next.
But today, not one poster is left in a window.
As if it never happened. Someone went to so much trouble to get permission from dozens of residents in Turner Hall to leave blanks and letters in their windows, but without a whisper of who’s behind it.
I can’t wait to figure out who made that happen.
And why. I ask the gaggle of G3-ers as we walk, but no one has more than guesses and hearsay.
“The post said a new one should be up tonight, right?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Jenny says. “I saw posters in the Albert Hall windows today. Just Flooders and A1.”
“No way. Albert now?”
“Yep,” Izzy says. “I thought for sure it was a girl.”
“Me too. But it still could be. If she knows the right people.”
They look at me, but I wave them off. “I wish I came up with this. I have no idea who’s doing it.”
“Ask your boy Austin,” Izzy says. “If the letters are on Flooders now, he’ll know something.”
“Ask Davis Powell,” I deflect. “You say he knows everyone.” I still have no idea who that is, but the G3-ers dissect his life like he’s a celebrity.
“Jenny?” Izzy kicks her.
She laughs. “I’ll ask. But the letters aren’t even on his floor.”
We arrive at dinner in a pack. Saga may be at the far corner of campus, but it’s the town square of Mayberry.
There’s Austin, leaning back, unfairly resting his hands behind his head.
Not okay in short sleeves, buddy. He’s oblivious to his manly perfection, chatting with Ethan, Zoe, Levi, and Mateo.
Judging by all the plates on his tray, he had seconds—at least. And then he spots me mid-chuckle.
The second our eyes meet, his grin deepens, slow and easy. His arms drop.
I’m dying to go over there, but that dangerous hope threatens. I tear my gaze away and steel myself—for what, I don’t even know.
Izzy raises an eyebrow. “He really is yummy.”
I burst into “Backseat Driver” to avoid answering. I mean, I’m living this song.
To her credit, Izzy jumps in like it’s karaoke night. She even knows my TobyMac songs. We fill our trays, and I follow the others to the G3 table.
“No way.” Izzy pulls my arm. “I’m coming to your table.”
“But—”
Something about her face reminds me of Tom Tom in 13 Going on 30. Dread courses through my veins. What if she says something? What if, with a misplaced word, she blows up my suddenly tenuous friendship with Austin? “Izzy. Wait.”
“Good, Kit’s not here,” she says. “She’s, like, too pretty to be friends with us. It weirds me out.”
I frown and try to keep up. “Izzy.”
Ethan stands from his spot next to Austin, and she plows straight for it.
Someone taps my shoulder from behind. “Hey, Scarlett.”
I spin around. Denim jacket guy? From the thrift store? He smells just as good.
My mouth opens before my brain catches up. “Bruce Springsteen goes to Mayberry?”
He rocks back on his heels, enjoying the recognition. “Sure do. You going to mini-golf tonight?”
“Yeah, actually.” How does he know about that?
He shifts. “Can I … be your date? Might be nice to have someone fetch your balls and your drinks. From what I know of Miss Scarlett, she’s accustomed to luxury.”
My brain stutters. This guy? A date?
“Oh, nothing but the best,” I manage.
His brow rises into his messy brown hair, as if to plead. Dark-brown eyes. He really is cute.
My head spins. My thoughts scramble for footing. I’m ten feet from Austin and dying to see what havoc Izzy is wreaking in my life. But I can’t spin around and look at him while this guy asks me out. Not if I want to protect my secret. Bruce here can see him, but he’s watching me.
I force a breezy tone. “All I know about you is you have great taste in denim jackets.”
Ready smile. Spirited eyes. I wonder if he likes adventures.
Not him.
Was that you?
“Fair enough,” he says. “I’m a native Texan, I love fried ice cream, and I can ski—water and snow. Does that help?” He reaches a hand out, like an afterthought. “Oh, and my name is Davis Powell.” I try to shift my tray, but he can only jiggle my hand.
My fingers tingle. They actually tingle.
“You’re Davis Powell, huh?” A2. G3’s brother floor. We know the same people.
He smirks. “You’ve heard of me.”
“A little.” A lot.
He crosses his arms like he’s got all day to stand here and play. “What have you heard?”
That he’s a good guy. That he plans huge volunteering events off campus. That he’s not really a Christian anymore but still goes here because the international business program is top notch. That he and Austin are childhood bros.
I just broke up with Leo, but I dunno. This guy could actually be an Austin remedy. Enough to get my mind off him for good. And it’s a compliment that Davis is even talking to me.
“This and that,” I tease. I readjust my grip on the tray between us.
“Not like this, Samwise.” Levi’s voice. “Trust me.”
At that, I twist to peek at our table. Austin is standing, apparently livid, and Levi presses him back down to his seat. What is that about? I need to get over there. At least Izzy is busy chatting up Mateo.
“Are you with Scott now?” Davis sends a wary glance that direction.
“Who? Oh.” No one calls him that. “We’re just friends.”
“People say you two are tight, so I kinda wondered.”
I gape.
He chuckles. “Sophie Appel, right? I’ve heard of you too.”
“What have you heard?” I hear myself ask.
“That you’re fun. And you can sing.” He nudges me. “But the girls didn’t mention how pretty you are.”
I try to laugh, but it sounds like a squeak.
“I’ll be at mini-golf tonight,” he says. “Offer’s open if you change your mind. Or after, just the two of us?” With a tempting grin, he turns to go. But he slows at Austin. Stops for a beat. “Didn’t think you’d mind, man,” he says.
“Didn’t ask either,” Austin says, clipped.
Davis studies him. And then he saunters toward the door, turning back to send another smile.
A concoction of unknown feelings stirs in my belly. What if this whole time, Austin was just an obstacle to finding Davis?