Chapter 7 Malena & Conrad
Malena I chose not to be—because it didn’t fucking matter.
If I was going to be ignored, and on occasion reviled, I was going to do it while having fun with my friends.
Not that I needed to explain myself to her. She didn’t even know me.
And that brought me right back to what I needed to know.
“What’s your angle?” I asked sharply.
“I was thinking of covering an event or party or gathering—whatever you guys call it. And I definitely need to see the catacombs. That’s it.
” Her cheeks lifted and she motioned her hands around directionless in front of her.
“I’ll tie it together as an exploration into why it’s so widely accepted that certain students have access to a path others can’t even see.
” She looked at me and dropped her hands.
“It’s a metaphor,” she added, like she was explaining the sky to a toddler.
“I know what a metaphor is.” I rolled my eyes. My headache making its presence known and thinning my patience. “Just like I know that a commentary on wealth and privilege isn’t exactly groundbreaking.”
“And until meritocracies become reality, the allure never gets old.” She crossed her arms. “Look, as you so astutely pointed out last night, I’m not Sabrina Alders.
But she is my roommate and best friend, and she’s at Oxford all semester.
Let me attend in her place. Say it’s on her orders.
I attend a couple of events, see the catacombs.
That’s all. I won’t disparage or name anyone. ”
Despite the hangover, a puzzle piece fell into place. That’s how she got Sabrina’s invitation. She lived with her, coincidently in the same building as me.
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable writing about something… tamer?” If I had to write something with her, I would. But I wasn’t guiding her along on a fishing expedition. “Wandering around centuries-old tunnels is a little off-color for the teacher’s pet.”
Her shoulders hiked up.
“I need something compelling for the Keller Award, so don’t you worry, I’ll be just fine.” She walked over to Dillian’s desk and dropped a stack of marked-up pages in one of his baskets.
I was going to ask her what the motivation was behind winning, but judging by the length of that résumé, she needed something else to put on her fridge at home.
“But call me pet again…” She walked back to her desk, narrowing her eyes and dropping her fake smile into a scowl. “And you can deal with the claws.”
My skin tingled. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
She crossed her arms. “Do we have a deal?”
This was probably a terrible idea, but she was right: if I had to tell my dad about this elaborate ruse, I was fucked. “We share both bylines—the paper and the submission—and you’re only there until the article is written.”
Her face brightened.
“Try not to sound so glum,” she encouraged sweetly. “This will be your first byline, you should enjoy it.”
I rolled my eyes.
“And don’t worry…” She rocked forward onto her tiptoes and patted my head like a good dog. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I’ll be gentle.”
My stomach flipped.
She dropped back down and held out her hand. “Give me your phone.”
“Why?” I asked, but my brain took a few seconds to catch up to my body—which seemed perfectly content doing what she wanted because I pulled my phone out of my pocket.
She rolled her eyes. “I know finding things on the first try is hard for some guys, so I’m going to put my number in it.”
My cheek twitched and I handed her my phone.
“Let me know when the next event is.” She tapped her fingers along the screen, then handed it back to me.
Before I could say anything else, she turned and walked out the door. I stood there and ran back every thing I’d just agreed to.