Chapter 23
ANTHONY
“Do you think we should go over it again?” West chews on his bottom lip. “Do one more dress rehearsal?”
“I think we’ve got it,” I tell him. “Anything more and we’ll be overpreparing.”
“It’s so stupid.” He scrubs his hand through his fluffy hair. “I know it’s only a class project, and it’s only worth eight percent of our grade, but it’s like my nervous system can’t tell the difference between a presentation and being chased by hungry wolves.”
“Do you get stage fright?”
“Big time.” He leans back against my couch and spreads his knees in a classic manspreader pose.
“I’m not shy or an introvert or anything like that, but it’s like I forget everything I’ve ever known about whatever I’m supposed to be presenting when I have to speak in public.
” He huffs out a soft laugh. “I used to count ahead when we’d read out loud in class so I’d know which line or paragraph would be mine, and I’d practice it instead of listening to what everyone else was reading.
And I still have nightmares about being asked to tell the class about myself or share a few interesting facts with everyone as an icebreaker.
” He shoots me a sardonic smile. “I bet you don’t have that problem. ”
“No, I don’t. But you’ll be fine.” I gently pat his thigh. “Just picture me naked if you get nervous.”
He bursts out laughing. “Yeah, like that’s going to help. Then I’ll just be tongue-tied and have a giant boner instead of just being tongue-tied. That’s not going to be sus at all.”
“Does anything help with the nerves?”
He shakes his head, but stops abruptly. “Well, that’s not entirely true. Being drunk or high helps, but something tells me Professor Morris might not be happy with me showing up to class wasted.”
“That probably won’t go over well,” I agree.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t run through it one more time?” he asks, motioning to our laptops, which are still open on the coffee table in front of us.
“I’m sure.”
“I hate the waiting game,” he says and scrubs his hand through his hair in a move that I’m recognizing means he’s feeling out of sorts and his mind is racing.
“What do you mean?”
I’m pretty sure I know exactly what he’s talking about, but I’ve noticed that it helps when West names the things he’s struggling with so he can process it faster. It also helps me understand him better, so it’s a win-win for both of us.
“It’s kind of hard to explain without sounding like I’m insane, but it’s like I can’t wait for something to happen and keep going on with my life until it does.
Like, if I have an appointment at one in the afternoon, I’ll start thinking about it the moment I wake up, and it’ll be one of the only things I can think about all day.
” He sneaks a look at me, like he’s making sure I’m not laughing at him or judging him.
“I’ll make a plan to make sure I get there on time, like I need to get dressed at this time, and get in the car at this time because it’ll take X amount of time to get there.
I’ll even build in a little cushion for traffic or other delays to make sure I’m on time and prepared, and I’ll still be late and forget half of what I need because I spent so much time obsessing over the details that I get nothing else done all day.
And I’m so flustered and overwhelmed from everything that’s piling up on me that I freeze or shut down and can’t do anything.
” He shoots me a cynical smile. “Even explaining it makes me feel insane.”
“You’re not crazy,” I tell him. “That sounds like executive dysfunction and time blindness.”
“I’ve heard those terms,” he says, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Are they ADHD things?”
I nod. “The twins are bad for that too, and it’s not their fault, the same as it isn’t yours.”
“I wish other people understood that,” he mutters. “I’ve been told my whole life that I just need to focus and pay attention and take things more seriously, and all these issues will just magically go away. Guess they were wrong because I’m almost twenty-one and things are just getting worse.”
“My dad told me something that really stuck with me,” I say, choosing my words carefully.
I don’t want to invalidate West’s feelings, but I also don’t want him to believe the shit people have been saying about him because none of it is true.
“He said that everyone I meet will have opinions about me and will judge everything I do, and I can either spend my time and energy trying to make myself fit into what they want me to be, or I can realize that their opinions don’t mean shit and it’s not worth wasting my time caring about them or their thoughts. ”
West nods slowly, and I can see that he’s mulling over what I said.
The opening notes of “Bella Ciao” play as my phone lights up with a call.
“I have to get that,” I tell West.
“Do you want me to…” He points to my door.
“It’s fine. This shouldn’t take too long.” I swipe to answer my dad’s call. “Ciao, Papa.”
“Anthony,” my father says in place of a greeting. “I’m glad I caught you,” he continues, switching to Italian. “Are you busy?”
“No, just hanging out with a friend,” I say, also speaking in Italian.
My dad speaks fluent English, the same as his parents, my grandparents, and my great-grandparents, but he prefers to speak Italian with family because it keeps us connected to our roots.
And because it’s harder for people to eavesdrop and use your conversations against you if they have to translate everything you say first.
West’s eyes widen when he hears me speak Italian, but he grabs his phone and quickly pretends to get immersed in his Instagram feed.
“I won’t keep you long,” my dad says, and by the tone of his voice, he’s pissed about something. “But this couldn’t wait.”
“What’s going on?”
“I heard there was an issue at the house with an outsider breaking in and using information that no one should have access to to move around,” he says, and I can’t tell if he thinks I know about this and have hidden it from him, or if he’s just relaying the information.
“What do you know about this?” he asks, and I still can’t tell if he already knows we’re involved in this.
“I know a few things,” I tell him.
He listens as I go through everything from seeing Xave at the party and catching him breaking into the mystery room to confronting Damon and getting a copy of the app.
“Did you figure out what was in the room that boy broke into?” he asks after a pregnant pause.
“Liam did,” I tell him. “It was built around a new breaker box and a part of their house server that they installed when they upgraded their security over the Christmas break. From what Liam said, the only reason he even figured it out was that he caught some chatter from Carter, the Rebel’s tech guy, about finding the approved building plans, and Liam was able to use that info to track them down.
I didn’t really understand the technical jargon, but he basically said the plans were deliberately concealed and he never would have found them if Carter hadn’t found them first.”
“That’s not surprising considering who Carter is and what he’s capable of,” my dad says dryly. “And that same boy, Xave, is the one who was breaking into the house so he could meet up with his boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
“And you think making him pinky promise through his boyfriend is enough to stop him from using the information he has against you for helping him to cover it up?”
“He could try,” I say with a shrug, even though he can’t see me. “But I know more than enough of his secrets to come out on top if he’s stupid enough to use my goodwill against me.”
“As long as you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Are you handling this in-house, or is the leadership involved?” he asks.
“In-house. Liam’s holding them off for as long as possible.”
“Just make sure this doesn’t blow up in your face,” he says. “I trust your judgment, and your logic is sound. Just remember what I told you. Knowledge is power —”
“Knowledge is power,” I say at the same time as him.
“I’ll let you get back to your evening,” he says, but he can’t hide the hint of interest in his voice. “And to your friend,” he adds a little extra emphasis on the word. “Now that I know everything is under control.”
“It is. And if things suddenly go sideways or there’s a hiccup, you’ll be the first to know.”
“How about we make sure that doesn’t happen?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“And you and your friend are having a good night?” It’s so obvious he’s fishing for information that I have to bite back a laugh.
I know he’s so interested because I kept West anonymous. If I were hanging out with Hazen or Connor or Rath, or anyone else he knows or I’ve mentioned to him before, I would have just used their name. Calling West my “friend” was a deliberate choice, and it did exactly what I knew it would.
“We are,” I say, purposely keeping my tone casual. “He’s a new friend,” I add, because I know it’ll make my dad’s brain itchy to not get the details he wants.
“A new friend?” he asks, trying and failing to sound casual.
“Yup. Well, that’s not entirely true. He’s an old friend, we’re just a new kind of friends now.”
There’s a slight pause on the line. “Is he just a friend?” Dad asks. “Or is this your way of telling me you’re seeing someone?”
“I’m seeing someone,” I say. “It’s new, and we’re figuring it out, but you can tell Mom he’s more than a friend.”
“Does he have a name?” Dad asks dryly.
“He does, but I’ll tell both of you more about him at another time because I remember someone telling me it’s rude to talk about a guest when they’re sitting next to you but can’t understand what you’re saying.”
He laughs. “Fair enough. But you know your mother is going to want all the details.”
“I know, and she’ll get the ones she needs to know,” I assure him. “Tell her I’ll call her this weekend and she can grill me all she wants then.”
“I’ll do that.” He pauses. “You like this boy?”
“I do.”