Prologue #2
Scout stared back at him like he was plotting three hundred different ways to kill him and dispose of his body.
Archer just laughed again, because yeah, that was Scout.
Except he was off.
I mean, I’d be off too if I was spending Christmas in Vienna with my family, but mostly that was because I’d have to put Squirrel in a kennel, which was never gonna happen.
But Christmas in Vienna was very on-brand for the Talbot-Smiths, and you’d think Scout would be happy about it.
Well, not happy, since Scout hated being happy, but at least not be so weird about it.
But there was something about his expression that was even more closed off than normal, and when he left the room without a word, I was more certain than ever that something was up.
“What about you, Arch?” Casey asked.
“I’m heading off on Thursday as well,” Archer said. “But Eli’s roommate has already left, so I’ll stay over with him until then.”
“Ew,” Briar said. “At Carmichael? Make sure you take some rat traps.” He wasn’t being mean. It was a genuine concern. “And some pajamas made out of Clorox wipes.”
Okay, maybe he was being a bit mean. Carmichael did have that reputation, though.
“It’s better now,” Archer said and we all pretended to believe him, even though he probably would have bunked down in a dumpster if Eli was there.
I grabbed another slice of pizza and stuffed it in my mouth.
Squirrel put his head on my knee, looking sad and heartbroken, so I gave him a tiny piece of the crust. I was mostly super strict about his diet because I didn’t want him to get sick, but it was almost Christmas, right? And tomorrow Dalton would be here, and then on Thursday we’d drive up to—
“Oh shit,” I said.
“What?” Casey asked me.
“I still haven’t done my laundry.”
The laundry room at Alpha Tau was on the basement level.
If you turned left at the bottom of the stairs, you found yourself in the main basement room, which was where we initiated our pledges.
I bet that place had seen some messed-up bullshit in its time, but these days all we did to the pledges was ask them questions about the history of Alpha Tau.
It was all pretty boring stuff, to be honest. If guys wanted alcohol poisoning and inappropriate touching, that was what Kappa Beta Rho was for.
The laundry room was on the right. It was a pretty narrow room with three washers and three dryers and a plastic chair you could sit on if you wanted to watch your clothes go around and around because you’d forgotten there was a whole-ass living room just upstairs that had a TV and everything.
I hauled my laundry down the stairs, happy to discover that the washing machines were free.
One of the dryers was going, though. I bundled my clothes in the first washer, loaded it up with quarters I’d borrowed from Casey and Archer, and added the laundry soap.
Then I hit the buttons to start the cycle just as Trey walked into the room.
“Hey, Marty.”
“Hey,” I said. “What’s wrong with Scout?”
Trey blinked at me. “What?”
I probably could have led with something different, but it was too late for that now. “Scout’s acting weird. Weirder than usual. What’s wrong with him?”
“Weird how?” Trey asked, and I liked that he took it as read that I knew what I was talking about. Not everybody did.
“Like, extra scowly. He was mean to Squirrel. And he got all uptight and shit when Archer mentioned Vienna. Wait,” I said as something occurred to me.
“He’s not afraid of flying, is he? Because that would be understandable.
He’d hate someone else being in control of the plane with no way to prevent plunging to a fiery death if it all goes wrong. ”
Trey raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t like flying.”
“Huh. Maybe. But something’s up Scout’s ass, and I figured you’d know what it is.”
Trey’s lips pulled together in a thin line, and he got that little divot between his brows that usually only appeared when he was trying to figure out the rooming arrangements for the year. “He hasn’t said anything’s bothering him.”
“Bro,” I said. “It’s Scout. He’d sooner wear polyester than admit something’s bothering him.”
“Not true,” Trey said. “Scout would never wear polyester.”
“Exactly,” I said. “So maybe ask about that fear of flying thing. Or, I dunno, if Vienna’s giving him flashbacks to watching The Sound of Music as a kid.” I shuddered.
“You think Scout has von Trapp trauma?”
“Why not? Maria was scarily upbeat for someone who just got landed with seven kids, and you know optimism goes against everything Scout believes in.”
Trey blinked, then said, “I’ll talk to Scout. But it’s probably nothing.”
“Maybe,” I said. I pulled out my phone and set an alarm for later to remind me to switch my laundry over to the dryer. “Hey, have you got any quarters?”
“Didn’t you already put your laundry in?”
“Yeah, but I forgot to save some for the dryer.”
Trey rolled his eyes, but he pulled some coins from his pocket and handed them over.
“Thanks!” I left him loading up his own machine and went back upstairs. When I got to the living room, everyone had disappeared except Scout, who was sitting on the couch, picking the pepperoni off a slice of pizza and glaring at it.
I sat down next to him. “Did you know that it takes fifteen hundred hours of logged flight time to become a commercial pilot?”
Scout’s left eye twitched. “Please tell me you’re not planning on becoming a pilot.”
“No. That would be awesome, though. I’m just saying. Flying is super safe.”
“I know that,” Scout said.
“Well, just in case you didn’t, now you do. So you don’t need to worry. Also, I found out those singing nuns aren’t real.”
Scout opened his mouth then closed it again.
A thought struck me. “Hey, can you bring me something back from Vienna? Like, a snow globe or something?”
“No,” Scout snapped. “I’m not fucking Santa.” He stood and stalked—no, stomped—from the room, leaving me staring after him.
For all he pretended to be an asshole, Scout hardly ever actually said no when I asked him for something—and he didn’t stomp off like a toddler either.
Something was definitely up, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t just fear of flying.
And I was going to figure out exactly what it was.