Chapter 18 #2
“Hannah!”
“I’m kidding.”
Noor looks like she has stopped processing language.
“You’re sleeping at Kane Haverhill’s?”
“I am sleeping.”
I point at all of them.
“Important distinction.”
Lila clutches a pillow against her chest.
“After one date?”
“Do you want me to stay here?”
The room erupts again.
Someone throws popcorn.
Someone else shouts that there’s plenty of floor space.
I hold up both hands.
“Stop.”
Silence returns.
Mostly.
“I am going there because this room currently resembles an evacuation shelter.”
“Romantic,” Lila says.
“I want quiet.”
“With Kane Haverhill.”
“Yes.”
“Overnight.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes become enormous.
“Potentially until Sunday.”
Noor actually chokes.
I zip the bag.
“And before anybody reaches for a phone—”
Several hands freeze.
I knew it.
“If one word of this ends up online, I will identify the responsible party, locate them, and make their death appear academically motivated.”
“Hannah,” Noor says.
“I’m serious.”
Lila slowly lowers her phone.
“Were you going to post?”
“No.”
“You were holding it vertically.”
“I was checking the time.”
“Liar.”
Maeve raises both hands.
“My lips are sealed.”
“Good.”
I point toward Noor.
“You too.”
She presses a hand against her chest.
“I have integrity.”
“You live with Lila.”
“Fair.”
Lila looks personally offended.
“So we can't tell anyone?”
“No one.”
“Not even—”
“No.”
“But—”
“No.”
“Hannah Goodwin is spending the night at Kane Haverhill’s and we’re expected to behave normally?”
“Yes.”
Lila looks around the room.
“Tortoiseshell.”
Someone snickers.
“Bookworm.”
Another laugh.
“Footnote.”
I narrow my eyes.
She points toward the door.
“Is having a sleepover with Stanford’s starting point guard.”
“Finish that sentence and I stay here purely to make your night miserable.”
She clamps both hands over her mouth.
Noor shakes her head.
“We can’t breathe a word.”
“Correct.”
“Not one.”
“Exactly.”
Lila speaks through her fingers.
“Mmph.”
“Thank you.”
I grab two books from my shelf.
Then another.
Noor watches.
“You’re bringing three books?”
“I don’t know how long practice is.”
“You’re sleeping over with Kane Haverhill and worried you might run out of reading material.”
“That sentence explains why he likes her,” Maeve says.
I stop.
The room goes quiet again.
Why he likes her.
Me.
I refuse to examine how warm those words make me.
I stuff the books into my bag.
Then I open my desk drawer.
Emergency Twizzlers.
Family size.
I add them.
Lila finally drops her hands.
“You’re bringing candy?”
“I have standards.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m prepared.”
I sling the bag over my shoulder.
At the doorway, I turn back.
“Seriously. No posts. No pictures. No texts to athletes. Nothing.”
Noor nods.
Lila crosses her heart.
Maeve makes a locking motion across her lips.
Good enough.
I make it three steps down the hall before someone inside the room screams into a pillow.
Then all fourteen voices explode at once.
I smile the entire way downstairs.
Kane is exactly where I left him.
He’s leaning across the steering wheel looking at his phone.
Then he sees me.
And the bag.
His entire face changes.
It is ridiculous.
He looks like a six-year-old on Christmas morning who just discovered Santa brought the expensive version.
I open the passenger door.
“Control yourself.”
“I haven't said anything.”
“Your face is screaming.”
He reaches for my bag.
“I’ll take it.”
“I can carry it.”
“I know.”
I let him.
He puts it behind the seat.
Then sees the Twizzlers sticking out of the top.
His grin grows.
“You brought the family pack?”
I pull it free.
“Emergency provisions.”
“For what emergency?”
“Your roommates.”
Kane laughs.
“The boys are going to die when I bring you back.”
I buckle my seat belt.
“I assumed.”
“Noah may actually stop breathing.”
“Then we’ll have candy for the vigil.”
“Eli is going to be unbearable.”
“So nothing changes.”
He starts the truck.
I take out a Twizzler and bite the end.
Kane looks over.
“Can I have one?”
I pause.
That catches me.
Weeks ago he would have stolen it.
Tonight he asks.
I pull one from the bag.
Hold it toward him.
He reaches.
I move it away.
His eyes narrow.
“Hannah.”
“Say please.”
“You’re abusing personal growth.”
“Please is one syllable.”
“Please.”
I hand him the Twizzler.
“See? Character development.”
He takes a bite.
Then holds out his hand across the console.
Not grabbing mine.
Waiting.
I look at it.
At him.
At the road ahead.
Tonight I told him pieces of myself I have spent years keeping hidden.
Then I asked him to kiss me.
Now I’m carrying an overnight bag to his apartment.
A month ago, I gave him a fake name so he couldn’t find me.
I place my hand in his.
Kane laces our fingers together.
No cameras.
No questions.
No promises I'm not ready to make.
Just one more choice.
Mine.
He pulls away from Briar Hall.
I settle deeper into the seat, our hands joined between us, my books and terrible pajamas packed behind me.
Maybe this is reckless.
Maybe tomorrow morning I’ll wake up and panic.
But tonight?
Tonight I want to find out what happens when I stop running before something has the chance to become good.
* * *
The athlete quad looks different at night when you’re trying not to become photographic evidence.
I sink lower in Kane’s passenger seat as he turns into the lot.
Too many lights.
Too many windows.
Too many people who own phones.
A group of girls crosses between two buildings. Three guys stand near the entrance to Kane’s suite talking beside a parked Jeep. Someone farther down the sidewalk lifts a phone, though I have no idea whether they’re taking a picture or checking the weather.
Doesn’t matter.
I’m not taking chances.
“Give me your hoodie.”
Kane glances over.
“What?”
“Your hoodie.”
“I’m wearing it.”
“I can see that.”
“Then explain how this works.”
“Take it off.”
His mouth curves. “Usually dates wait until we’re inside before ordering me out of my clothes.”
“Never mind. I’ll risk public exposure.”
I reach for the door.
Kane catches my sleeve.
“Relax.”
He pulls the black hoodie over his head.
His T-shirt rides up with it.
A strip of stomach appears.
Hard.
Ridged.
Distracting.
I look away.
Poorly.
Kane catches me.
“See something?”
“Fabric.”
“Interesting fabric?”
“Give me the hoodie.”
He laughs and hands it over.
It’s enormous.
Perfect.
I pull it on over my clothes. The hem drops almost to mid-thigh, swallowing my sweater and half my jeans. Then I yank the hood forward until shadows cover most of my face.
Kane stares.
“There.”
“There what?”
“No one knows who you’re bringing home tonight.”
His eyebrows lift.
“Bringing home?”
“Don't make that face.”
“What face?”
“The one that turns an innocent sentence into something requiring antibiotics.”
He laughs.
I tug the hood lower.
“Even if someone takes a picture, I’m anonymous.”
“You look ridiculous.”
“I look unidentified.”
“You look like you’re about to rob me.”
“Excellent.”
I grab my bag.
Kane reaches over and takes it.
“I can carry that.”
“I know.”
I hate that line now.
Mostly because I like it.
He gets out, circles the truck, and opens my door.
I stare at him from beneath the hood.
“You’re committed to this door thing.”
“Deeply.”
“I could start expecting it.”
“Dangerous.”
I step down.
He closes the door behind me, takes my overnight bag in one hand, my book bag in the other, and heads toward the building.
I stay close.
Head down.
Hood forward.
Kane glances sideways.
“You’re seriously doing this the whole way?”
“Keep moving, Haverhill.”
“You know people already know we went out.”
“They don’t know where I’m sleeping.”
“That sounded worse.”
“Only because your mind lives in a gutter.”
“Pretty sure you kissed me with tongue tonight.”
I nearly trip.
“Walk.”
His laugh follows us to the entrance.
He opens that door too.
Then the inner one.
Then holds the elevator.
“This is becoming excessive.”
“My mother would kill me if she saw me make a woman carry bags while I walked ahead.”
“I like your mother.”
“You haven’t met her.”
“I like her principles.”
The elevator doors open.
I follow him out.
The hallway outside his suite is quiet.
Good.
Maybe his roommates went out.
Maybe I’ll get the peaceful night I imagined.
Kane unlocks the door.
Voices explode from inside.
So much for peace.
The living room is full.
Not twenty people.
Still more than expected.
Noah sprawls across one end of the couch. Eli occupies the other with a bowl balanced against his stomach. Jalen sits on the floor, back against the coffee table, while two other teammates have stolen dining chairs and dragged them toward the television.
A movie is paused on-screen.
Every head turns.
Silence.
My hood hides most of my face.
Perfect.
Noah looks at Kane.
“What’s up?”
Eli’s gaze drops to the bags in Kane’s hands.
Then to me.
Then back to Kane.
“How’d the date go?”
“Good.”
One of the guys near the television points toward me.
“Yo.”
Nobody answers.
He squints.
“Is that your date or did you pick up a homeless person?”
I rip the hood back.
“Very funny.”
Then pull a Twizzler from my bag and launch it.
Noah catches it against his chest.
For half a second, nobody reacts.
Then the room erupts.
“YO.”
Eli nearly drops his bowl.
“No way.”
Jalen points at me from the floor.
“Bookworm!”
Another guy shoots to his feet.
“That’s Footnote?”
I stare at them.
“What is happening?”
Eli looks genuinely delighted.
“Footnote in the flesh.”
“I have a name.”
Noah points the Twizzler at me.
“Tortoiseshell.”
“Use that and lose an eye.”
“Definitely her.”
The guy beside Jalen leans forward.
“Yo, you’re like a celebrity.”
I look around the room.
At the men currently appearing on sports broadcasts, campus posters, social feeds, and whatever highlight reels people watch instead of sleeping.
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“You people have your faces on banners.”
“That gets old,” Eli says.
Noah nods. “Bookworm doesn’t.”
Kane kicks the door shut behind us.
“She’s staying.”
The room goes silent again.
I turn toward him.
“You said that like you’re announcing a trade.”
Every face swings toward the overnight bag.
Then me.
Then Kane.
Noah’s eyebrows climb.
“Staying?”
“Sleeping,” I say.
Eli grins.
“Important distinction?”
“Extremely.”