“Yo,” he said, loud and proud and Nico. “I got the paper back.”
“For history?”
“Yep, you know the one I submitted to my professor who asks questions like he’s setting traps, not teaching? I got an A. An honest, I-didn’t-even-bring-him-coffee, capital A.”
Her entire face broke into a smile. “Nico, that’s amazing!”
“I know.” He was pacing; she could hear it in the background wind. “I was like…wait, is this someone else’s paper? Is this a prank? Did Bea ghostwrite my academic comeback?”
“You earned it. It was you.”
“Yeah well, you’re like my academic godmother. If fairy godmothers had resting judgment face and a color-coded Google Calendar. Which, I guess, balances out El Jefe as my godfather.”
Bea smiled into the phone. “I’m really proud of you.”
He went quiet for a second. Not awkward. More like he was shifting gears. “So, listen,” he spoke up again. “I saw on TikTok that Gage is going to London.”
“That’s onTikTok?” She could barely wrap her head around how that could become TikTok trending. Was it…a skit? A dance? Bea wasn’t on TikTok; her imagination was limited.
“So that probably means you’re going too, right?”
She froze. Her fingers curled against the edge of her seat.
“I don’t wanna make it weird.” He cleared his throat. “But if you’re really going, I just?—”
“I’m not gone yet.”
“Okay. Cool. I mean, you probably will. Like…logically. There’s no way he’s leaving you behind.”
She swallowed. “Nico?—”
“But, selfishly?” he went on as if in a rush to get it out. “I kind of hope you don’t. ’Cause it’s been a while since I gave a crap about school. And…we’ve got officer track to work toward.”
She didn’t say anything for a long moment. It was hard to, what with her eyes filling with tears.
She had to work the words out past the lump in her throat. “I’m not promising anything. But I’m not leaving today.”
He let out a breath, slow and defeated and a little bit hopeful, all at once. “I’ll take that.”
They hung up a minute later. Bea sat still.
She walked back to her desk without making eye contact with anyone. Pulled the resignation letter back up.
Read it once. Then again.
You’re allowed to want more.
The cursor drifted from Send to Save Draft. Bea clicked.
5:11 p.m.
Bea sat curled in the driver’s seat of Gage’s Porsche, parked in the underground garage below Monaghan & Stowe. The engine was off, her bag in the passenger seat, the glow of the center console casting soft light across her knee.
She still hadn’t taken off her heels.
Her phone screen lit up as she video-called her umma.
It was past eleven in Toronto. She hated calling this late, but she hadn’t had a chance since the announcement had gone out yesterday.
