That word—friends—feels too small for what we were. But it’s the only word that mattered.
And now, it’s gone.
Blake lets out a breath. “You and Julia not being friends is like…gravity not working. It doesn’t compute.”
“Fuck, Ace.” Finn nods. “You’ve been locked in since birth. Matching costumes. Shared birthday parties. You and Julia not being friends doesn’t make any fucking sense.”
I try to smile. I can’t.
“She was everything,” I say. “And now I don’t even know what we are.”
Blake sighs and leans back against the booth. “Clearly, this is fixable,” he says, and I shake my head.
“I wish I could tell you it is, but I don’t think so.” The moment we broke our fifteen-minute rule, it felt like there was no going back from it. It felt…final. “Can we talk about something else?” I toss out and run a hand over my face. “Anything fucking else?”
There’s a pause, then Finn asks, “So…uh… Double C this weekend, Mr. President? Surely you’re planning something big…”
Fucking Double C. I love it, and I hate it at the same time. Frankly, it was when I got initiated as president that everything went to shit with Julia.
“You know it,” I say, but the words don’t sound excited and shit. They’re monotone as fuck. They’re just there.
Blake perks up. “You gonna tell us what it is?”
Technically, I shouldn’t tell them jack shit about what it is.But instead, I hear my tired and flat voice say, “It’s called Midnight Market. Everyone gets fake currency and has to buy their way to clues. Campus-wide black-light scavenger hunt. Live snakes, probably. A goat. Oh, and Finn, I added all three of your brothers to the text invite list.”
“Greaaaat.” Finn’s not thrilled, but neither am I. And when Ace Kelly suffers, everyone suffers.
“Dude, that sounds wild.” Blake stares. “But I’m pretty sure you weren’t supposed to tell us any of that shit…”
I shrug. “Probably not.”
Finn pushes his plate toward me. “Eat. You sound like you’re hallucinating.”
I pick up a fry. Bite it. It tastes like nothing. I don’t even bother dipping it in ketchup, but that’s mostly because I feel like the fucking ketchup bottle is standing there judging me.
I know I should be hyped. Double C events aremy thing. And I’m the fucking prez, for fuck’s sake.
But right now, everything but Julia feels like white noise.
Saturday, September 20th
Ace
The goat got loose twice.
The snake handler showed up forty-five minutes late, demanded to be paid in cash, and only answered toThe Viper Whisperer.
And the three rugby bastards who found their way into Double C during Lex’s tenure as president tried to bribe their way to the final clue with actual money. It was a bold move, but it was clearly denied. They were also disqualified from the event. I swear, Dickson’s rugby jocks are on another level.
Even while in a deep depression, I find a certain kind of high that comes with covertly running events that aren’t university-approved. My mom told me I’m lucky that I’m ruling in the era after Lexi Winslow created an app that allows encrypted text messages to be sent out to all members, but I’m not entirely sure I wouldn’t vibe with a little police chase these days.
I’m both melancholy and evil, and as it turns out, the combination is one of the universe’s most dangerous.
Tonight’s text was simple.Midnight. Dickson Garage. Don’t bring your goat.
When Cassie Kelly—back then, she was Cassie Philips—was running Double C, it was basically the Stone Age. Hell, Nokia was the popular phone brand, and unlimited text messages weren’t a thing. I don’t know how the fuck she got the word out withoutleaving a paper trail, but knowing my mom, her crazy ass had to get real creative.
Tonight’s Double C event, Midnight Market, consisted of the kind of challenge that will keep campus buzzing with rumors for weeks. The final clue glowed under black light and was hidden inside a vending machine with a rigged QR code. And that vending machine was located in the most obscure part of Beckley Theater.
