That last thought gives me the courage to interrupt. I wander to room seventeen and gently rap my knuckles against the door. When there’s no answer, I try again. A little louder this time.
“Did you lose your badge again—” Sumner’s saying as he yanks the door open, then, “Oh, hey.” He widens the door to let me in. “I lost track of time.”
He’s changed into his soft gray Henley, sleeves pushed to his elbows to reveal inked equations on smooth skin. The sight is so familiar it could be my own personal anchoring point.
I pause at the threshold. It’sclean. A complete one-eighty from Halloween. Crew necks and sweaters are put away on hangers inhis open-facing closet. Textbooks are stacked in tidy rows on his side of the desk. There’s nothing on the floor—no trash or balled-up papers or even crumbs for that matter. His bed is made, a forest-green comforter hugging all four corners of the mattress, and a scent that’s so uniquely him, earthy and spiced and faintly sweet like warm amber, clings to every inch of the space.
“I can see the floor.”
He’s rolling his desk chair toward me. An offering. “Quite an achievement for you,” he deadpans. “Were you looking for a round of applause? Or something more tangible, like a ribbon?”
“Thereisone trophy in particular I’m dying to get my hands on.”
A sly look crosses his face. “So that’s the real reason you’re here?”
“Obviously.” I’m desperate for an excuse.
“Rules, Carmichael,” he chides. “I do follow them, you know. Andyouknow you won’t find it in here.”
I spin the desk chair around before taking a seat, if only to have something to do. I don’t know why I came. Other than having grown used to his constant presence.
Sumner kneels on his bed and examines his whiteboard. “I asked some streamers in my math-geek community to see if they could make headway on the equations, but so far, I’ve got nothing substantial. But we’re not giving up, Carmichael.” He twists around and tosses me a marker. I catch it. “Because you and me? We don’t back down from a challenge.”
My heart swoops like a pendulum as I get up and move closer,trailing my fingers along his desk. There’s a photo of him and Preston taped to the window. His brother’s swirl of dark hair mirrors Sumner’s. Preston sticks his tongue out at the camera, and Sumner, mid-laugh, pretends to chomp the side of his head.
“They made dinner together today.” He moves from the bed to stand beside me. “I thought he’d take him to some fancy, flashy New York City restaurant, but Preston seemed to enjoy it. He said he wants to show me how to make mashed potatoes that aren’t instant.”
“That’s good then, right?”
Two steps backward and he’s sitting on his bed. “Yeah, Carmichael. It’s good.”
But there’s distance in his voice. He must feel it, too. That constant reminder we’re no longer guaranteed time.
He changes the subject. “Did Analiese have a nice Thanksgiving?”
“I wouldn’t know.” I sit next to him and lie back so I’m staring at his ceiling. “She wants to publish an exposé on William after break. I tried to tell her it’s not worth it and we got into a fight. Now we’re not speaking.” I spin the marker in my hands. “I was also pretty honest about where our friendship stands. I don’t think it helped.”
A stretch of silence. He lies down so we’re side by side, the hem of his Henley rising a few centimeters as he does. My eyes catch the exposed slice of his abdomen and, pulse thrashing, I quickly divert my gaze toward the ceiling.
“We don’t need any more obstacles right now,” he finally says. “And you stood up to her. I’m impressed.”
I roll onto my side, admiring his profile. “That’s the second time you’ve said that to me.”
He mimics my movement, our noses only a few inches apart. “What, that you impress me?” His slanted smile appears, and I like how it’s not completely even. “I thought that much was clear.”
An airy laugh erupts from my lips. “Sumner,” I say, “the only thing you’ve made clear from the very first moment we met is how you enjoy beating me inanything.”
Sumner makes a face. “That’s because I didn’t know how to talk to you.”
“Sure you did,” I fire back. “Hey, ninety-one, you know I’m ranked twenty and you’re twenty-one? Or my personal favorite,Hey, Carmichael, what’d you get on that calc quiz?When you knewdamnwell I rarely scored as high as you.”
“You had me beat in physics.”
“And you with chemistry.” I raise my brows. “I’m a game to you.”
His eyes trail down to my lips before lifting to meet my gaze. “No,” he insists quietly. “You’re not.”
I’m not sure what to think, because if we’re basing all my theories on hard evidence, then the results point to him messing with me for his own personal enjoyment. Because he needed me to be the challenge.
