While I’m terrified about what might be on the USBs, I need to know what else Aces has on me—on us—so I can work out how to stop it getting out.
Devon stares at me for a little while, his expression carrying no hope in it whatsoever. It’s always nice to have a partner who haszerofaith in your mission.
“Okay,” he says, before walking past me and out of the classroom, the door slamming behind him.
I’m a practical person, which is why the sciences are the subjects I like most. I love that everything can be objectively proven; I lovethat there are formulas and methods that you can fall back on. I love the security.
I wish Richards would trust me on this one. He’s an arts boy. They see everything as questionable, subjective.
I don’t. I live in a world of facts and figures.
And I won’t roll over and let someone else take my crown. Not in a million years.
I get home and can smell Mom’s rice and efo riro cooking in the kitchen. With their busy schedules, it’s rare for both Mom and Dad to be home, so I’m a little taken aback at first when I hear them talking in the distance. Whenever they are both home, they like cooking together andbonding, which is nice and all for them, but I’m not in the mood for rice or idle chitchat.
“Mom, can I order pizza?” I ask, walking up to the door. Mom’s standing, flipping the pages of some book she’s reading, while Dad’s stirring the pot of white rice. He has his reading glasses on, which fog up as he stirs, and he’s let his beard grow out recently, which he hardly ever does.
“Food is cooking,” Dad answers, taking his glasses off to wipe them against his apron. Which means no.
Starting an argument over this isn’t worth it, so I go upstairs to my room, throw my bag down, and throw myself onto my bed.
I’m about to text Peter to ask him if he’s found anything yet when my phone buzzes.
Finished today’s round of child labor yet?—B
I smile. Belle and I have been growing close since she confrontedme on Tuesday. I wonder why I disliked her so much in the first place.
Thankfully! I’m now in the comfort of my bedroom, about to watch Pretty in Pink.
What’s Pretty in Pink?—B
UHM… only one of the greatest movies made.
… Then why haven’t I watched it? Chi, you are failing as a friend by not forcing me to watch it.—B
Friend…
You should come over.
I should.—B
See you soon.
Throwing my phone down, I hurry around my room, shoving clothes in my closet and looking around for imperfections before rushing downstairs to the kitchen, where my mom is now chopping and my dad is next to her, blending.
“Belle’s coming over,” I tell them.
Dad looks up. “Who’s Belle?”
“Pretty blonde who came over last week,” Mom says before I can.
“Ah.”
They glance at each other, doing that thing where they have their secret soul-mate meeting without speaking.
Mom laughs. “So true.”
“Mom, Dad, can you stop talking in each other’s heads for a moment? Am I allowed to order pizza now that my friend is coming over?”
