back. I watch him all the way, eyes slitted. Ed Hanson, huh?
“Have you met him yet?” Chris asks. “He looks fairly normal, for a midyear.”
“No.” I’m still watching. Eric/Ed looks at me and jerks his chin. A stranger’s greeting. “I haven’t met him yet.”
But I have a thing or two to talk to him about.
* * *
After history I manage to hang back long enough to stop him on his way out. I lean in, so only he will hear. “Okay. Tell me. What the flying fuck are you doing at my school?”
He doesn’t take the bait. He steps back, sticks his hand out. “Ed Hanson. Good to meet you. Jake, was it?”
I take his hand and squeeze it, a little harder than I need to. “Really, Ed ? This is overkill, don’t you think?”
He tugs his hand away, discreetly flexes it. “I hear you’re a big shot on the tennis team,” he says, loudly. “Maybe you can tell me when tryouts are?”
Tryouts? He’s going to take over tennis too?
“Oh God no. Not another tennis freak.” Chris is at my shoulder, though I don’t know where he came from. “I was hoping for a little variety. Theater, maybe? Music? A rock band?” He puts out his hand, and Eric shakes it. “Chris Sawyer. Nice to meet you, man.”
“Ed Hanson. Just transferred from DC.” He meets my eyes. He’s totally laughing.
He thinks this is funny ? I’m freaking out. A government agent—is that even what he is? I don’t know. A government person is talking to Chris right now.
“Oh, yeah?” Chris says, oblivious. “DC to Herndon. You’re moving up in the world. That’s like Hell to Hell’s Kitchen.” Chris is one of those people who gets along with anyone instantly. He could insult you five minutes after he met you, and you’d still like him.
Eric laughs. “As long as the girls wear those short little devil costumes? I am in .”
They start walking down the hall together, and I trail behind, disbelieving. They really do look similar: same height, same basic build. Just one with red hair and one straw colored. My best friend, and my … bodyguard?
Twenty-four-hour bodyguards. Plus twenty-four-hour lying to everyone I know. Involving everyone I know. Shit.
“Hey, what lunch do you have, Ed?” Chris asks.
“C,” I mouth silently. He’ll have my lunch, for maximum bodyguard time.
Eric checks his paper. “C. What do you have?”
“We both have C too,” Chris says. “You want to hang with us today?”
I wonder if it’s always this easy. The deeper question is, does he do this often?
“Yeah, sure,” Eric says. “Let me see what I have next…”
“English,” I mouth.
He turns in time to see me, and bites his lip. “English, with Fowler.”
“Jake has that too,” Chris says. “You’re both tennis freaks and AP. You’re like twinsies.” He checks his phone, taps the screen. “Caitlyn’s saving my seat in Econ. See you at lunch.”
He takes off down the hall as we arrive at English. I stop Eric again outside the door. “I guess I don’t know what to do here. What I’m supposed to do.”
His face goes serious. “We’ll talk later. Just keep cool, pretend you just met me. It’s a piece of cake. Really.” He grins again and pushes open the door, and I follow him.
Rachel is there, three seats back, wearing perfectly fitted jeans and a pink shirt that makes her cheeks look pinker than ever. She’s writing something in her notebook, concentrating, her bottom lip in her teeth.
“Hey, Rachel.” I smile at her hesitantly, remember her sitting with me at the party. That whole nightlong conversation. That couldn’t have meant nothing, right? She gives me a tight half smile and looks back down. “Hey,” she says, low.
Yeah. It’s been just like that ever since the party. Ugh. But I haven’t given up. Every day I say hi, every day I smile. A thousand ways to mess up your life in one stupid night, and counting.
Lily’s in this class too, which adds to the torture. I steal a look at her, on the
“Have you met him yet?” Chris asks. “He looks fairly normal, for a midyear.”
“No.” I’m still watching. Eric/Ed looks at me and jerks his chin. A stranger’s greeting. “I haven’t met him yet.”
But I have a thing or two to talk to him about.
* * *
After history I manage to hang back long enough to stop him on his way out. I lean in, so only he will hear. “Okay. Tell me. What the flying fuck are you doing at my school?”
He doesn’t take the bait. He steps back, sticks his hand out. “Ed Hanson. Good to meet you. Jake, was it?”
I take his hand and squeeze it, a little harder than I need to. “Really, Ed ? This is overkill, don’t you think?”
He tugs his hand away, discreetly flexes it. “I hear you’re a big shot on the tennis team,” he says, loudly. “Maybe you can tell me when tryouts are?”
Tryouts? He’s going to take over tennis too?
“Oh God no. Not another tennis freak.” Chris is at my shoulder, though I don’t know where he came from. “I was hoping for a little variety. Theater, maybe? Music? A rock band?” He puts out his hand, and Eric shakes it. “Chris Sawyer. Nice to meet you, man.”
“Ed Hanson. Just transferred from DC.” He meets my eyes. He’s totally laughing.
He thinks this is funny ? I’m freaking out. A government agent—is that even what he is? I don’t know. A government person is talking to Chris right now.
“Oh, yeah?” Chris says, oblivious. “DC to Herndon. You’re moving up in the world. That’s like Hell to Hell’s Kitchen.” Chris is one of those people who gets along with anyone instantly. He could insult you five minutes after he met you, and you’d still like him.
Eric laughs. “As long as the girls wear those short little devil costumes? I am in .”
They start walking down the hall together, and I trail behind, disbelieving. They really do look similar: same height, same basic build. Just one with red hair and one straw colored. My best friend, and my … bodyguard?
Twenty-four-hour bodyguards. Plus twenty-four-hour lying to everyone I know. Involving everyone I know. Shit.
“Hey, what lunch do you have, Ed?” Chris asks.
“C,” I mouth silently. He’ll have my lunch, for maximum bodyguard time.
Eric checks his paper. “C. What do you have?”
“We both have C too,” Chris says. “You want to hang with us today?”
I wonder if it’s always this easy. The deeper question is, does he do this often?
“Yeah, sure,” Eric says. “Let me see what I have next…”
“English,” I mouth.
He turns in time to see me, and bites his lip. “English, with Fowler.”
“Jake has that too,” Chris says. “You’re both tennis freaks and AP. You’re like twinsies.” He checks his phone, taps the screen. “Caitlyn’s saving my seat in Econ. See you at lunch.”
He takes off down the hall as we arrive at English. I stop Eric again outside the door. “I guess I don’t know what to do here. What I’m supposed to do.”
His face goes serious. “We’ll talk later. Just keep cool, pretend you just met me. It’s a piece of cake. Really.” He grins again and pushes open the door, and I follow him.
Rachel is there, three seats back, wearing perfectly fitted jeans and a pink shirt that makes her cheeks look pinker than ever. She’s writing something in her notebook, concentrating, her bottom lip in her teeth.
“Hey, Rachel.” I smile at her hesitantly, remember her sitting with me at the party. That whole nightlong conversation. That couldn’t have meant nothing, right? She gives me a tight half smile and looks back down. “Hey,” she says, low.
Yeah. It’s been just like that ever since the party. Ugh. But I haven’t given up. Every day I say hi, every day I smile. A thousand ways to mess up your life in one stupid night, and counting.
Lily’s in this class too, which adds to the torture. I steal a look at her, on the
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