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“You like her?” Declan says, standing up, looking down at me, scowling. “You can’t be serious.”
Dec’s in college. Two years older and built like a linebacker. He can and has kicked my ass, plenty. Right now, I don’t give a shit. I stand, bringing my face to within an inch of his. “Well, I am.”
“She’s Ryan’s sister.” He says, glaring down at me. “And not exactly your speed, if you know what I mean.”
Shame isn’t something I feel. When whoever did the building put me together, they forgot to add the part that’s supposed to make me feel bad for some of the shit I’ve done, so it takes me a few seconds to recognize it for what it is. I don’t know why I’m feeling it now, but I do.
Shame.
So hot and heavy it burns a hole, straight through my gut. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Declan sighs like I’m being ridiculous. “You know what it means. She’s a four at best, and that’s being generous. Not to mention the fact that she obviously doesn’t put out.” He shakes his head at me. “I mean, for real—what’re you planning on doing with her? Math sprints?”
I can feel my jaw tighten, flex around my clenched teeth. “Get the fuck out. Now.”
“Whatever you say, Einstein.” He gives me a shrug that kills the argument before it tips into a full-blown brawl. “I’m going out tonight,” he says, finally getting to the real reason he’s harassing me. “Cover for me.”
It’s not a request. It’s a requirement. I have no idea where he goes or what he does in the middle of the night, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to. Because whatever it is, it keeps him out all night and involves a set of break-in tools.
“Whatever,” I say, lifting my hand, showing him the door.
He turns, tossing my baseball onto my bed before breezing out the door like he’s doing me a favor.
As soon as he’s gone, I sit down at my desk again and power up my desktop. Five minutes later, I’ve hacked my way past a few pathetically thin firewalls into the Boston City Library mainframe.
Typing in the title of the book I’m looking for, I run a reverse search to see who’s borrowed it over that last six months.
Henley O’Connell
She checks it out and returns it every three weeks, only to borrow it again the next day. It’s due back at the library in three days.
If she likes the book so damn much why doesn’t she just go to a bookstore and buy it like a normal person? I think about her too small shoes and busted-up backpack. The T-shirt she wore today—a shirt Ryan used to wear, back in grade school. The school folder repaired with duct tape. I instantly feel bad.
Maybe because she doesn’t have the ten bucks to spend on it, genius.
Clicking my way back to the front of the system, I find the tab marked ORDERS & HOLDS. Before I can think too much about what I’m doing or why, I type in my name and the title of the book I want to put on hold.
The Great Gatsby.