She looks away like she’s considering her exit strategies, and I realize too late that I might have delved too deep too soon. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want her to ask me why I noticed her looking sad. The fact is, Lainey is hard to miss. The swell of rumors that surround her act as a buffer between her and the rest of the student body. She walks around with a black cloud hanging over her head. Even if there were no whispers, I think she’d always stand out with her contrasting features, such dark hair and such light eyes. I suppose I’m simply intrigued by the girl who’s intrigued the whole school.

After taking a moment to compose herself, she looks back at me and steps closer to the shelf, closer than she’s dared this whole time, and instead of replying to my question, she fires one back at me with one brow raised tauntingly.

“Why did your dad come all the way to St. John’s only to stay for a few minutes?”

What a loaded question. Perhaps it’s her way of telling me I’m not the only voyeur among us.

Interesting.

I like this game.

I wave my finger up and down her body. “Why did you wear that frilly dress? Do you like it or did you have no choice?”

“Why did you wear that suit?”

I nearly grin at her intelligence.

I lean in. “Why don’t you stand up for yourself when people bully you?”

She leans in. “Why do you always seem angry and detached from the rest of the world, even your own friends?”

“Why is a little mouse like you hiding in the library at this time of night?”

“Why is a devil like you asking me all these questions?”

She’s breathing hard and her nostrils flare. I get this great sweeping feeling like I can see her down to her soul, and yet at the same time, it feels like if I held my hand out to touch her, it would pass right through the air, merely a mirage.

I never do get my answers.

The whiskey took effect, or maybe she grew bored of my taunting—she left after her last question, spinning on her heels, her dark curls bouncing.

The next morning, I wake up with a pounding headache, the kind of pain I know won’t budge even with Tylenol. I almost feel sorry for myself. It was stupid to drink that much. I never do it, hence why I still had that almost full bottle of whiskey three years after my friend gave it to me.

I wince when I sit up and look over to see that Harrison isn’t in the room. His bed is a crumpled mess. The clock reads half past eleven. I accidentally slept through breakfast in the dining hall, not that food sounds all that appetizing at the moment anyway.

I think of last night and wonder how Lainey is feeling this morning, then I brush the thought aside. She’s not my concern. Whether she wants to admit it to herself or not, she’s a kid. I have no business befriending her. Actually, I have no business befriending anyone right now. I have a set of goals that were hand-delivered to me yesterday by a cyborg in a suit. I have ten weeks left in this place, and then I’m gone, back to Paris where my life will consist of coursework and my internship at GHV.