Troy knows me well enough to expect talk of my parents to make me—at the very least—grumpy. I haven’t seen them face-to-face in years, and can’t until after graduation. Nonchalance on this issue is definitely cause for alarm.

“No big deal?” he echoes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I say quickly. “Of course.”

“You’re acting a little off.” His brow scowls deeper. “Even for you.”

“Thanks,” I retort, trying to act like my normal sarcastic self. Nearly impossible at the moment. Nothing feels normal right now. In his current position, forearms resting on his knees out in front of the bed, all Troy has to do is dip his head to see the glowing book.

It takes all my willpower to keep my gaze from darting down to check, which would only make him want to look, completely defeating my whole hide-it-under-the-bed purpose. But it’s hard to ignore a glowing tome sitting inches below your best friend’s butt.

“I’m fine.” I force myself to maintain eye contact. “Really—no!”

Apparently, I didn’t force myself strongly enough.

Following the direction of my wayward gaze, Troy drops his head down to peer under the bed. Seeing the book, he glances back up at me with a question in his eyes before reaching down and grabbing the edge.

Oh Hades. If only I’d kept my eyes where they belonged.

If only I hadn’t lost my cool. I never lose my cool. This whole situation is messing with me.

“Did you know your book is glowing?” Troy asks with a laugh.

I watch, in horror, as he reads the illuminated words.

In a heartbeat, his eyes spear me to the spot. “Where did you get this?”

“Where?” I shrug, trying to play it off. “I don’t remem—”

“Cut the crap,” he interrupts, which is so unlike him. “This is serious, Nicole.”

“Maybe,” I say, turning away to fiddle with the drawer handles on my desk. Mostly so he won’t see the signs of panic I am sure are playing in bright red across my face.

“Maybe?” he scoffs.

The mattress squeaks and I feel Troy walk up behind me.

“Definitely.” He drops the book on my desk with a thwack. “You know this is illegal. You shouldn’t even have this book.”

Now, Troy is my best friend, and I’m sure he means well. But I don’t deal well with people telling me what I should and should not do—never have. I feel the rebel side of me—which is, I’ll be the first to admit, almost all of me—raise its hackles, ready for a fight.

“Well, I do have it,” I say, turning on him, jabbing a finger to his chest. “And I don’t need you to tell me it’s illegal. I’ve done plenty of illegal in my lifetime,” I gloat. “According to Olympic law, I’m a one-woman crime spree.”