After all the buildup, when I finally cracked open the cabinet, the result was underwhelming. Two lone weapons and a whole lot of dust. I haven’t settled on using the weapon, particularly because the feel of that cool, heavy metal freaked me out for a good ten minutes. But given the nature of my mission, it makes sense to have a gun. Just in case.

“It’s a heavy price to pay,” I say mournfully, squashing my guilt. I’m not taking advantage of my brother’s obliviousness. I’m not. More like I’m protecting him. The less he knows about my future crimes, the better. “I mean, I’ll be listening to Taylor Swift’s greatest hits for an entire week! But anything for the junior class, right?”

“Hey!” Archie protests. “I don’t like her songs.”

I blink innocently. “But you’re a die-hard Swiftie. I heard you singing ‘Trouble’ in the shower the other day. And don’t you have that ‘I heart Taylor’ pennant in your room?”

My brother glares, and I hold back a smile.

“I have no idea what she’s talking about,” he tells Zeke stiffly. “Why would I sing a song that came out when we were in elementary school?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you know exactly when it released?” I tease.

Archie huffs out a breath and glances toward the entrance of the parking lot, where a cash station with a small table and umbrella has been set up. “Oh, look. I think they need my help collecting money. Which I’d better do before I give in to temptation and strangle my sister.”

I giggle as he stomps away, happy to be out of my head, if only for a moment. His anger’s just for show. He may or may not care if Zeke knows that he has the musical taste of a teenybopper, but he’d for sure be embarrassed if anyone found out he needed his sister to choose a tux.

“Love you, Arch!” I call after his retreating back.

Turning, he kisses his fingertips and then slaps them onto his butt.

I pretend to catch the kiss in the air and smack it onto my own butt. Ever since we were kids, this has been our smart-aleck version of the French double-cheeked kiss. Not as classy but uniquely us.

Casually, I look around the parking lot, but there’s no brilliant blue hair. No superiorly arched eyebrows. No Bandit.

Did he sleep in? Or is he already huddled up with Charlie, plotting the demise of the human race?

Zeke shifts forward, pulling my attention back to him. “I know for a fact that he listens to ‘Blank Space’ on repeat whenever he gets stuck on a proof.” He lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Says it helps him think.”

I smile up at him. He’s so close that I can see the bob of his Adam’s apple.