Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(41)

Eliot shifts forward, drawing my attention off daydreams and class. “I feel like I’m doing a drug deal,” he whispers behind me.

The seats next to me are taken. My left by Frog. My right by a temp bodyguard who’s young enough to blend into the whole college atmosphere.

I rotate a little to face Eliot’s row. “Just hand over the contraband,” I whisper back.

He slides the binder to me just as the professor says, “And it looks like we hit 12:30. Class dismissed. Remember to do your online worksheets before next lecture!” He yells that last part over the commotion of students. Everyone shuffles around, collecting their backpacks and sliding their laptops away.

I sense cellphones directed at me now that class is over, but I try to ignore the lenses. Still rotated toward Eliot, I say, “Thanks for dropping this off.” With my backpack on my lap, I shove the binder inside.

“Dropping it off wasn’t the problem,” he says softly. “I nearly had to sell my future firstborn to my own brother just to get it. Charlie was unsurprisingly territorial.”

I shrug. “You did lose it last time.”

“It was stolen,” Eliot corrects. “I lost nothing.”

I smile. “Stolen,” I agree and then lower my voice even more as my row empties out. “Anyway, I thank you for all your efforts. If I don’t post regularly, my followers on Fictitious start to think I’ve died.”

Especially since my followers don’t know galaxxygirlx is me, Luna Hale. I’ve kept that secret pretty under wraps. And while it was a blow when The Royal Leaks told the world “Luna Hale writes tentacle porn,” they never leaked my username or any of my fics.

Eliot’s brows rise. “Dramatic.”

“Gotta love ‘em,” I smile and stand up from my row. Frog follows suit. She’s busy canvassing the lecture hall with alert eyes. With two-hundred students filling the many seats, she’s told me that pre-class and post-class are the most important times for her to be on guard. It’s good to know so I don’t bother her.

Eliot and I meet in the aisle. My cousin studies the auditorium with a sweep. A bit of intrigue sparks his eyes.

“It’s not as cool as it seems,” I tell him. “Exams suck. Lectures are boring.”

His gaze drops to mine, confusion setting into his irises. “Then why do you do it?”

I shrug. It’s better than nothing. I hold back those words because they seem sad. Instead, I glance at the clock on my phone’s lock-screen.

“It’s almost noon. My brother should be here soon.”

“Which brother?”

“Xander. He was invited by some honor society to have lunch at Penn.”

Eliot blinks slowly like he’s processing. “There’s so much going on in that sentence. Dear God, I have so many questions.”

We walk side-by-side up the staircase towards the top exit, and my smile grows. “Xander’s graduating in the spring, and I think the honor society is trying to poach him for next year.”

“An honor society?” Eliot says in disbelief. “I thought your brother was pulling B’s at Dalton.”

“A’s and B’s. And from a Hale’s standard that might as well be honor society material.”

“But from an honor society’s standard are B’s honor society material?”

I don’t reply.

Off my silence, Eliot says, “It just seems highly unlikely there’s not an ulterior motive at play. And why would Xander even agree to a luncheon? That doesn’t seem like something he’d do.”

“Your conspiracy theories are noted,” I say, pushing open the double doors hard so they don’t swing back in my face. Bright afternoon light assaults my eyes, and I shield the glaring rays with my hand. “And Xander has been taking more risks lately. It’s actually kinda inspiring.”

“Yeah, it is.” He slips on black designer Wayfarers. “But fuck, I wouldn’t blame your brother if he bunkered down in the house for the rest of his life. I’d become Miss Havisham from Great Expectations if every time I breathed it caused a stampede of people to descend upon me. I adore attention—but everyone has limits.”

“Donnelly is with him,” I remind Eliot. “If something shady goes down or there’s a crowd, he’ll protect Xander. But I want to be there, too, just in case.” Or at least, I want to be on the sidelines, ready to jump in if something bad happens. It’s what Moffy would do, if he were here.

I want to be a better big sister.

If that’s in me at all.

Eliot fishes his phone from his slacks. “Where’s this lunch thing?”

I frown. “Joe’s Café.”

Eliot starts texting as we meander through the quad.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Texting my little brother. Telling him to meet up for lunch.”

Greaaaat. “I’m guessing this isn’t Tom.” The Carraways have band practice today, and they’re testing out a new drummer, since Akara has only agreed to fill-in on select performances.

Eliot lifts his sunglasses to his head, still texting as we walk. “Your little brother and my little brother were once friends—”

“Keyword once.” I sigh heavily. “We shouldn’t meddle—”