Burn Before Reading(18)

"Are you satisfied with the legality of the contract, Miss Cruz?"

"I - I guess."

"Guess?" He quirked a brow.

"I am," I corrected, not wanting to seem inexperienced or wishy-washy. "This is fine. Do you have a pen?"

He called for the waitress, and she watched. He handed me his pen. It felt too big and fancy for my fingers still covered in the remnants of a bad red nail polish job. I folded the paper over twice and put it in my pocket.

"So. How exactly does this work?"

Mr. Blackthorn smiled. "Every Wednesday night, you and I will meet here. You will report your findings to me then."

"Can't we just, I dunno, Facebook? Email?"

"Those are...unreliable," he said delicately. It hit me just then.

"Oh, right. Fitz."

"Fitz indeed," Mr. Blackthorn asserted. "He's very clever, and even more ruthless than I. But his way with machines - he got that from his mother. She was a programmer, you know."

I watched his face; every time he mentioned her, he smiled so gently. He must've really loved her.

"Of course, he'd never do any of it, if Wolf didn't ask him to," he continued with a wry smile. "Wolf's good at manipulating people. He got that from me."

"And Burn?" I asked.

"Burn is his mother - soft, kind, but afraid. So very afraid of losing those close to him. So when she died, he stopped talking as much. They all handled it in different ways. Fitz buried himself in computers. And Wolf -"

Mr. Blackthorn stared into the golden liquid of his whiskey before sighing, deeply and resignedly.

"Wolf perhaps took her passing the hardest of us all."

I was quiet, unsure of what to say. Mr. Blackthorn seemed to notice the awkward, heavy air, and clapped his hands together.

"Now then. I'll give you Kristin's number so that you two can text. Is there anything else you need, Miss Cruz?"

I frowned. "Any advice? On, I dunno, what shows they watch? What ice cream they like? Anything? I sort of told them this morning that I'd fight them, so they're definitely not going to be friends with me, or even talk to me, unless a miracle -"

"Burn runs," He said. "Every morning, at five sharp, he gets up and runs the length of the Diamondback trail. You know, by the -"

"Old nature preserve," I finished for him. "Yeah. My dad taught me how to ride a bike up there."

"He might not admit it, but he enjoys silent company. Fitz will catch on to you immediately, unless -"

"Unless what?"

"You'd have to lie," Mr. Blackthorn sighed. "And as we've previously discovered, you aren't very good at that."

"I can be," I insisted. "I swear to you, I can be. Whatever it takes, I'll do it."

He looked surprised at my vehemence. "You want this scholarship very badly, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. Fitz will see through any ruse you come up with. Unless, of course, you admit to him he's the smarter student, and you're never going to amount to his level. He doesn't like outright flattery, but he's a soft touch when it comes to people who recognize their limits and want to overcome them. So, you ask him to tutor you."

I scoffed. "Mr. Blackthorn, do you have any idea how many girls do that on a daily basis?"

"But you will be slow about it," He pressed. "You will feed him the lie bits at a time - miss a few key questions on a test -"

"But my grades -"

"I'm sure just one or two won't do much harm. We have to make it convincing, remember. And I'm sure you can always ask for extra credit - the faculty loves that sort of thing."

I groaned, imagining how much extra work that would mean. But I could do it. I had to do it.

"Fine. What about Wolf?" Mr. Blackthorn was quiet and still, so at first I thought he hadn't heard me. I cleared my throat. "Mr. Blackth-"

"Wolf trusts no one," He finally managed. "Not even himself. You will never be able to become his friend. He will suspect you no matter what you do, especially since the two of you have butted heads before. He's egotistical, and young, and burns with a hatred for the world. I have no advice for you."

"Great. Good. I didn't exactly want to try, anyway."

"Unless -"

"Unless what?”

Mr. Blackthorn smiled a small smile and shook his head. "No, it's so insignificant -"

My curiosity ran over my common sense. "Anything helps."

"His motorcycle is very special to him," He said. "He’s very possessive of it – he’s never let anyone else ride on it, save for himself. If, perhaps, you were to learn some motorcycle trivia..."

He trailed off. I'd seen Wolf ride in on that noisy, expensive-looking thing every day, the paint black and accented blue, so sleek and aerodynamic it looked like a wasp. Every morning he took his helmet off, and every morning his hair looked somehow better with helmet head. It infuriated me.

"It's special to him?" I narrowed my eyes. Mr. Blackthorn nodded.

"It was his mother's."

I whistled. "A programmer and a motorcyclist? She must've been one hell of a lady."