Invitation Only (Private 2) - Page 58

I shrugged. “He's the on­ly one I know.” Then I made an elab­orate show of check­ing my watch. “Ooh. I got­ta go. I'm gonna be late,” I said, back­ing up. “En­joy your walk.”

He nod­ded, nar­row­ing his eyes slight­ly. “En­joy your break­fast.”

“I will! Thanks!” I replied, try­ing my hard­est to seem un­af­fect­ed.

It didn't work. I could feel him watch­ing me all the way across the quad and it was all I could do to keep my­self from turn­ing around and check­ing to see if I was right. But when I

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fi­nal­ly reached the cafe­te­ria, sweat­ing from ex­er­tion and nerves, I couldn't take it any­more. I paused and pre­tend­ed to search through my bag for some­thing. As I did so, I glanced out the cor­ner of my eye. There was De­tec­tive Hauer, stand­ing alone in the cen­ter of cam­pus. Watch­ing me.

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* * *

For the first time in days I was able to go through the break­fast line and get what I want­ed and on­ly what I want­ed. I knew that as soon as the Billings Girls ar­rived I would be back up here, fill­ing their or­ders, but for now I was go­ing to en­joy the free­dom. I de­served it af­ter ev­ery­thing I'd been through this morn­ing.

Two pieces of ba­con, one slice of peanut but­ter toast, and a bowl full of Ap­ple Jacks lat­er, I emerged from the line and walked over to our usu­al ta­ble. I start­ed with the toast, hop­ing to calm my un­easy stom­ach be­fore mov­ing on to the sug­ar and the grease. The cav­ernous cafe­te­ria was so undis­turbed, I could see the in­di­vid­ual dust par­ti­cles danc­ing in the shafts of sun com­ing through the sky­lights. I watched Josh en­ter through the front door, stick to the wall on his way to the line, and emerge mo­ments lat­er with cof­fee and three dough­nuts.

“So, I'm in­trigued,” he said, sit­ting down in front of me. He chomped in­to a cin­na­mon dough­nut, spray­ing the brown pow­der ev­ery­where. His curls were mashed on one side and stuck straight

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up on the oth­er, re­mind­ing me that just a few min­utes ago he had been curled up in his bed, warm and cozy, and that he'd hoist­ed him­self out of his slum­ber for me.

“Okay, hy­po­thet­ical­ly...”

Josh dropped the dough­nut. “I lov

e a good 'hy­po­thet­ical­ly,'” he said, lean­ing his el­bows on the ta­ble.

I laughed. “Hy­po­thet­ical­ly,” I re­peat­ed for his ben­efit, “if you found out that one of the guys in your dorm had bro­ken the hon­or code . .. would you tell?”

Josh raised his eye­brows, then looked down at his plate and blew out a breath.

“I mean, I know you're sup­posed to tell, but, in re­al­ity... would you?” I asked.

Josh nod­ded once and lift­ed his head. “Def­inite­ly.”

“Re­al­ly?”

The dou­ble doors opened and a clump of stu­dents filed in. We wouldn't be alone for long.

'Yes. No ques­tion,“ Josh said, sip­ping his cof­fee. ”You signed a con­tract. We all did. I know it's prob­ably not cool or what­ev­er to say this, but that ac­tu­al­ly means some­thing to me. When you com­mit to some­thing, you don't go back on your word. Be­sides, it's the right thing to do. If some­one does some­thing wrong, they should be called on it. Case closed."

Damn. Boy took his hy­po­thet­ical very se­ri­ous­ly. For some rea­son, his con­vic­tion made me squirm. I dropped the toast and pushed my tray away.

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“Tell me how you re­al­ly feel,” I joked, try­ing to light­en my own mood.

“How he re­al­ly feels is id­iot­ic.”

Star­tled, we both looked up to find Whit­tak­er hov­er­ing at the end of the ta­ble. Where had he come from?

“No of­fense in­tend­ed,” he said to Josh.

“Uh . . . none tak­en,” Josh said face­tious­ly. He jumped his chair for­ward un­til the ta­ble con­strict­ed his chest so that Whit­tak­er could get by. Whit pulled out the chair next to Josh and set­tled in. He took a long sip of his grape­fruit juice and smacked his lips.

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