Private (Private 1)

or dorm meetings or practices.

“No.”

Still, each one of these encounters was rushed and panicked, with His response was so harsh it made me stop in my tracks. Thomas

the two of us constantly listening for footfalls and checking over our saw my face and sighed. “This is my problem. Don’t worry about it,”

shoulders for prying eyes. All of which made each meeting that much he said. “Just go to class and I’ll . . . catch up with you later.”

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I tried not to let the depth of my disappointment show in my

eyes. I had been looking forward to hooking up with him all

morning. But I could tell that he was clearly wigged about losing his phone. I wasn’t about to guilt him over it.

Besides, waiting would just make our next meeting that much

INSIDER INFO

more intense. I could cope with that.

“I hope you find it,” I said as he walked away.

He didn’t even seem to hear me.

The entire Croton Municipal Library could have fit in the foyer of the Easton Library. Apparently Mitchell Easton, who founded the school with his brother Micah back in the day, was a huge biblio-phile. He had traveled around the world gathering original texts to fill the shelves of his beloved library, the construction of which he had overseen himself. Or so I had read on the bronze plaque near the front door while I waited for Taylor to show up for our first study session that night. Upon arriving fifteen minutes late, Taylor had apologized, explaining that she had been on the phone with her

little sister, pep-talking her for musical auditions at her school back in Indiana. Until that moment, I had no idea Taylor was from the Midwest and now I felt a definite kinship with her. I was not the only person around here who had not grown up in New York,

Boston, Chicago, or L.A.

“Mr. Barber likes to think he has us all shaking in our shoes, but last year I figured out his pattern,” she whispered to me across the wide, gleaming, oak table we had commandeered in the stacks. The

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P R I V A T E

135

place was deathly quiet, the only sound the whirring of a far-off reports about food. I have no idea why. I don’t think she’s eaten a copy machine somewhere near the back wall.

real meal since the Clinton administration.”

“His pattern?” I whispered, leaning forward.

I laughed.

Taylor smiled mischievously and I realized she was in her

“Aren’t you going to study?” I asked, eyeing her well-worn

element. She was a lot more confident, playful, and talkative here book.