Chapter Fifteen

Iget a response from Ellie the next afternoon. I'm four episodes into a show I've been meaning to watch all semester while I jot down some new ideas for the Torch and try not to think about Three's story—our story, hopefully.

Her message says two words: Happy Thanksgiving.

I wait awhile, convincing myself she's just nervous and will agree any second now. But it's hours later when I finally realize I'm fooling myself and send the screenshot to Three.

I've just sat down at my desk with a bowl of instant ramen, my Thanksgiving-break staple since the dining halls are closed, when my phone rings, his name flashing on the screen.

"She said no?" he says in place of a greeting.

"Hello, Three."

"She didn't say anything else? That was it? That's time-stamped two seventeen. You waited five hours to tell me?"

"I thought she might change her mind. I wanted to give her some time." I blow steam off my bowl. "This is kind of weird, you calling me. I don't think I like the sound of your voice right in my ear."

He huffs out a laugh, and it's so soft, I almost feel the brush of it through the phone. "I'm sure you'll be dreaming about it later."

I clamp my teeth down on the ends of my chopsticks in a grimace. "You know, you make that joke a lot for someone whose secrets I know too."

The other end of the line goes deliciously quiet.

"So, am I still allowed to be in?" I twirl up a clump of noodles and shove them in my mouth.

"Do you have to slurp directly into the phone?"

"Are you one of those people who hates the sound of other people eating?"

"Yes," he answers tightly.

I slurp louder.

"You're still allowed to be in if you stop doing that. Right now."

"Fine. Is that all? My noodles are getting soggy."

"We should meet up," he says.

I drop my chopsticks.

In the following silence, Three clears his throat. "Stop making it weird."

"I'm not. You want to meet?"

Three goes quiet for a minute. Then he says, "Never mind. We can talk about it with Christopher when he's back."

"I can meet," I say quickly.

"I gotta go. Bye."

"Hey—" But the call ends abruptly.

I'm still reeling when my phone buzzes a few minutes later.

I scramble to grab it, but I stop when I see it isn't Three. I'm shocked to find I'm disappointed, but the feeling quickly dissipates when I realize it's a Buckonnect notification.

hayes6834:happy thanksgiving

hayes6834:I forgot to say it yesterday

pomerene1765:happy thanksgiving

pomerene1765:clearly I forgot too

hayes6834:I hope that means you were having too good a time to think about anything else

hayes6834:hold on that sounded passive aggressive

pomerene1765:lol no it didn't!

hayes6834:pom. trust me. you know that scene from lion king when mufasa tells simba that everything the light touches is their kingdom?

pomerene1765:yes?

hayes6834:in my family it's everything the passive aggression touches. I know it when I see it. let me try that again.

pomerene1765:if you must

hayes6834:I hope you had such a great thanksgiving you couldn't think about your various…stresses

pomerene1765: thank you. I hope you did too.

hayes6834:now what would make you think I'm stressed out?

pomerene1765:it couldn't be the intense need to not be even a little bit misunderstood.

hayes6834:ah. I guess you have a point.

pomerene1765:so did you have a good thanksgiving?

He doesn't respond right away, and when I look down, I notice my noodles are bloated. I quickly finish the rest, grimacing at the loss of chewiness.

I'm slurping down the broth when my phone finally buzzes again.

hayes6834:definitely up there

hayes6834:maybe the best

pomerene1765:wow. must've been some pie.

hayes6834:I prefer the cranberry sauce

pomerene1765:oh so you're a serial killer

hayes6834:I thought we already established that

hayes6834:so how was yours?

pomerene1765:my thanksgiving?

hayes6834:yeah. top five? top ten?

pomerene1765:hmm

I think about yesterday. The sadness that followed me all day. The soda thrown down my back. Sharing a meal with Three. The gripping terror that we might get caught in the Sigma Rho house.

The weight of his arms around me, and his hand smoothing down my back.

I let out a slow breath. Nope. Not going down that road again.

hayes6834:that bad?

pomerene1765:not at all! it was good

pomerene1765:surprisingly good

hayes6834:I'm really glad to hear that

hayes6834:so would you rather drink the entire gravy boat or eat a whole bowl of cranberry sauce?

pomerene1765:there is a special place in hell for you

hayes6834:so I've been told

Late that night, I lift my self-imposed social media ban and find myself staring at that familiar private profile.

third.

My finger hovers over that request to follow button for a long time before I finally give into my months-long curiosity and click it.

Then I throw my phone facedown on my bed and begin to hyperventilate a little.

It's only research. It's not because I want to know about his cousins and his sister and his cat. We're still competitors, and knowing about his life gives me an advantage. He's probably already seen my profile, which has always been public, because I didn't think of it until long after our war began. Three is no dummy. My only comfort is that I've never been very active on social media, and there's nothing he could possibly have learned about me that I hadn't already freely given him in those first few weeks of school.

When my phone buzzes a few minutes later, I dive for it, heart lodged in my throat.

THREE:

I'm flattered

ME:

ME: Know your enemy and all that

Sun Tzu??

Rage against the machine

After a few minutes, I get a response.

THREE:

These guys are really good at spelling

ME:

Hilarious

A second later, I get a notification that he's approved my follow request. I immediately open his profile and begin to scroll with the frenzy of someone worried she might be blocked in the next thirty seconds, just for fun. I certainly wouldn't put it past him.

Three texts again.

THREE:

Enjoy

But I think you already got the best pictures off my computer

I don't respond, because I will not be baited into arguing about whether or not I looked at his nudes.

Besides, I'm busy.

Three isn't very active on social media either. His last post is from earlier this semester, where he's pictured at a football game with some guys from Tau Delta Pi. One of them is shirtless, banging his chest, and Three is grinning at the camera. I think it's the same day he found me walking home high on edibles, judging by his outfit and the date.

There's another of him at a frat party. Then one from summer, standing on the edge of a boat in a pair of swim trunks, about to jump off into dark blue water. Before that, it's a close-up selfie with that fluffy gray cat lying horizontal across the bottom half of his face, only his eyes visible.

He posted more often before college, documenting his boarding school days. I scour the public profiles of people he tagged and find Three in snaps from a Halloween party, at a carnival, in a bookstore. Laughing over pizza, over coffee, over ice cream.

A lot of laughter.

On a girl's profile, I discover a photo of him from graduation, his arm around another boy. Three is grinning, still wearing his cap. The other boy holds his cap in one hand, ruffling his dark, messy hair. His head is ducked slightly, but he's smiling.

The caption reads: ewww wellborns (affectionate)

I click the other boy's tag, and it takes me to a new profile, this one private. There is no full name or profile description, only: Wells.

This is the first photo I've found of the elusive cousin, and I study it for a long time. There's an easiness between them—Wells's playful exasperation and Three's unguarded smile. It reminds me of looking at pictures of my parents from high school—finding all the subtle differences in their faces, marveling at how they've changed. This feels like seeing a photo of my mom at twenty, surrounded by her friends, and realizing she had a life before me.

I don't know what it is that's different in Three now, but I can feel it. That the Three I know isn't entirely the boy in these photos. And I can't pinpoint exactly what has changed.

I spend the rest of the weekend messaging Hayes to distract myself from obsessively scrolling the profiles of Three's boarding school friends or panicking about what angle I'll take on his story if Ellie refuses to speak to me.

Then Sunday morning, as I'm crunching on my last granola bar and despairing about how I need to buy more, I get a surprising text.

ELLIE:

If you can meet today far off campus and alone I'll talk

But it's off the record

Fuck that sounds so STUPID

You're not publishing anything I say but I'll talk to you

ONLY you. I'm not talking to that asshole.

There's no question which asshole she means.

When Ellie walks into the coffee shop in German Village, I'm already seated at a table with my coffee, alone. She stops inside the door, scans the room, then makes her way to my table.

"Don't you want to order?" I ask as she drops into the seat across from me.

"No," she says. "I won't be here long."

I blink at her. "O… kay. Um, it's good to see you."

She slides off her sunglasses and arches a brow. "Let's not pretend we're meeting up because we missed each other."

I pick up my phone and open the questions I prepared with Three on the Uber ride here. "Should I just start, then?"

"No, I'll start." She eyes my phone. "You aren't recording me, right? And you won't publish this?"

I shake my head.

She raises her eyebrows. "I'm gonna need a verbal no on that."

"No, I'm not recording you, and I won't publish anything you say. I swear." I hesitate, leaning in a little. "But I could keep you anonymous. If you wanted—"

"They'd know."

"Who?"

"You should drop this story. You, or whoever it is that's doing it." She glances over her shoulder like we're in some kind of spy movie and someone might be following her. "I got my stash from a frat on campus. I'm sure you've already gotten that far."

I nod.

She waves a hand at my phone. "Forget those questions. Forget the whole thing. I'm not the only person on campus who was dealing, and it's not just one or two frats. It goes higher than you think." She lowers her voice, leaning in. "These are dangerous people."

"Will they, like, kill you for talking to me?" I whisper, panic rearing up.

Ellie blinks at me. "You watch way too much TV."

I glower at her. "I am so sick of hearing that. You're the one who keeps looking around like you're being followed."

"That's because I know you brought that snake from the Torch with you. I just don't know where he's hiding." She shoulders her bag. "But you can let him know that despite his best efforts, I didn't get kicked out of school."

"I don't think that's what he—"

"It is. It is what he wanted. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to know I'm on probation. But why don't you tell him and see what he thinks?" She stands. "I shouldn't have even warned you. If he gets his ass kicked, I'd just wish I could watch. But I don't want you to get caught up in it too. Let him catch hell all on his own. You don't need to help him."

I watch her as she angles to leave.

"I do miss you, you know," I say.

Ellie stops, half turning back to the table.

I stand. "I miss having you around."

She sighs, her expression softening. "You'd miss having anyone around, Wyn. It didn't have to be me."

I watch her leave, discomfort sharp in my chest. I never thought Ellie was paying attention to me, but she clocked my desperation either way.

I pick up my coffee and walk to a booth at the back of the café, sliding in across from Three. He had his back to our table, but as I approach, I see he's been using his phone to record us.

"We can't use that."

He gives me a flat look. "I know. It's not like I got any sound. I just wanted to see what her body language was like."

I'm not happy knowing he was recording me too. Not only because he didn't ask, but because I'm struck with sudden awareness of how my body looks from the side when I sit. Try as I might to love my body all the time, at every angle, sometimes insecurities can catch you like a fox in a trap. I'm only human. I hate that he has this now, immortalized on his phone for as long as he wishes to keep it. And I hate even more how it makes my own internalized fatphobia, which I battle so hard every day, rear its ugly head.

"Delete it."

His brows arch in surprise. "Now?"

"You didn't ask me." I can't look at him as I say it, ashamed that I've let my insecurity get the best of me, but unable to stop it.

Three blinks. Then he turns his screen toward me and hits the delete button. I watch the video disappear.

"Start from the beginning," he says, setting his phone in the middle of the table. His finger hovers over the button to record our conversation, but he stops and gives me a questioning look.

I nod.

"Sorry," he says as he hits record. "About the video. I should've asked."

Normally I love when he humbles himself—mostly because I know he hates to do it. But right now I can't even enjoy it. I wish I hadn't said anything. I feel like I've flayed myself open for Three to see where I'm weakest, and he has to guess—it must be so obvious—that this moment was about the way I look.

"It's fine," I reply.

He levels me with a look. "Don't say ‘it's fine' when people apologize to you, Evans. It minimizes your feelings."

I open my mouth, then slowly shut it. After a moment, I say, "That was surprisingly insightful."

"Surprisingly," he says with a snort.

"You don't seem like someone all that worried about other people's feelings."

His small smile evaporates. He lifts his coffee and takes a sip. "Let's start from the first question."

"Well, we didn't exactly do the questions."

Three sighs.