Chapter Twenty

It's clear, by the time the weekend rolls around, that I'm dragging my feet on meeting Hayes. I've messaged him a couple of times since returning to school, but not about anything real. To his credit, he hasn't pushed since I said I'd see him at school. But I know nothing has changed for him. He wants to meet.

I'm the only one hesitating.

To distract me from my cowardice, I have Angelica's going-away party, the Torch staff's big bash now that we've lost her to the Columbus Dispatch. I'd nearly forgotten about it, too busy worrying over meeting Hayes, the work that still needs to be done on the Dirty Four story, and my own article about an alumna author who, after her college roommate was murdered by an abusive boyfriend, started writing middle grade mystery novels to help kids deal with trauma—all to the soundtrack of Madison's musical audition song playing on a relentless loop in my head. But Sabina catches me on her way out of the newsroom to ask if I want a ride, reminding me that we have plans.

It feels like she's sharing a secret with me, letting me see inside her car—a cool-girl car, of course, old and littered with CDs for her ancient stereo, smelling like leather and tobacco thanks to an air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.

On the way to the bar, she asks me about my progress on my application for the journalism program and the recommendation letter I've been trying to get from my adviser.

"I've been really impressed with your stories lately." Her gaze slides my way at a stoplight. "I know you compare yourself a lot to Three, and I won't lie—he's a good reporter. But so are you. His stuff might be hard-hitting, but I think you've got something going for you that he doesn't. At least not yet."

"Like what?" I'm not fishing for compliments—I really want to know. Everyone is always saying what a great reporter Three is. He gets praise from Mel and Christopher constantly, but Sabina has been notably quiet about both of us. Being acknowledged by her, my Torch idol, pumps up my confidence at warp speed.

"These stories you've been doing lately—the human-interest pieces," she says as she eases into a spot outside the bar. "I think they're something we've been missing at the Torch. We've always focused on objective, straightforward news. But I'm realizing sometimes people don't want the dark shit. They want the stories about humanity. That good stuff. You tapped right into that." Sabina grins, thumping a fist against her chest. "You've got heart."

I'm still riding the high of her compliment an hour into the party. The bar we're at is packed, our group taking up a huge table in the middle of the room. I'm the only one stone-cold sober and glued to my seat. Half of them keep getting up to get more drinks, and Angelica and Mel are standing out of their chairs, hunched over a pile of nachos as they each try to house half the plate faster than the other.

It's fun. Or at least, it should be. This is what I've been looking for all year—camaraderie with my fellow staff members. A team vibe. Friends.

But there is a notable absence at our table. One I can't stop thinking about.

"Do you know where Three is?" I finally get up the courage to ask when Christopher returns to the table with another beer.

He raises his eyebrows. "Aren't you two, like, a unit now?"

My mouth flattens.

Christopher chuckles as he takes a sip of his drink. "He said he couldn't make it. His frat is having some formal alumni thing"—by his tone, I can tell he finds this ridiculous—"and his parents are in town for the weekend."

Well, then. That's perfect. In fact, this is a bonus for me. The Torch staff will notice that I'm here, and Three clearly has other priorities. How can they give the Campus Life spot to someone whose schedule is packed with fraternity events?

He's barely even my competition at this point. Sabina is right—my stories have heart. I'm a contender. And Three is proving just how little he cares about beating me if he isn't here right now. In fact, I don't even need to concern myself with his absence. I don't need to think about him at all—not beyond what part of our story he's covering, and if he's been able to get in touch with any of our potential sources yet. We have a business relationship. Beyond that, we are nothing to each other.

Right.I pull out my phone.

I'm doing it. I'm going to meet Hayes.

I'm definitely probably going to meet Hayes.

I will at least broach the subject.

Now.

Probably now.

Maybe…

Fuck it.

pomerene1765:let's do it

pomerene1765:let's meet

I shove my phone under a napkin, heart hammering, stomach twisting up in a million knots. Double knots. Sailor's knots. It will probably be knotted up until the end of time. Congratulations, you're like this forever now.

When I finally get up the courage to check my phone, I have a message waiting.

hayes6834:you're sure?

hayes6834:I don't want you to do it unless you really want to

pomerene1765: I really want to

pomerene1765:as long as you still do

hayes6834:I do. but I want to make sure you know I don't expect anything from you.

pomerene1765:are you trying to talk me out of it now?

hayes6834:definitely not. but I need to know you're actually ready. what if you're disappointed when you find out who I am?

pomerene1765:I'm pretty sure I already know who you are

There. I sent it. I can't take it back.

hayes6834:I was hoping you'd say that. because I think you do too.

I reach for my glass of water and gulp it down like I just ran a mile. Or ten miles. My heart is beating like I just ran a hundred miles.

I swallow my panic down with it.

pomerene1765:does that mean you know who I am?

A long silence stretches before he responds.

hayes6834:I do

I'm so glad everyone else is distracted by the nacho-thon and out-drinking each other, because I could not handle it if even one of them looked my way right now. I wish I hadn't just finished my water, because now I feel like I swallowed dust, and I have nothing to wash it down.

I stare at my phone as more messages pop up.

hayes6834:don't freak out

hayes6834:you're freaking out, aren't you?

hayes6834:maybe we should have this conversation in person

pomerene1765:I'm not freaking out

I am totally freaking out. How long has he known? Why hasn't he tried to see me since we've been back? If he likes me, and if he knows I'm Pomerene, why wouldn't he seek me out?

Is he as nervous as I am about losing our anonymity?

pomerene1765:I'm just wondering what gave me away

hayes6834:you first

pomerene1765:wow you really do hate to lose, don't you?

hayes6834:oh is that what gave me away?

pomerene1765:surprisingly no. it was the kickball

hayes6834:??

pomerene1765:you said you were in a kickball tournament the weekend before finals, remember? and I said I was there too

hayes6834: no I know. but I didn't think you saw me there.

pomerene1765:what??

hayes6834:I didn't think you saw ME at the tournament. that you knew I was there.

I get a strange sensation, everything sliding out of place.

A long silence stretches out as my mind races. Clearly we're misunderstanding each other. Either Lincoln thinks someone else is Pomerene, or…

My stomach drops. And my panic is the only explanation I have for what I say next.

pomerene1765:you're not lincoln, are you?

This time, an answer comes through right away.

hayes6834:you've gotta be kidding me, evans

I lurch to my feet so quickly, I catch the attention of the rest of the Torch staff, as well as a few people nearby. I flush under their scrutiny and nearly drop my phone.

Then I wonder if I should drop my phone. Let it be lost to the sticky bar floor, never to be seen again.

"Sorry," I croak, sitting again. "I—I'm—"

"What's up?" Sabina calls over Angelica's head. "You bored? Want a beer?"

"Someone get your recorder ready," says Aaron. "We're about to have an exclusive on the editor-in-chief enabling underage drinking."

Sabina laughs and flips him off.

"I'm good." I cough into my fist. "I think I just—"

"You want water?" Mel asks, jerking their thumb toward the bar. "I'll grab you one. I'm heading back up."

People start shouting their orders at Mel, who tries to wave them off, and then everyone is yelling. I want so badly to bolt, but I can't exactly disappear when the new Campus Life editor is about to get me a drink. Even if it's only water. At the very least, I need to say goodbye.

I'll wait. It can't take long to get more drinks.

But another five minutes pass. And then eight. And then ten.

I crane my neck, searching the packed bar for Mel, but they've disappeared in the crowd.

And truthfully, now I'm feeling really sick.

Okay, that's it,I think, getting to my feet again.

"Hey, listen, I'm gonna head out," I call over the noise. "I have a—a—oh…" I trail off, my eyes widening as I spot Three making his way toward our table from the door. His cheeks and nose are pink from the cold, and his hair is windswept. He's wearing a suit under a long wool coat I've never seen him in, his tie loose and askew, top button of his shirt undone. He's breathing hard, like he ran here. And his narrow gaze is locked on me like I'm the only person in the entire bar.

He stops at our table, ignoring everyone else as he swallows down his next breath and says, "Who the hell is Lincoln?"