“Ha ha,” I answer, deadpan, though I manage a wry smile. Ethan’s allowed to make jokes like that. I know he loves my mom.
He gives me a devastatingly sexy smile. “So how’s your first day back?”
“It’s fine. But you’ll never believe what happened.”
“Oooh, gossip, I love it,” Jackie says. Mike Andruzzi leans in. So does a face I don’t recognize but I assume must be Ethan’s new leech.
I hesitate, the text flashing into my head. What if it’s one of them? Obviously it’s not Ethan, but someone close to Ethan might have access to my phone number. Or what if it’s someone from a table nearby? What happens if I get caught talking?
Tell no one.
Dammit. I’ll have to tell Ethan later.
“Spit it out!” Jackie says.
I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “Well, Tucker St. Clair asked me to be his partner for the history midterm assignment.”
Ethan pauses with a Smartie halfway to his mouth. Jackie’s jaw drops.
“Yeah. Weird, I know,” I say.
“Tucker St. Clair?” Jackie asks, leaning across the table.
“Little louder, I don’t think the guy in the back heard you. And yes.”
“What did he say when you said no?” Ethan asks.
“I didn’t say no.”
Ethan gapes at me.
“What?” I grab my sandwich out of my bag and pull off the plastic wrap as Ethan sputters for something to say. If we weren’t surrounded, I’d tell him the best way to find out if Tucker is a part of the Society or not is to spend more time with him. Instead I shrug like it’s a minor irritation. “It’s not like I had my pick of the litter.”
Airy laughter erupts from the back of the caf. Ethan turns his gaze to where Tucker is sitting with his friends—Farrah included—in their reserved spot at the window, and for one crazy minute I think he might actually be jealous.
“He’s hot!” Jackie says.
Mike makes fake puking noises.
“Oh, whatever, just because you like girls doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate a fine specimen when you see one,” Jackie says.
“Speaking of fine specimens.” Mike looks at something beyond me.
I glance up in time to see Tucker crossing the caf toward us. My spine stiffens. Surely he’s just passing by— Tucker drops next to me, straddling the bench seat between his legs.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I answer uncertainly. Everyone at our table is suddenly silent. They’re not the only ones. Sound seems to have vacuumed out of the caf because Tucker St. Clair is slumming it at our table.
“I realized I didn’t give you my address for tonight,” he explains.
“Oh. Right.” I dig in my bag and pull out my cell. Tucker recites his address while I type it into my phone under the weight of dozens of stares.
“I should get your number too.” He pulls out his phone.
“Um, sure.” My cheeks pinken, and I can’t look at Ethan as we exchange information.
When we’re done, Tucker stows his phone in his back pocket and drums his hands on the table, then looks beside me, seeming to notice Ethan for the first time. “Hey. You’re looking better than the last time I saw you.”
Ethan clears his throat.
Tucker turns to me. “Did Ethan tell you he puked all over my backyard the other night?”
“Ethan got drunk?” I ask in disbelief.
Two pink circles bloom on Ethan’s cheeks.
Ethan never gets drunk. He did it once when he was fourteen and had to get his stomach pumped. His mom practically disowned him, and the whole thing was so traumatizing that he never has more than one beer—if that.
“Yep. Savannah was feeding him these gross sugary cocktails all night. The last I saw him, she was dragging him to a bedroom,” Tucker continues with a laugh.
The smile freezes on my face.
“Don’t you have a lacrosse meeting or something?” Ethan asks tersely.
Tucker laughs. “Nah, not until tomorrow.”
I realize I haven’t said anything in too long, but I can’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t be weird. Ethan didn’t tell me any of this. What did he and Savannah do at the party? Are they a couple now?
Tucker drums his hands on the bench seat again. “All right, well, I better get back to my lunch before the bell rings. See you tonight, Hope.”
I give him a little nod as he crosses back toward the window.
“I can’t believe Tucker St. Clair just sat at our table,” Jackie says the minute he’s out of earshot. I concentrate very hard on keeping my breathing even. I can’t look at Ethan. If I do, I’ll cry.
“Hope, can we talk?” Ethan whispers.
So he can pat my back and tell me it’s okay, that he’ll take me on a charity outing in between his dates with his girlfriend?
I pop up from the bench seat.
“Where are you going?” Jackie asks.
“I need to do a treatment,” I lie. “See you later.” I leave the table without ever once looking at Ethan.