“Uh-huh.” After the countless “you’re forgettable” references, no part of me thinks I’m about to be invited, even though I—and everyone else on campus—know about Kellan McVey’s birthday. Not that I could go, anyway, since I’m on the straight and narrow now.
“But…” He looks at me from under his lashes, probably trying to be cute, and only sort of succeeding. “Not everybody’s twenty-one, so they can’t get into the bars…or strip clubs.”
I feel my eye twitch. “Uh-huh…”
“And since Burnham polices the Frat Farm pretty seriously during September, we were hoping we could have the party here.”
“Here? In this apartment?”
“Yeah,” he says quickly. “It would just be this one time, ever. I promise.”
“You want to have a bunch of drunk frat guys and strippers here, in my apartment? The one I moved into with the express understanding it was for studious homebodies only?”
He’s trying not to laugh. “Yes.”
“Crosbie, no. Get out.”
“It’ll just be this once, Nora. I swear. I’ll never ask you for anything again.”
“Stop looking at me like that. It’s not working.” I think about how awkward I felt hurrying past Crosbie and Kellan on my way to the bathroom; what would I do with a bunch of drunk guys and strippers? Hunker down in my bedroom and hope I didn’t have to pee all night?
“What’s the problem?” he asks. “I’m sorry we can’t invite you, but it’s guys only, unless you’re there to strip.”
“That’s sweet.”
“I promise to keep everyone out of your room,” he says. “All this…” He gestures to my meager belongings, “will be safe.”
“What am I supposed to do during this party, Crosbie? I don’t—” I stop myself before I can blurt out that I don’t have any friends or anywhere else to stay. I could go to work or hang out at the library until it closes at eleven, but after that I’d be wandering around on my own, and I don’t imagine the party will wind down early.
I see realization dawn. “You can…you can stay in my room,” he announces, sounding pleased with himself. “The door locks, I’ll stay here all night, most of the guys will be here, and no one will know you’re there. I’ll even change the sheets for you.”
I shake my head. “This isn’t—”
“One night,” he says. “And I’ll owe you.”
How the hell did my plan to stay away from the Frat Farm fall to pieces so quickly? Now I’m about to agree to not only spend the night there, but spend the night in Crosbie Lucas’s room.
“If it’s the Crosbabes thing, I swear to God I’ll kill anyone who talks about you. No one will think we…whatever.”
I run a hand across my brow. “It’s not that.”
“Then—”
“Show me a magic trick.”
His grin freezes. “What?”
“Right now. Show me a magic trick.”
He stares at me for a long moment. “Why?”
“Because I want to see one.”
“And then what?”
“Then I’ll let you throw your party here.”
He scrutinizes my face, and I really wish I wasn’t standing here with messy hair and no makeup, ready for bed, with Crosbie Lucas eight inches away, peering at me with so much doubt that I know no one has ever asked to see his tricks without fully intending to mock him afterward.
“I won’t laugh,” I promise.
His chest puffs up a bit. “I don’t care if you laugh.”
“Then I—”
“You need cash for this one. Two bills.”
I hear the stubborn note in his voice, the unwillingness to back down from a challenge. This is the guy who studies for a class that hasn’t even begun, then spends an hour on the elliptical and runs ten miles that same night. I don’t even care if the trick is stupid or disastrous; I’m not going to laugh at him when he’s trying. Instead I crouch next to my “bed” and dig in my purse, glancing over when Crosbie sits on the mat facing me.
“Are a five and a one okay?”
“Yeah. Perfect.”
I pass him the bills then sit down too, cross-legged, so I can watch. He sets the five on his knee then folds the one lengthwise and shows it to me. “A normal one dollar bill, folded in half. Any questions?”
“No.”
“All right. Do the same with the five.” He hands me the bill and I carefully fold it lengthwise. When I finish he’s waiting patiently, still holding the first bill between his fingers. “Good. Fold it in half again, the other way.”
I do, and he takes the folded five back and places the one behind it. He flips the bills back and forth so I can see that it’s the folded one pressed to the back of the folded five like a lowercase t. “Pretty straight forward,” he says. “Now count to three.”
I know there has to be something shady going on here, but whatever it is, I can’t see it. “One…two…three.”
As I count he jerks his hand slightly, and on the third count the one dollar bill suddenly slips through the folded halves of the five so it’s scissored in between. “How did you—”
“Shh. I’m not done. See how it’s in there?” He tugs the one so it bumps against the edge of the five, trapped inside.
“Crosbie, seriously, how—”