Page 173 of Because I Killed Him
Eventually, Charlotte starts fidgeting in her chair, growing increasingly irritated. With a loud sigh, she deactivates her Bond and narrows her eyes at Dickie, who’s constructed a throne out of every pillow in the bar.
Charlotte stands and reaches for one, but he swats her hand away.
“Just give me one.”
“Why should I?” Dickie extends a hand, snaps his fingers, and a Pinkie places a chocolate cupcake neatly in his palm.
“Because if you don’t,” she says sweetly, “your bony ass is going to need one permanently.”
Dickie freezes, cupcake halfway to his mouth, then mutters and hands her a pillow.
Charlotte returns to her seat, shoves the pillow behind her back, and swivels toward me with a smile. “You’re joining us tonight, right?”
“For what?”
Charlotte and Dickie exchange a look of disbelief.
“Um, hello?” Dickie says through a mouthful of cupcake. “Reeve’s coming, remember?”
No. It completely slipped my mind that the president is flying in tonight to meet with the Professors. He’s already building buzz for his re-election campaign next year, and he knows a photo op with some of the most renowned minds in the Civilized World—many of whom taught him when he was a student at Grandmaster—will make for excellent coverage.
But that’s not why Dickie wants me there. He’s been a fanboy of Reeve’s for years, desperate for a picture, and he knows I’ve got an inside line because Dad saved his life.
“I’d rather stay in tonight,” I say.
Dickie grumbles. “Fine friend you’re turning out to be.”
Charlotte glances at me, concern softening the lines beneath her eyes, as if she knows something’s wrong. But she doesn’t ask in front of Dickie.
“What about Edmund’s party next week?” she says, her voice gentle but still hopeful. “You’re coming to that, right?”
“I’m not sure yet. It’s so close to exams, and—”
“And?” Dickie’s disappointment flares as he snatches another cupcake. “Since when do you say no to a night out?”
I lift my chin, trying not to crack under his stare, but I can feel my excuses fraying into threads. For a while, blaming my anxiety on my civil credits being tied to William Lee was enough. Dickie even stopped pushing me to play Highball with him. But now, with Edmund topping off my account every few days, that excuse carries no weight. They know it. I know it. And I can’t lean on it anymore.
But I have one last card in my deck—if I can play it convincingly.
“Because I’m distracted, and to be honest, I’m scared.” I raise my voice just enough to carry emotion. “The trial case is about to go to the jury. We’re days away from watching the Blues who tried to kill Reeve either walk free or, for the first time, be executed in front of the entire Civilized World. I’m sorry, but right now I can’t think about going out.”
Dickie and Charlotte fidget in their seats, sheepishly avoiding my gaze at first. But the moment sours fast.
“Fine friend you’re turning out to—” Dickie stops and scowls, realizing he’s already used the line.
Charlotte keeps her tone light, but I can tell my words set off an alarm in her head. “I understand it’s a hard time for you, Lore, and I don’t blame you for feeling this way. But you and I both know this isn’t just some party.”
I lower my eyes, saying nothing because she’s right. Now I’m out of excuses. Verdict or no verdict, the entire campus will celebrate the founding anniversary of the Civilized World next week.
“I don’t blame you for feeling antsy, broad. Anyone would be climbing the furniture by now. But if you’d rather spend your night watching Bogart narrate the jury’s micro-expressions for the millionth time, go ahead,”Dickie mutters, flopping the cupcake in his palm. “But believe me, if you skip out, you’re gonna regret it.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why?”
“’Cause Ed’s got something he wants to ask you.”
For a moment, my mind leaps to the worst. Edmund knows about Charles. Somehow, he knows. But if the file had been accessed, Dad would’ve warned me. And Edmund wouldn’t wait to confront me, much less kiss me the way he did at the bar.
“What does Edmund want to ask me?”
