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Sadie Elliot. 19. Scholarship - Gymnastics, Full Ride. East Hall, Room 14.

I tab further. Her timetable pulls up: Monday, Wednesday and Friday she has a nine a.m. lecture in the humanities block; Tuesdays and Thursdays she's in the gym by seven forty-five. Her afternoons are split between a photography elective on Tuesdays and a conditioning session that runs until six. Her route from East Hall to the humanities block cuts through the science building if she's running on time, around it if she's not. I know this campus better than the people who designed it.

Mason leans over. "What are you actually doing?"

I close the tab.

"Notes," I say.

He looks at my screen, which is now showing the Arctic Tern page because I'd forgotten I'd left it open.

"Miles."

"Fascinating animal," I tell him. "Longest migration of any species on earth."

He stares at me for a long moment with the expression he's had since we were eight, the one that means I know you're doing something, and I've learned not to ask what. Then he turns back to Harding, who has moved on to something that requires a diagram.

“Well, have fun, I know you will.” I turn to face him, and I see the smile on his lips. “Try not to scare her.”

Harding wraps up with five minutes to spare. Chairs scrape. The hall fills with the released energy of two hundred people who can finally move.

Mason stands, stretches, and looks at me with narrowed eyes. "You have that face."

"I have one face, and it’s the same as yours.”

"You have the face where something's happening in your head that you're not going to tell me about." Mason looks over at my laptop, but I close it and pick up my bag.

"Miles."

"Lunch?" I ask.

He watches me, then lets it go. He knows if I want to talk, I’ll talk to him.

"Yeah," he says. "Lunch."

I follow him out into the corridor, and the campus is already busy on a Wednesday morning.

East Hall is a six minute walk from the humanities block. I know because I've already worked it out.

***

The courtyard gets loud around noon. The noise hits me all at once, trays clattering, people talking, and someone’s music bleeding from a speaker two tables over, which is pissing me off. It’s so fucking annoying. It’s not even good music. I’ve learned to tune the background noise down to just static in my mind. I prefer being in my own world, anyway.

“…and I’m telling you,” Mason says, stealing a fry off my plate without looking at me. “If Professor Holt curves this exam, I’m buying the man a fruit basket.”

“You’ve never bought anyone a fruit basket in your life,” I tell him. I don’t even think he knows where to buy one from.

“I’ll start, and I’m sure Autumn will help me.” Mason looks over at Declan, who’s barely listening. He’s got his chin tilted toward Trixie, who’s showing him something on her phone, their heads almost touching. Lileah is monologuing, a party, a professor, and a problem with her roommate. I already know that’s one of the conversations I’m not getting involved in, nor do I care. When it comes to Lileah, the only thing I care about is if any boy touches her, it will be the last woman they ever touch.

I eat and half-listen. I run three lines of passive code in the back of my head, checking whether the network packet I flagged this morning has resolved itself or if I need to go back in tonight. Cain has been keeping us out of the family business, so now I’m playing around with my own codes and working on a way to hack even the secure networks without being traced. The first test failed, and the police were at the house of the IP address I was using within the hour. So, back to the drawing board.

“Miles.” Mason snaps getting annoyed that he’s being ignored and is about one second away from punching someone.

“Holt’s not curving it,” I say, without looking up. “He said it during office hours on Thursday.”

“You went to office hours?”

“I hacked the TA’s notes.” I laugh at Mason who thought I would go to fucking office hours.