Page 82 of Second Chance

“Nah, he never tells me what to read.” Tony smiles faintly. “Just asks what I thought of it after.” Which doesn’t mean Daniel is relaxed about Tony’s reading material. When Tony setOf Human Bondageback on the shelf, it turned out Daniel had a whole speech prepared on why he hated it, as if he had been bracing himself to talk Tony out of enjoying it. He gave an impromptu lecture about virgin-whore complexes and W. Somerset Maugham’s biography, and Tony got lost in listening to Daniel talk about something he was passionate about and forgot most of the details.

“Hmm.” Pa runs a finger along the shelf. “He should stabilize this. Shelves are starting to bend.”

“I was gonna do that sometime this month.” Tony picked up a few two-by-fours at the hardware store and borrowed a drill for a quick and dirty solution against the weight of Daniel’s ever-expanding collection of books and journals. He was debating if it would be worth getting wood paint to match the shelf and if he should add some low-level lighting to it for the evenings. It seemed daunting, before, to talk to Daniel about making purposeful changes to the apartment. Tony was scared of asking too much. Now he wishes he was braver. Maybe if Daniel knew Tony was waiting for him at home, at their home, he wouldn’t have stayed at Lobell for so long, and no one could have kidnapped him. “Was gonna talk to Daniel about it sometime soon.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony catches Pa’s smile.

“What?”

Pa shakes his head. “Nothing. I…nothing. You think he’d mind if I borrowed something?”

“Nope. The stuff he needs for work is at the office anyway.”

“All right, then, recommend something.”

Tony eyes the shelves. He hasn’t read many of Daniel’s books, at least not in comparison to the sheer number of them, but he does have a solid hold on what his pa reads. He pulls one of the less oppressively long Brandon Sanderson novels out from the fantasy section and offers it to Pa. “Give that one a shot.”

“Thanks.”

Pa settles in the comfy chair while work on the poster proceeds next to him. Colette and Ma are talking in the kitchen, a low murmur of voices. Tony debates going to help, but Emilio’s already there, drying dishes, and Tony doesn’t want to risk another disturbing conversation.

Instead, he goes for the hallway closet and pulls out the spare bedding. He can make up enough for two extra people to sleep here tonight, so long as they don’t mind sharing the couch. If anyone else is planning on staying, they’ll have to share the bed with him. Tony hopes that will be enough of a disincentive to drive everyone else away.

By the time he’s finished sorting out the sheets, cleanup is finished in the kitchen. Emilio’s on his phone in the hallway and seems to be talking to Francie if his sudden abrupt change in tone to soft and gentle is any indication. Gianna’s in the office with Lia, who’s about ready to be put down for the night. Colette and Meredith are drinking wine in the kitchen, and it looks like they’ve just about convinced Ma to join them for a glass. Blake and Lisa are bickering over the poster.

Tony lets himself fall into place beside them on the couch and pulls out his phone. Still nothing from Daniel, of course. Colette’s forwarded a text from Detective Taylor, a simpleNo news yet.

With nothing better to do, Tony googles Rate My Professor. He checks Amelia Lawrence’s page again and rereads the negative reviews left for her. There’s the one with the implicit threat, of course, but the other one isn’t what Tony would call grounds for suspicion.Take this class if you love zebrafish and robotically handing in every assignment exactly on time. If you’re human, tough luck.

Honestly, it’s kind of funny. Not that Tony was ever the type of student to need an extension. He’s proud of his school record of pervasive mediocrity, right down to being punctual if not prepared. He wrote most of his essays the night before, and the worst it did for him was a D-plus in World History in eleventh grade.

Still, he knew many people like Lily Peterson. Charlie was a similar student when they all still went to school together, anxious, overprepared, and somehow underperforming, despite their intelligence, because the pressures of their brain were too big.

Tony gets it.

He’s eternally grateful he didn’t have unlimited access to the internet when he was growing up. This is exactly the shit he’d have thought would be witty to post about his high school chemistry teacher.

It’s not a good look, but it doesn’t scream murder either. Anyway, there’s no way to prove Lily left these messages, not without tracing her IP address or something else Daniel would probably know about.

With nothing better to do, Tony looks up Daniel on the site. He has a 4.1 rating. It’s lit up in green, so it must be a good score. The first commenter complains about all the reading but saysProfessor Rosenbaum makes up for it with interesting classes and good essay prompts.

The second one gushes about how available he is even outside of office hours.

The third one calls him cute.

Tony doesn’t disagree with any of these assessments, but he feels weird about strangers online leaving such detailed, personal descriptions of what they like about him. It’s almost a relief when the next commenter gives Daniel a 2.0 and calls his class boring.

Colette has a 3.8 rating. Apparently, she’s strict, but her classes are “worth it.” Tony wonders what that means. He’s debating screenshotting some of the funnier reviews—pro: it will be hilarious to tease Daniel and Colette about; con: Tony hasn’t checked the shop’s Google ratings in a while, and who knows what ammunition they might find in return—when his phone starts ringing.

He doesn’t recognize the number, but it has a New York area code. Frowning, Tony gets up to take the call in the bedroom.

“Hello?”

“Tony? Is that you?”

“Yeah.” Tony knows the voice, but he can’t quite place where from.

“Oh, thank fuck. You would not believe the journey I have been on to get your number.”

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