Page 70 of Caged in Silver
Leo shoots them another wistful look. “You never know when you might need them.”
Before I can think of a reply, he’s halfway down the hall, smiling and waving goodbye.
The second I shut the door, Liv rounds on me. “What the hell was that?”
“That was Leo.” I sit back down at my desk.
“No wonder Zander’s pissed off.” Liv shoots to her feet and closes the space between us. “You cannothang out with him anymore.”
“I told you, we’re just friends.”
“Please.Anne of Green Gables? I mean, come on!”
“A couple weeks ago he was readingThe Scarlet Letter. Forfun. That’s just how he is.”
“Okay, fine.” Liv taps her foot like a scolding mother. “Then what about the way he was looking at you?”
I will the rising color from my cheeks. “What about it?”
She puts both palms on my desk and leans in. “He wants you. Bad.”
Does he? I’m not convinced. He’s had opportunities to make a move, and he’s passed on all of them.
Not that I’ve noticed.
Liv bends lower. “And you want him.”
I shake my head.
She straightens as she groans, “God, being in the same room with the two of you—I feel like I should wash out my eyes or…or… go to confession or something!”
“You’re not Catholic.” I turn my attention to my application, hoping to end this conversation before I have a panic attack. There’sa shit-ton of anxiety in this room, and I don’t know if it’s coming from her or from me.
“Betts! Seriously!”
I rake back the lock of hair that keeps falling over my eye. “Look, I’m not gonna stop hanging out with Leo. We talk about things—things I don’t get to talk about with anyone else.”Things?Way to be vague, English major.
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
Faeries and magick and psychic abilities? “He reads. A lot. Like I do. And we talk about literature and trees and…and…”
“If you want to talk about trees, come to me.”
“He’s smart,” I argue.
“So Zander’s stupid?”
“What? No. He’s just not…”
“Not what?”
“An intellectual.”
Liv looks at me like I’m growing horns. “Okay, I know you like to read and all, but since when are you anintellectual?” She says “intellectual” like it’s some sort of disease.
Since forever, I want to say, but I don’t. It’s not her fault she doesn’t know the deepest parts of me.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, picking at her nails. “I know you’re smart. But it’s not like you’re dying to spend your Saturday nights in the library. You like to party and have fun.”
