Page 34 of Riot House
“Oh, really?” He fiddles, picking at his fingernails. “‘Cause I heard Carina saying you broke your phone and you were gonna have to wait until next week to get it fixed, and I—well, I fix phones in my spare time, so…”
My fork clatters down onto my lunch tray. “You fix phones,” I say. “Youfix phones?”
Tom nods. “Screens mostly. Sometimes I need to pull data, though. It can be tricky to get absolutely everything off a device. Did—did you drop it in water?”
“No. No, it just hit the floor pretty hard. It won’t even turn on.”
Tom nods. “Is it brand new?” he asks. “If it’s brand new and I replace the screen, it’ll void the warranty.”
“New to me. Not brand new.” Dad makes out like he’s giving me one of his fucking kidneys every time he replaces my cell phone, but I know from the little scuffs and nicks that they’ve always had at least one owner before me. Usually his military aide. He’s never been one to shell out money on something he can get for free.
“Then it’s probably outside of its warranty, anyway. You got nothing to lose, having me take a look at it.
The dining hall’s emptier than usual. People have been cooped up inside all week because of the rain; now that it’s finally stopped, they’re braving the cold and taking their food outside. I love the quiet, and I’m thrilled that I’m not being stared at by thirty people I don’t know the first thing about, but the thing I like about eating in the dining hall? The thing I like the best? Wren and his cronies are too good to eat in here with the common folk. Not once have I seen any of them disgrace this communal area with their presence, which means I’m safe here. I don’t have to worry about snide quips, or dirty looks, or a face so fucking pretty and evil that it makes me want to weep.
Wren would probably get a kick out of my inner conflict. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that he’d be rubbing his psychotic hands together if only he knew how many traitorous thoughts I have about him every single fucking day.
But…
Jesus, I’ve just spent a solid twenty seconds thinking about Wren when there’s someone standing in front of me, waiting for me to hold up my end of a conversation. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Back to the matter at hand.
Giving my full attention to Tom, I size him up. “What happened to your lip, Tom?”
His eyes round out. “Huh?”
I point my fork at him again. “Your bottom lip. It’s split wide open.”
He touches his fingers to his mouth like he was unaware of the injury. “Oh! Oh, I was lying in bed this morning, looking at Instagram, and I dropped my phone. It hit me in the mouth. Stupid right? You ever done that before? Hurts like a bitch.”
I clear my throat, giving him another once over. “Why are you being nice to me? We’ve never spoken before.”
He shifts from one foot to the other, clearing his throat. “Well, I’d hate to crush any ideas you might have had about my philanthropic spirit, but, well, I getpaidfor this kind of work. I’m here on a scholarship, so…”
Oh, come on. I amsuchan asshole. It’s easy to forget that not every single student at these schools is rolling in paper. Some schools do have scholarship students. Some students at places like Wolf Hall even have jobs and need to work the weekends to help support themselves. I feel like a grade-A asshole for completely disremembering people whose fathers haven’t squirrelled away millions and are required to pick up the slack.
I sit up straight, pushing my food away. “How much?”
“A hundred if it’s just the screen. Including parts. If it’s one of the newer phones, I should have what I need here on campus. If not, I’ll have to order the stuff online, which usually takes about a week to arrive.”
“It’s last year’s model.”
“So, yeah. I should have you covered.”
“And if the phone’s fucked and you need to pull the data?”
“That’s an extra thirty. It’s not super hard. I could show you how to do it if you wanted to save money, but most people have me do it to save themselves some time.”
The data on my phone is minimal. No photos. No huge text strings that I’m sentimental over. It was clean when Colonel Stillwater gave it to me, so I’m not really concerned about that. Going radio silent, after my friends have only just discovered I’m not dead, though? I’m fairly concerned aboutthat. “How quick could you get it back to me?”
Tom jerks. He looks surprised that I might actually be considering hiring him. “Uh, oh, well usually three days or so, but since you’re new I figure I could try and put a rush on it.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. I can’t get to Albany this weekend. I’d prefer not to have to wait until next weekend to get this taken care of, so…sure. Take it.” I dig around in my bag until I locate the busted phone, and then I hold it out to Tom across the table. He swallows, relief dominating his features. Damn, the poor bastard must be really hard up for cash.
