“We can’t tell him. What do we do?”
We.
I laugh. “Darling, this is all you.”
“It’s not funny,” he mutters, shaking his hair out as he paces around the room.
“Don’t throw them around!”
He stops and puts his hands on his hips and glares at me. It’s what he does when he’s on the sideline. I could catalog many things about him: the way he raises his eyebrow—just one—the way his full lips twitch, the texture of his scars under my mouth. Most of all, I like how protective he is of me around Andrew . . .
“Nova! Are you listening? What’s the plan?”
I chuckle.
“I repeat, this is not funny,” he grouses.
“It kinda is.”
“Yeah, what if you have it? You like to wear my hats.”
“That was weeks ago. All right . . . a plan. First, you’re going to get my empty water bottle . . . the one I set on that shelf when we walked in. Then, we’ll catch the one in your hat and give it to Sonia.”
“No way in hell. Skeeter was right. Dump it on the floor, and I’ll stomp on it.”
“Normally, I’d be behind you one hundred percent, but Sonia is my only chick friend—besides Lois—and she desperately wants one under her microscope . . .” I smile tentatively. “Please.”
“No.”
I ignore him, my gaze on the louse. He’s crawling up the side of the cap, and I shake him back down. “He’s a feisty little bugger.”
“Look, the water bottle has a narrow opening. It was a decent idea—”
“I was working with what I had, thank you.”
He pulls out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“If Sonia wants a damn louse, she can come get it herself. I’m not a procurer of menacing rodents.”
“It’s a bug.”
“It’s a pest, and I’m texting her now.”
“I love that you said procurer,” I say, mimicking his deep voice. “Your big brain is amazing—and has lice on top of it.”
“Real funny, Princess.” His fingers fly over the phone; then he looks up at me. “Question: Do they bite?”
“They’re biting your head for blood. They lay eggs on your hair called nits? I can’t remember it all. I had it once. Mama treated me for a few days.”
“A few days!”
“I’m sure Mama went overboard.” I stretch my arm way out and pat his.
“Sonia better get her ass down here as soon as—”
Sonia whips open the door and steps inside. “Show me the little wanker.”
“Shut the door!” Ronan calls.
She clicks it closed, a jar in her hands. In her excitement, she jostles into me, and the hat falls to the ground. I yank it up but . . .
“He escaped!” I get on my knees and search.
Ronan groans.
Sonia wails, then points at Ronan. “I need to find another one.”
He looks up at the ceiling. “Sonia, I swear to God, I am not letting you—”
“Pleeease,” she begs, her hands up in a prayer, the jar between them. “Come on. Let me. It will only take a minute, and this is your contribution to science. Think of the bright young minds that will benefit from your donation.”
His shoulders slump. “God, you’re ridiculous. Fine.”
We hunt around the room and find an old stool tucked away in the back corner. After pulling it to the center of the room, he sits on it. I pull out a little flashlight I have on my keys and waggle my eyebrows. “We’ll find ’em.”
Sonia gives me a side hug. “You’re the best mate ever!”
“Can you two stop the girl party and get your louse?” Ronan mutters.
“Grump,” I say with a grin; then, just to spite him, I turn music on from my phone: “You Got It,” by Roy Orbison. I’m so happy with my selection that I do a little shimmy, and Sonia joins me to dance.
Ronan glares daggers at us.
“So, so funny,” he bites out.
I click the song off, wiping the tears from my eyes. Who knew high school could be so fun? I love that he has lice!
“Let’s get this over with, Sonia.”
We get down to business. He bends his head over while I hold the flashlight, leaving Sonia’s hands free to pick up Ronan’s hair.
Skeeter opens the door, not looking up, his phone in his hands.
“Shut the door!” Ronan snaps, and Skeeter jumps, his eyes big as the door clicks behind him.