Morganville (Justin Bieber)

Chapter 85

It was a short ride to Common Grounds, but not exactly a comfortable one, because the first thing Eve said was, "Is it true? Oliver killed the Fentons and Captain Obvious?"

I didn't want to talk about it, but I nodded.

"And Michael? Michael was there?"

Again, the nod. I looked out the window.

"He got hurt. I saw the burns." This time she didn't even try to answer. Eve let the silence stretch for a few seconds, then said, "Don't shut me out, Ana. The four of us, we're all we've got."

Except that what I had couldn't be shared. Not with Michael, not with Eve, and certainly not with Justin.

I was alone, carrying an ugly weight of knowledge I didn't want and couldn't use. And every time I thought about Oliver's icy smile, about him ripping out Christine Fenton's throat, I felt sick. I'm helping him, if I keep working for Myrnin and Amelie. But I was also helping Michael. Sam. Myrnin.

Eve seemed to sense it wasn't time to push; she pulled to a stop in front of the coffee shop and said, "Stay inside until dark, then Michael will come get you."

"I'm going to see Justin," I said. "But I'll get a ride home."

"Ana, dammit -- " Eve sighed. "I can't stop you. But if you wait, you and Michael can go together. I'll see you guys tonight. Tacos for dinner, right?"

Nothing sounded very exciting to me right now, but I nodded. I got out and walked into Common Grounds, which was a sea of noise and conversation -- packed, as always, with college students and a few locals. I was getting used to picking out the gleam of ID bracelets.

Jennifer was sitting at the same table Monica favored, sipping a drink that I bet was the same thing Monica drank, wearing an outfit that was probably Monica's hand-me-downs, or at least copied from the same designers. She looked angry, and scowled at me as I dropped my backpack on the floor and slid into my chair. "You look like crap," Jennifer said. "Sick sick, or hung over?"

"Does it matter?"

"Hung over," Jennifer said, and grinned. "And here I thought you were all underage goody-two-shoes."

The smell of coffee was making me feel queasy, but I went to the counter and ordered a mocha anyway. Oliver wasn't on duty, and I didn't know the two working as baristas.

When I turned around, somebody else was sitting at Jennifer's table in the previously empty third chair.

Monica.

Crap. I can't deal with her. Not now. I felt horrible, and the last thing I wanted to do was match wits with the witch-queen.

Monica gave me the x-ray scan, looked at Jennifer and did an over-the-top hand to the forehead. "I thought the homeless look died in the '90s?"

"Shut up." I slid into my chair, mocha in hand. "I'm tutoring Jennifer, not you."

"Bitch, I wouldn't let you tutor me. You'd probably give me all the wrong answers."

Which was a totally good idea, and I saw the fear flash into Jennifer's expression. I sighed. "I wouldn't," I said.

"Why not?"

"Because -- because this matters. School." They both looked at me like she was a lunatic. "Never mind. I just wouldn't. You want my help or not?"

Jennifer nodded. I reached for my notebook and flipped to the notes I'd taken in economics, and started explaining. Jennifer was trying, at least; Monica kept sighing and fidgeting, but Jennifer seemed to be kind of following along. She even got a couple of the formulas right, when I pop-quizzed her. It took about an hour to get her to the level of a solid B, but that was good enough. Jennifer wasn't interested in As, and Monica couldn't have cared less.