Page 112 of Meet Me at the Metro

I know because he wouldn’t allow himself to fall asleep before me this past weekend. He stayed up with me during the long hours I spent fighting sleep, tracing letters against my back until my eyes grew too heavy to keep open anymore.

Connor’s studying me carefully as we push out of the double doors leading out to the courtyard and approach our appointed refuge on campus—the solid oak tree planted in the middle of the campus’ lush turf.

Throwing our backpacks onto the grass, we both exhale a sigh of relief as we sit down beneath its shade. I lay back, peer up to the overcast sky beyond the tree’s branches, and attempt to steer the conversation away from myself. “How was the rest ofyourweekend?”

“It was good. I binged a show on Netflix and was an utter lazy arse. You?”

I think of an honest answer that doesn’t mention John.

“I took a trip to a pumpkin patch in Wimbledon.” I smile at the memory of Theo carrying that huge ass pumpkin the entire way back to the flat.

“How many pumpkins did you steal while you were there?”

“Just one—but it was big enough to account for about four altogether.”

“Oh, my days! You’re a bloody pumpkin thief! You should be incarcerated for your crimes.”

“I’ll plead guilty and agree to my sentence if you promise to write me letters from the outside and send me care packages every few months.”

“I don’t engage with criminals, Ellie,” he teases.

“That’s hateful! Here I was thinking we were good friends, Connor!”

He laughs. “I bet you’re the fraud who was stalking the campus and causing all the uproar this weekend, too, aren’t you?”

I sit up on my elbows at that. “Wait,what?What happened this weekend?”

He cocks an eyebrow at me. “You didn’t hear?”

“Hear what?”

“It’s been all over the news.”

“I don’t keep up with the news! Tell me already!”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. I watch his fingers tap on the screen a few times before he finally offers it to me. “Here.”

My eyes immediately skim over the article title he’s pulled up, and I pick through the keywords of the article’s paragraphs.

Police begin an investigation after £50,000 goes missing from Gildenhill University funds account…

…The University has promised to inform students and staff as new developments emerge in this unfolding financial scandal…

“Oh, shit. This is legit?”

He nods. “They’ve started interviewing staff and everything.”

“Damn. Do they think it’s correlated to someone who works here?”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, ruffling his fingers through his dark hair. “I would think it had to be someone who can access the computer system. Though, my bet is on one of the graphic design students. They have a knack for that technological crap.”

“£50,000 is a lot of money…”

I continue to scroll through the article, but I’m too eager for quick answers to take my time reading it thoroughly. “Do they have any leads? Any suspects at all?”

“Not that they’ve released to the public. Apparently, the money was embezzled from the school’s tuition account.”

“That’s messed up.”

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