Page 34 of The Trade

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I ask, trying to suppress the small surge of apprehension that comes with his curiosity. If West knew my last name, he might easily connect the dots to my brother. And I’m not ready to reveal that part of my life to him just yet. So, for now, I’m more than happy to delay the inevitable.

“Ah, I see how it is.” His grin widens, a playful glint in his eyes. “You know, if I really wanted to find out, I could just check your next byline.”

“Hmm, you could. But that wouldn’t be playing fair,” I say, crossing my arms defensively. “Would it, Teddy?”

He groans in exasperation, his expression somewhere between amusement and annoyance. “Oh, sweet Christ.”

“And yet, you’re lucky I like Theo better.”

He snorts a laugh. “Such a little dork.”

“Such a little drama queen,” I fire back, matching his playful tone. I pause for a moment, shifting the conversation. “By the way, about tomorrow—I was wondering if you could meet me in the afternoon instead?”

“Sure, whatever you need.”

“Okay, cool.” I pull out my phone and set a quick reminder for myself. “Meet at the library around two o’clock? I have a deadline coming up for theDaily, so I’m definitely gonna need an afternoon pick-me-up.”

“Alright,” he agrees, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “So what groundbreaking article are you working on now?”

“Believe it or not, Garrett finally decided to throw me a bone this time.”

“Garrett?” He tilts his head in question.

“Yeah, my editor. He assigned me a new piece on Immersive Arts.”

“Oh ...cool.” He furrows his brow, then, “What does that mean exactly?”

“The art majors have decided to use our campus as their canvas,” I explain, a flicker of enthusiasm kindling inside me. “There’s this gruesome dead seal that they made out of ceramics. It’s got, like, Coke cans and plastic bottles spilling out of its guts, but they placed him right in front of the eagle statue. I guess it’s supposed to be a commentary on plastic in our oceans.”

He shudders a bit, a look of revulsion briefly crossing his face. “That’s . . . slightly disturbing.”

I can’t help but laugh at his reaction. “Yeah, but it’s also kind of awesome, in its own way. You want to know the real kicker, though?”

“What’s that?”

I sigh dramatically. “Remember Freddy?”

“How could I forget Mr. Pissed-My-Pants?”

“Well, he’s the lead artist,” I say, a pang of dread settling in my stomach. “Garrett just sent me the details this morning.”

He blinks at me in surprise. “No shit?”

“None whatsoever. Irony’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

His eyes narrow, a sudden intensity in his gaze. “So, what, you have to go interview the guy now?”

“Actually, I already emailed him the interview questions. I know it’s a cop-out, but fuck ... I can’t face him after the trauma we caused.”

“Ruthless.”

“Right?” I shake my head, a wry smile twisting my lips. “Anyway, I have to get to class. I’ll see you at the library tomorrow?”

“For sure,” he agrees, his voice low and soothing. “Would you mind if I stuck around to study?”

I purse my lips, teasing him. “The library’s a public domain ... but I don’t really have time to help you edit another paper.”

“Oh, come on,” he says playfully, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “As if I’d trick you into helping me.”

---