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“No.” I shake my head this time. “Just drop it, Bea.”

“You know what’s wrong.” She stares at me, her sorrow very real. I’ve done my job perfectly.

I shrug and try to walk off, knowing she’ll stop me.

“Jake. Just tell me.”

“Look, I always had asthma, but with my dad’s job. . . His crew smoked. They all did. And with my asthma.” I sigh. “The only thing that can save me is a lung transplant, and it’s too expensive.”

“How much?”

It was enough for the day of the big reveal. I had planted the seed. I cut the conversation off and ran home on cue. But when I get home that night, I feel almostsickabout it.

“What’s wrong?” my dad asks.

“Nothing.”

“Something,” he insists. He can always read my moods. “You can’t lie to your one person.”

One of the first things Dad taught me was that all con men had one person,oneperson they really loved. One person they cared about. That one person was their true north. It was the one person they could never betray, never con.

He’s my person.

And I’m his.

It’s always been Dad and me against the world, and one day, I’ll be as good as he is at tricking stupid peopleout of money they don’t need. For now, I’m learning. “It’s just that the girl at school?—”

“Bea, right?”

I nod.

“What about her?’

I don’t want to say it. “I mean, I’m not sure she really has money.”

“You said her parents own that fancy hotel.”

I shrug. “But they’re not really her parents, and anyway, I’m not sure if she can get them to help.”

“Not really her parents?” he asks. “What does that mean?”

“They’re like, her foster parents, or something.”

Dad smiles. “Foster parents? They’re suckers for sure, then.”

But my unease didn’t go away. Every day I spend, Bea cares more. She becomes more and more vested, and by the third week, she’s already told her parents, over my objections. Her stepmom or foster mom or whatever actually comes to talk to me at lunch.

“You must be Jake.” When she smiles, I can’t help staring. It’s dopey, but she’s justsopretty. I haven’t really met anyone quite that pretty before. Ever.

I nod.

“Well, I’m Seren Colburn—er. Fansee.”

“Fancy?” I ask. “That’s a weird name.” Then I cough a little for good measure.

“Oh, you sweet thing. I’m so sorry about that cough. Bea tells me it won’t go away.”

I shrug. “It’s fine.”

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