Chapter 6: Furniture

The photo hit the group chat before breakfast.

Rory held up his phone across the table and said nothing, which was how Dash knew it was bad.

It was the alley, grainy and yellow.

Two shapes stood against a brick wall.

One had his head thrown back and his wrists pinned, and the other wore a navy crew jacket and had his mouth on a throat.

The jacket had HAVERFORD stitched across the back.

"Who sent it?" Dash said.

"Unknown number. Eight hundred people have it." Rory pulled the phone back. "Dash. I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

"It's your face," Rory said.

"It's the back of my head," Dash said.

"It's your head, and your jacket, and it's got a caption." Rory turned the phone around again.

WEEKEND ONE, it said. THE TAME LIST IS LIVE.

Dash put his fork down very precisely.

The dining hall was full, and every table seemed to have a phone propped between the cereal bowls.

He had been seen.

He had been seen in an alley with his hands on a boy he had told the whole world was nothing.

Tripp's chair scraped as he came up from the next table, coffee in hand.

"Morning, Haverford."

"Oakes," Dash said.

"Quite a photo. Everyone's asking who the pretty freshman is."

Tripp lowered his voice, but only slightly.

"I'd like to know myself. Seems like a boy you'd mention."

Dash looked up.

At the end of the hall, in the tray line, Wilder stood with a plate and a cup of coffee.

He was looking straight across the room at Dash's mouth.

Dash knew the look by now, the steady, patient way Wilder watched him talk.

He knew what Tripp was doing, too.

The first weekend was on the board.

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