THIRTEEN

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The first thing that when through my mind when I woke up was, to my disappointment, Logan Ross.

     I didn't stop thinking about him even I went through my usual morning routine – shower, get dressed, brush my teeth, grab food to eat on the way – or as I got into my car to get to school.

     Associating Logan with Nudegate was dangerous because the more I thought about it, the more I started to make connections. It was easy enough to assume that he would have done something like Nudegate. He was the prime candidate. I wanted to believe that he was Eros and I almost did. But a smaller, more rational part of myself also recognized he deserved the chance to say something one way or another.

     I didn't trust him to tell the truth, but I trusted that he didn't have a good enough poker face to flat-out lie.

     I was running off of about four hours of sleep, adrenaline the only thing keeping me standing upright. More than anything, I was a seven or eight hours of sleep a night kind of girl. Trying to motivate myself to get through the day would be nearly impossible. The theories that Kolton had proposed had kept me thinking myself in circles for most of the night, trying to fit together pieces that I didn't even fully know the shapes of yet. There were answers somewhere – obviously someone was behind Nudegate – but I didn't feel any closer to finding them, putting me on edge.

     It was appropriately rainy and dark as I walked up to the school, my plaid skirt and tights doing little to protect me from the breeze. I hugged my raincoat closer to me, fighting against the light drizzle that was rapidly turning into a downpour.

     Early November had just rolled through, meaning we had eight months to get through without combusting.

     As I entered the doors of St. Joe's, I tried to shake off the rain that had collected on my jacket and ran my fingers through my slightly damp hair. I had expected to see Logan in his usual form, leaning against the lockers with the same slightly smug look on his face, but I realized it wasn't going to be that easy.

     I spotted Sloane almost immediately, her lips bold as always and her hair enviably flawless despite the less than pleasant weather.

     I quickly walked over to her, trying to keep it casual. I knew I was probably close tho the top of the list of people she didn't want to see, but I needed to talk to her.

     "Hey," I said and she looked at me, hand on her locker. "I was wondering if you'd like to be interviewed for the Warrior Weekly, considering your efforts to strike back at Eros."

     "Oh, how charming," she said, her voice flat. "And please don't give that jackass the ability to find pride in people actually using that stupid pseudonym."

     "What else what I call him?"

     "Jerk off," she said, closing her locker and starting to list off on her fingers. "Cock sucker, motherfucker, idiot, dickwad–"

     "None of those can be printed."

     "Not my fault your editors are a bunch of prudes."

      I pressed my fingers to the bridge of nose briefly. "Sloane, please."

     "My mind won't change. We've been over it and that stance that I had still stands," Sloane said and looked at me, her blue eyes filled with nearly palpable distaste. "Don't take it personally."

     I found it hard not to. "I just don't understand–"

     She turned away from me and put a long, perfectly manicured hand up in the air as if to wave me off. "Bye, Eden."

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