I knew he would be in his dorm, getting ready for tennis practice, where I was due shortly. Antigone and Iman seemed enraged, but I knew I’d connected with Victoria and established at least a modicum of trust. A half hour later, when I arrived at tennis practice, Oliver strolled over with a huge grin on his face. “Didn’t take you for the cat burglar type, Luce,” he teased. “Don’t worry, I told them you were too busy clogging your arteries to nab Iman’s earrings.” I was relieved he clearly knew the whole escapade was a total fabrication. “Ugh, can you believe this? It’s a long story, but—” “It’s not that long,” he said. “It’s one word actually: Sofia.” “How did you know?” I asked. “I surmised. The first few weeks of school I noticed you with her a lot. There’s something about her I can’t quite put my finger on, but it’s dishonest.” He had her number, and he didn’t even know about the magazine connection or my apprenticeship in tabloid trash.
