“Tell me you’re here to tutor me,” the voice is rough and playful and too familiar. I spin around and discover Arlo, whose eyes grow three sizes as recognition dawns on him. He throws a hand across his eyes, tipping his face toward the ceiling. “Rae Rae,” he says. “Do not tell Pax I just said that.” “Deal.” He groans, wiping his hand from his face and looking at me again. “Or the President. He’d kill me.”
