The Distance Between Us

the door and climbs in next to me without waiting for me to scoot over. “You read this, didn’t you?”
    He’s practically on top of me. I slide down the seat to make room for him.
    “Drive, Lucas,” he says, pulling the door shut. Then his eyes are back on me and there’s fire in them.
    “Are you mad at me for reading an article? Mason showed it to me last week.”
    “Last week! Caymen, why didn’t you say something?”
    “What did you want me to say? ‘Wow, your girlfriend is hot?’ Wasn’t feeling that generous.”
    Lucas laughs and Xander shoots him a look that shuts him up.
    “That’s the point, though. She’s not my girlfriend.”
    “But the article . . .” I point to the magazine he’s clutching in his fist.
    “This”—he flicks the face of Sadie on the front of the magazine— “is an old picture.” He studies it closer. “Last year.”
    “And she called you the other day. . . .”
    “She called me? No, she didn’t.”
    “I may have answered it. . . . She said she’d call back.”
    He pulls out his phone and scrolls through some screens. Then he grunts as if to say, Oh look, there she is.
    He presses the speaker button on his phone and a message left by Sadie Newel broadcasts in the car. “Hey, Xander. Where are you? Did you see Starz magazine? Those idiots. What’s the plan? I need you to work your magic to make that disappear. Tell me your father will hit them hard.” She sounds irritated.
    Xander hangs up then slowly turns his gaze to me, one eyebrow raised.
    “Oh” is all I can think of to say.
    “Oh?”
    “What do you expect me to say? I saw an article. I knew you were in LA that weekend. I’m sorry I thought all journalists were honest.”
    “What I expect,” he says, leaning close, “is for you to ask me.” His eyes are so intense I want to look away . . . or never look away, I can’t decide.
    My heart is pumping fast, and I’m so relieved that he is not with Sadie Newel that I almost throw my arms around him. Joke. I need a joke. Fast. “Maybe you should give me a list of all the actresses you’ve dated and in what year. That way I’ll know if it’s an old picture or a new one.”
    “I can get you that list,” Lucas says.
    I drag my eyes away from Xander and on to Lucas. “Could you include any heiresses or billionaires’ daughters as well? Anyone newsworthy, really.”
    “It might take me a while. That’s an extensive list.”
    I know he’s joking with me, but the words hit home, reminding me that I wouldn’t come close to making that list.
    Xander sighs and leans back. “It’s not that long.” He puts his hand over mine on the seat between us. I try not to smile too big.
    We pull up to the redbrick buildings of an expansive campus and I’m confused. “Where are we?”
    “UNLV.”
    “Is this your pitch for college?”
    “No. You’ll see.” It’s so funny how excited Xander gets to take me on these career days. Maybe Xander should be a life planner or something. Does that career exist?
    It takes me the whole walk through the sprawling campus to realize something. “You go to school here,” I say to Lucas.
    “Yes, I do.”
    It surprises me. Not that UNLV is a bad school. I just thought he would be at an Ivy League. I still haven’t figured out why we’re here, though.
    After passing a lot of buildings that look similar to one another, we finally enter one. At the end of the hall he knocks on a door. A man with glasses answers with a smile. “Hello. Come in.”
    I take in the room. Microscopes, burners, vials, glass cases, petri dishes. The science department. The man—a TA maybe?—says, “I hear you might be interested in studying science.”
    My lungs feel close to bursting. “Yes.”
    He goes on about all the different careers a degree in science can lead to. Medical, crime-scene investigation, research analysis, and on and on. Almost every one he mentions sounds interesting to me.
    “Follow me,” he says, and leads me to a microscope. “I was just getting ready to analyze this blood sample. What I’m looking for is to see how many white blood cells per square unit there are. If you’ll just look through the scope and count for me I’ll see if my number matches yours.”
    I do as he asked and relay my number. He writes it in a box on the paper next to the microscope. Then he goes to a glass case and pulls out a vial. He lets me inject a needle into it and drop a different drop of blood onto a slide and analyze that