Read The Tell-Tale Con for Free Online Page B

Talia, do you find math camp hot?”
    I laughed, though the rational part of my brain was screaming obscenities at me for ruining all its hard work.  “Compared to chess camp?  Because that’s a tough one.”
    It occurred to me that maybe it was rude to make fun of his love of chess.  It was the second time I’d done that without any regard to his feelings.  But, like the first time, he seemed unperturbed.  “Talia, Talia, Talia.  Everybody knows that there’s nothing hotter than a guy who’s good to his queen.  Chess players are always sexy.”
    There was something absurdly adorable about that kind of self-effacing acknowledgement of his geekness and yet unapologetic confidence. 
    â€œTallulah!”  There was a hard bang against my door.  “Did you eat all the cheese?”
    My fingers slid off the walkie-talkie making a loud, horrible screeching noise.  Then I dropped it by accident.  It bounced against the hard floor and landed finally with a resounding thud.  I stared at the door, unsure what to do.  Even if she came right in and saw me hanging out and talking to someone she didn’t know on a phone she hadn’t given me, she wouldn’t care.  Mom’s parenting style involved ignoring me until she needed something.  So perversely, I felt like I’d been caught doing something horrible, though I wasn’t doing anything wrong at all.
    I scooped up the walkie-talkie and shoved it under my pillow, still unsure why I was reacting guiltily.  I cracked open the door.  “No, I used the cheese for dinner.  Why do you need some?”
    â€œI’m still hungry.” 
    â€œThere’s chicken left over from yesterday.  Put it in the microwave.”
    She looked, for a moment, like she might complain, as though I had the magic ability to produce cheese at will.  Then she shrugged.  
    She pulled the door closed, and I slumped back against the dresser.  My heart was thumping hard, like she’d caught me doing something terrifyingly inappropriate instead of talking to a guy from my science class. 
    I pulled the walkie-talkie out and pressed the button.  “Go to bed.  I’ll be waiting.” 
    There was a long pause.  “I haven’t been told to go to bed in a long time.”  It was easy to hear the amusement in his voice, even over the tinny speakers. 
    â€œDon’t you want to get to this?”  I’d lost my amusement and patience with this whole thing after the nerve-wracking appearance of my mother. 
    I could practically hear him shrugging on the other end of line.  Maybe if I was him, I wouldn’t want to get down to the demon stuff either.  “I’ll let you know.” 
    I was met with radio silence, and that bothered me.  But Harrison was almost nothing to me.  Nothing except my boss, anyway.  I wasn’t going to feel guilty for essentially telling him to shut up and get to it. 
    Not that ordering myself not to feel bad helped.  Eventually I did fall asleep sitting up in bed, slumped over the walkie-talkie.  But the explosive scratching noise of the walkie-talkie turning on came through loud and clear.  I almost fell out of the bed before I was able to get myself together enough to press the button and hiss, “Go ahead.”
    I squinted at the clock.  Just after 2:00 a.m. 
    â€œI hear it,” he hissed back.
    â€œHold out the walkie-talkie.” 
    I heard something.  A strange, low, guttural whisper.  I couldn’t understand the words, but I could definitely hear someone talking. 
    â€œDo you hear it?” he demanded.
    â€œYeah.  I’m coming over.”  I scrambled out of bed, tripping over my backpack that I’d tossed on the floor.  I fumbled for the light. 
    â€œYou can’t do that.  The doorman won’t let you