Page 19 of Enter if you Dare: Part Two

Paper rustles in the background. “The Harvest Scholars Foundation. I looked them up and they barely have a website—it’s very exclusive. The financial aid office lady said she had never seen an award this complete. She said that whoever funds it must really . . . Valli, are you crying?”

“No,” I lie, wiping my face.

Harvest.

I examine them slowly. Noa diverts his eyes to the ceiling. Cipher plays with the trinkets on his jacket. Cave watches me dead on.

“Len, that’s . . . I’m so happy for you. You deserve every bit of good fortune.”

“We should celebrate. When you visit, we can get real coffee, not the machine sludge. My treat. I can actually say that now—my treat.” I listen to her excited voice and keep my eyes on the three men standing in front of me.

By the time she winds down, and we say I love you a few times and hang up, I have stopped pretending not to cry. I set the phone down and sit up.

“Who did this?” I ask them.

Noa looks at Cipher, who looks at Cave, and he looks at me.

“Did what?” Noa asks, trying to act innocent with his smudged zombie makeup and a grin plastered across his face.

“The Harvest Scholars Foundation.”

“Never heard of it,” Cipher says, his ears so red they could stop traffic.

“Sounds fake,” Noa agrees. “Very suspicious, you should look into it.”

“You’re both smiling,” I reply, unsure whether to cry or laugh.

“We’re just happy people,” Noa says, and I roll my eyes, turning to Cave.

“Did you do this?”

“No,” he says. Which would be a hell of a lot more convincing if the corner of his mouth wasn’t pinching up in an almost smile.

“Seriously, you didn’t think harvest would give it away? You named it after corn.”

“Okay, in fairness,” Noa says, holding up his hands, “that was a group decision. I had better ideas, but no one cared for those. Like the Grave Diggers Society, or Dead Man Island.”

I press both my hands over my face to hide my tears. “It’s too much, do you understand that? Her tuition, dorm, food, and a stipend. For four years. That’s . . . I can’t even. Do you know how much money that is? I can’t take that from you; I can’t ever pay it back.”

“Hey, no,” Noa says, sitting beside me. He grabs my hands and gently tugs them away from my face. “It’s not too much; it’s not enough. It will never be enough. Do you understand me?”

“Noa.”

“No one has ever seen us before you. People look at Cave and see a monster. They look at Cipher and see a weirdo. They look at me and think I’m too much. Yet you took one look at us and saw the men beneath. You dug a hole with me because it sounded fun, you made Cave apologize, you held Cipher’s face and told him you would go slow. Nobody has ever done that for us. So, no, it’s not too much. Money is simply money, whereas you gave us something we can’t buy.”

My tears don’t slow. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say thank you and let it be done. But if that’s really not enough for you”—his mouth curves cheekily—“and you genuinely want to repay us, there is one thing . . .”

“Anything.”

“There is a hole behind the east fence that won’t dig itself, and I have been told my company is intolerable.”

A laugh breaks out of me—that is not where I thought this was going. “You want me to dig a hole?”

“I want you to dig a hole with me. It will be so much fun.”

“Deal.”