“I’ll say,” I mumble, massaging my temple. I have a small scar there now, from when Charlie hit me with the golf club.
“I think…I think it’s good, though?” she says cautiously. “Aunt Elena seems happy.”
“Yeah. She does.”
Autumn braids the tassels of the couch pillow. “Managing director of the CEC. Who would’ve thought?”
“First order of business is changing that name,” I say, and Autumn snort-laughs before shooting me a wry look.
“So…maybe you can text a certain somebody back now?” she says. “Instead of pretending like you don’t want to, and walking around with a permafrown and a bad attitude?”
“That’s my normal attitude,” I object. She makes a face, and I add, “Anyway, it’s not about what Ivy did at Spare Me. I stopped being mad when she almost died.” Even now, just saying the words fills me with a sick sense of dread. Coach Kendall was out of control that night, and could’ve easily killed everyone within reach. My last words to Ivy would have been, You’re pathetic, and I don’t want to see or speak to you again for the rest of my life.
“Then why aren’t you guys talking?” Autumn asks.
I sink lower into the couch. “The stuff I said to her in Cal’s car. How do you unsay something like that?”
“You don’t,” Autumn says. “You apologize. It’s up to her whether or not to accept it, but I think she will.” I don’t reply, and she taps a finger against her chin. “Hmm. I wish I could remember a recent example of everything going to hell because somebody in this family was—how did she put it?—proud and stubborn? It’s on the tip of my tongue, almost like it just happened, and yet…”
“Shut up,” I say, tossing a pillow at her to hide my grin.
* * *
—
Seeing as I have a ride to Garrett’s tonight, I have time to do something else first.
Ivy’s driveway is filled with her family’s cars, so I park in the street. When I approach the house, I can see her perched in the window seat of her room, reading. Her hair is loose around her shoulders—Charlie was right, it looks great like that—and the sight of her makes my chest ache.
The front porch is only a few feet away, but I pause when I’m halfway along the stone path that leads to it, considering my options. Ivy’s parents are clearly home, and I’m not sure I’m up for talking to them right now. I’m still trying to figure out how I feel about the CEC news, considering how much time I’ve spent hating that place. Plus, James Shepard is a lot to take lately. I’ve seen him twice since he got back from San Francisco, and both times he flung an arm around my neck and said, “This guy. Where would any of us be without this guy?” And the next thing I know, he’s crying on my shoulder. He means well, I know, but I’d rather avoid that particular scenario before talking to Ivy.
The path I’m standing on is lined with small stones, and I contemplate picking one of them up and tossing it at Ivy’s window to get her attention. That would be beyond cheesy, though, wouldn’t it? Plus, the stones make up such a neat little pattern that a missing one would be noticeable. And what if I threw it too hard and broke her window, and—
“Are you going to stand there all day?” a voice calls.
I look up to see Ivy leaning out her now-open window. “Maybe,” I call back, my pulse picking up at the lilt in her voice. She sounds happy to see me. “Still deciding.”
“Okay,” she says, crossing her arms over the windowsill. “Keep me posted.”
“I will.” I reach into my pocket and hold up the box I bought on the way over. “I brought you something.”
“Are those Sugar Babies?” she asks.
“They are.”
She smiles, and even from a distance it lights up her whole face. “That’s your only move, huh?”
“Pretty much,” I admit.
“It’s a good one,” she says. “Be right down.”
CAL
Amid Swirling Rumors, Embattled Carlton Teacher Resigns.
I sit at my kitchen table on Saturday morning, almost a month after Coach Kendall tried to kill me in Lara’s garage, staring at the headline on Boston.com and wondering if I’ll ever get used to being a swirling rumor.
I thought it was cut-and-dried, what happened between Lara and me. But the only thing she’ll admit to is becoming “overly close” with me, to the point of exchanging text messages and seeing me outside of school. She turned over her phone to investigators, and when I read back through our messages to brace myself for what they’d be seeing, I realized how careful she always was. I come off like a lovesick teenager—which, to be fair, I was—and Lara comes off like a caring but ultimately boundary-respecting adult.