“Let me see,” Ivy says. She plucks it from my hand and scans the first page. Then she flips to the second, and sucks in a sharp breath. “Boney’s name is circled.”
“It is?” Cal and I both lean forward, and Ivy flips the paper between us. Sure enough: Brian Mahoney is ringed with bold red ink. “That’s weird,” Cal says, his mouth tightening.
Ivy takes the roster back and turns the page. There’s another name circled near the bottom, but I can’t read it upside down. “Charlie St. Clair,” she says with a perplexed frown. “Why would Ms. Jamison circle him?”
I stare at the sheet of paper. Charlie isn’t a guy I cross paths with often at Carlton High. He’s a jock, and he has an older brother who throws a lot of parties and is friends with Loser Gabe. He has a surfer-guy vibe, complete with an ever-present puka shell necklace, even though he’s spent his whole life in landlocked Carlton.
I never thought there was much more to Charlie St. Clair than that. And I wouldn’t think so now, either, if the name Charlie hadn’t flashed across Autumn’s screen this morning while we were standing on the porch having our ears assaulted by Loser Gabe.
Is he one of them? I’d asked.
The less you know, the better, she’d said.
I’m not sure what it means that there’s suddenly a connection between Boney, the woman whose studio he died in, and someone named Charlie. Maybe nothing.
Maybe everything.
“Is Charlie into art?” Ivy asks Cal. My poker face must be working, because neither of them are paying any attention to me.
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve never had a class with him, anyway. Is he friends with Boney?”
“No,” Ivy says with the firmness of someone who’s held enough class offices to know the school’s social dynamics by heart.
“Okay, well, that’s random.” Cal taps the edge of the paper. “This page ends with Tessa Sutton. Is there another one?”
“Yeah,” Ivy says, flipping again.
There’s only a quarter page of names, the last of the alphabet. I see another red circle right away, but once again, I can’t read the name. Ivy and Cal exchange startled glances, though, so it must mean something to them.
“Who is it?” I ask.
Ivy turns the paper so it’s facing me. “Mateo Wojcik,” she says.
CAL
The sun slips behind a cloud outside, darkening our corner of Crave Doughnuts as Ivy pins Mateo with her gaze and asks, “Why would Ms. Jamison circle your name?”
“No clue,” Mateo says.
He looks like he means it, but the thing about Mateo is—unlike Ivy, the guy can lie. Or he could, anyway, back when we used to hang out. Ms. Reyes is one of those super-involved moms who’s always up in your business, and Mateo was constantly blocking her. We weren’t trying to get away with much—just normal kid stuff, like watching movies we shouldn’t and eating too much junk—but he’d never get caught.
“She circled you, Charlie, and Boney,” Ivy points out.
“Yeah. I saw.” Mateo shrugs. “I don’t know why.”
I should say something, but I can’t focus. I’m still fixated on the “D” card that was in Lara’s day planner. It wasn’t addressed to her by name, but I can’t convince myself that it wasn’t hers. Whoever gave it to her knows her well enough to be familiar with her favorite painting, which isn’t nearly famous enough to be sold in every random card store the way that, say, Monet’s Water Lilies are. You’d have to really search for it. It’s the kind of thing I would have done, if it had ever occurred to me to send Lara a card.
Love you so much, angel. Let’s make it happen. Half of my brain is making excuses for why those words probably don’t mean anything, and the other half is frantically analyzing who D might be. There’s something pressing against the edge of my subconscious, whispering that I already know the answer, and it’s frustrating as hell because I don’t.
At least, I don’t think I do.
I glance at the list in Ivy’s hand; there’s not a D to be found in any of the circled names. Still…Boney, Charlie, and Mateo all have what Lara would probably call “interesting faces.” My jealousy from this morning flares up again as I imagine Lara sketching Boney in her studio. And maybe Charlie, and…ugh.
Please not Mateo.
“Oh my God,” Ivy says in a low whisper, eyes huge. “What if this is her kill list?”