“If you’re sure,” Wes says doubtfully. “It’s no problem to cancel my meeting.”
“I’m positive. Meet with the donors. Get that coin.” Oh God. What am I even saying? I need to end this call, immediately. “I’d better go, but thanks for checking in.”
“Of course. Let me know if you need anything. Love you.”
“You too,” I mumble. I feel like a complete asshole when I hang up, and Ivy’s sympathetic look doesn’t make it any better.
“Your dad is so nice,” she says, getting to her feet.
“I know,” I sigh. Viola tosses me another concerned look, and I give her what I hope passes for a carefree wave. “So long, Viola.”
She doesn’t look as though she buys it. “Take care.”
“We will,” I say, and beat a hasty retreat out the door.
Silence falls once Ivy and I are on the sidewalk outside, and I consider how best to fill it. I’m still bothered by our fight on the train; not only about all the harsh things I said, but about the things I didn’t say. I owe Ivy a different conversation, and even though the thought of it makes me want to throw up, this is probably the time to have it. “So, listen,” I say. “About all that stuff I said on the train—”
“It’s fine,” Ivy says quickly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I glance at her tense face, trying to gauge that response. “Don’t want to talk about what?” I ask. “What I said, or about you and Mateo?”
“There is no me and Mateo,” Ivy says, going red. Which is more of an answer than she probably meant to give.
“You still like him,” I say, feeling like an idiot for not seeing it sooner. Of course she does; that’s why she’s treating him with such kid gloves. “And he…” The day unfolds for me differently all of a sudden, as I think about the dozen or so ways that Mateo has taken care of Ivy since we first got to Boston—and not just by literally carrying her, although he did that, too. He’s always watching out for her or backing her up, looking at her with a focused, intense expression like whatever she’s saying is the most important thing he’s ever heard. Even when she’s being a gigantic pain in the ass. Wes likes to say that Henry can’t talk about his feelings, so you have to pay attention to how he shows them. Mateo is the same way. “He likes you, too.”
I expect Ivy to smile, but instead her mouth tightens. “No, he doesn’t.”
“I think he does. This might not be the right time or place, but—”
“It’s not just that. There’s other stuff,” Ivy starts, then clams up as Mateo emerges from McDonald’s, white bag in hand. Instead of heading our way, though, he ducks into the 7-Eleven next door. She relaxes against the wall, adding, “Now what is he getting? How much food does one person need?”
“This is Mateo, remember?” I say. “The guy is a bottomless pit. I should’ve known better than to offer him doughnuts for lunch.” Ivy just nods, and I lightly tap her arm with the back of my hand. “So…what other stuff?”
“Hmm?” she asks.
“Between you and Mateo.”
“Oh.” She waits a beat, eyes on the ground. “It’s nothing.”
“It didn’t sound like nothing,” I insist, suddenly curious. The Ivy I used to know wouldn’t avoid this conversation; she’d analyze every last detail until I begged for mercy. But then the door to 7-Eleven opens, and Mateo steps onto the sidewalk. “To be continued,” I add.
“Or not,” Ivy mutters.
Mateo comes up to us with his McDonald’s bag in one hand, and something that’s small and yellow in the other. “Better late than never,” he says, holding it out to Ivy.
It’s a pack of Sugar Babies, and she practically melts into the ground as she takes it.
YOUTUBE, CARLTON SPEAKS CHANNEL
Ishaan and Zack are in Ishaan’s car once again.
ZACK: Hey, it’s Zack Abrams and Ishaan Mittal, reporting live for the second time today because basically no one is going to class anymore.
ISHAAN: They should just send us home.
ZACK: Seriously. Anyway, we’re back with a special guest who…Emily, you wanna say hi? （A dark-haired girl comes into focus from the back seat, her expression serious.）
EMILY, flatly: Hi.
ISHAAN: So, Emily Zhang is the alleged best friend of Ivy Sterling-Shepard—
ZACK: She’s not alleged. She’s her actual friend.