ISHAAN: Right. I meant to say, Emily is the best friend of alleged murder suspect—
EMILY, leaning forward: Okay, this is why I’m here. You guys are being so irresponsible. You can’t throw Ivy’s name around like this, just because she’s absent and she didn’t get along with Boney.
ISHAAN: Hey, facts are facts.
EMILY: Well, if you’re so interested in facts, you should talk about everyone at Carlton High who’s not in school today. Who else isn’t here?
（Ishaan ducks out of camera view as Zack frowns.）
ZACK: What difference does that make? If they don’t, like, have some kind of documented problem with Boney?
EMILY: It’s comprehensive reporting. And Ivy doesn’t have a “documented problem” with Boney. She lost an election to him, that’s all. Anyone would be upset. She probably just took the day off.
ZACK: Would you say it’s in character for Ivy to take a day off?
EMILY: Well, no, but—
ISHAAN, popping back into camera range: You guys, I just checked our stats. We’re doing some serious numbers.
ZACK: Huh?
ISHAAN: Like triple our usual views. No, wait…（Ducks out of view again, then reappears.） Quadruple.
ZACK: Really?
ISHAAN: We’re trending, baby. Okay, not trending, exactly, but almost five hundred people are watching this.
EMILY, eyes widening: Oh God.
IVY
My thoughts are a messy tangle on the drive back to Carlton. My practical side reminds me that I have much bigger problems to deal with right now than the question of whether Mateo bought the Sugar Babies as a friendly joke, or something more. My inner twelve-year-old doesn’t care about that, and is screeching in heart-eye emojis. But my conscience is louder than either of them, and keeps repeating the same thing, over and over and over:
You have to tell him.
It’s not like I haven’t thought about it, even before this disaster of a day. I’ve been in knots ever since I got back from Scotland and realized the domino effect of what I’d done last June. I tried to make up for it, in a roundabout way. When I still had distance from Mateo, as someone I hadn’t talked to in years, it seemed like that might be enough. But now I know that it was nothing but cowardice—a convenient lie I told myself to avoid doing something that felt impossibly hard.
Shame inches up my spine and makes me squirm in my seat. I’ve been judging Cal all day, almost relishing the fact that his relationship with Ms. Jamison is so clearly, unequivocally wrong. It didn’t occur to me, until just now, that focusing on Ms. Jamison’s bad behavior has been a highly effective way to ignore my own.
I can’t even enjoy my Sugar Babies. I’m trying, because I don’t want Mateo to think I’m ungrateful, but they taste like chewy cardboard. He and Cal have been sharing sour gummies for the entire drive and, as usual, Cal is carrying the bulk of the conversation.
“Have either of your parents checked in?” he asks, taking the Carlton exit off the highway. It’s just past one-thirty in the afternoon, so we’ve barely hit any traffic on our way home.
“Mine are on a plane,” I remind him. I don’t add for another four hours, but I’m definitely thinking it. It’s okay, though. Four hours is more than enough time to stop school gossip about me from spreading any further. Especially if Charlie can provide the kind of connection between Ms. Jamison and Boney that will send the police after her. For one brief, shining moment, I fantasize that he’s already done exactly that, and the next update on Boston.com will be a picture of her in handcuffs.
Sure, it’s far-fetched. But if something even close to that happened, then Boney would get the justice he deserves without Cal, Mateo, and me having to tell anyone we’d been inside the studio. This entire day could simply—go away. I’d get home early, take a desperately needed nap, and still have plenty of time to get ready for the award ceremony: shower, straighten my hair, put on makeup, and make sure all the tiny buttons on my complicated Belgian dress are fastened properly. The thought sends a fizzy burst of relief flooding through me, and my Sugar Babies suddenly taste good again.
“My mom’s in the Bronx,” Mateo says. “Thank God. If she was at work, she would’ve already left to barge into school and check up on me. You know how she is.”
I do, and he’s right. She’s a total mama bear. Mateo has loomed over her since he was twelve, but I’d still pick her in a fight.
“Where’s your mom working now?” Cal asks.
I turn in my seat to face Mateo as he says, “Couple different places, but mostly she’s at Jeff Chalmers. You know, the car dealership on Spring Street? She does admin stuff for them.”