The Fixer
Page 13
There was no one else outside. Just me and Vivvie and the boy on the roof. I stepped past Vivvie, wondering what he was doing up there. Wondering if he was going to jump.
“Go get someone,” I told Vivvie.
The boy held his hands out to either side.
“What are you going to do?” Vivvie asked me.
I took a step toward the chapel. “I don’t know.”
The door to the chapel roof was propped open and marked with a sign that read DO NOT ENTER. I stepped through it. One more ladder, and I was on the roof.
The boy was still standing at the edge. I could only see the back of his head. He had auburn hair—a deep, rich red that girls would have killed for, but that looked strange, somehow, on a boy. Now that I was up here, standing just a few feet away from him, I wasn’t sure what to do.
“Top of the morning to you,” the boy said without turning around. I took a step forward. He lifted one foot off the roof and held it out—nothing but air and the ground below.
“It’s not morning,” I replied, inching my way out toward him. The roof was steeper the farther out I went.
The boy glanced back. “I’m not Irish,” he said, a hint of a smile dancing around the corners of his lips. “In case you were wondering.”
I was wondering what this guy was doing on the roof of the chapel—because suddenly, I was certain that he wasn’t here to jump.
“It’s the red hair that makes people think I might be,” the boy continued. “And my habit of saying things like top of the morning. And the fact that I took up Irish folk dancing for two weeks when I was fourteen.” He sighed. “It was a beautiful two weeks. Kathleen and I were very happy.”
“Kathleen?” I asked.
“Girlfriend number seventeen,” the boy replied. “Before Sophie and after Sarah.”
“You’d had seventeen girlfriends by the time you were fourteen?” I asked.
“The ladies,” he replied with a shrug. “They love me. It’s because I’m so charming.”
“You’re balancing on one leg on the roof of a chapel. You’re not charming. You’re an idiot.”
“Tell me what you really think,” he said, grinning.
“I think you should come away from the edge of the roof before a teacher sees you,” I told him.
The boy peeked over the edge of the roof. “Too late, fair lady. That ship has sailed and sailed again.”
I rolled my eyes and started back toward the door. I’d thought he needed help—but clearly, what he really needed was a swift kick. Given that we’d met all of two minutes ago, I didn’t feel particularly obligated to be the one who delivered it. He could do the hokey pokey up here for all I cared.
As I hit the top of the stairs, he fell in beside me, that stupid grin still on his face.
“You’re new,” he said.
I didn’t reply. I’d made it to the door of the chapel when he spoke again, more quietly this time. “I was just enjoying the view.”
I turned back toward him, ready to smack the smile off his face, only to discover that he wasn’t smiling anymore. Seriousness didn’t fit with his features.
“The view?” I asked, still annoyed with myself that I’d misread the situation so badly.
“The view,” he replied. “The higher up you go, the smaller they get.”
“Who?” I asked.
He held his hands out to each side, the same way he had on the edge of the roof. “Everyone.”
The second I stepped outside, I realized that the boy hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said the “get down before a teacher sees you” ship had sailed and sailed again. I wasn’t sure if Vivvie had actually gone for help, or if someone else had caught sight of the boy, but there were two teachers in the courtyard now, along with a handful of students—including Emilia Rhodes, who had a distinctly pained expression on her face.
“Did you haul him down?” Vivvie asked me in a whisper. “You forcibly hauled him down, didn’t you?”
“Ms. Kendrick!” A teacher broke through the crowd to reach me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Care to explain what you were doing in there?” The teacher narrowed his eyes at me. Behind him, Vivvie began to gesture emphatically. She was freakishly skilled at charades. Following the gist, I glanced up at the roof. From where we were standing, you could see the edge of the roof, but you couldn’t see farther back, where I’d been standing.
“It’s a chapel,” I said, turning back to the teacher. “What do you think I was doing in there?”
The teacher was flummoxed.
I shrugged. “When you have to pray, you have to pray.” The teacher opened his mouth to reply, and I cut him off. “The Hardwicke chapel is open to students of all religious beliefs and affiliations,” I said. “Isn’t it?”
“Errr . . . yes,” the teacher replied. “Of course.” The man adjusted his tie, then zeroed in on a different target. “Mr. Rhodes!” he boomed.
The boy from the roof smiled charmingly. “Mr. Collins! Just the man I wanted to see.”
“Did you also hope to see Headmaster Raleigh?” the teacher countered. “Because if you did, you’re in luck.”
“I’m always in luck,” the boy—whose last name was apparently Rhodes—replied. “I think I got some really good shots up there.” As I processed the fact that this must be Emilia’s brother, the boy in question held up a camera, which he had most decidedly not been holding on the roof.
“You’re telling me you were up on the roof of the chapel taking pictures?” the teacher asked skeptically.
I gave the boy—Asher—a look. This was never going to work.
Asher met my eyes, and his own sparkled. I could practically hear him thinking, challenge accepted.
“I was digesting what you said in your lecture on perspective in photography,” he told the teacher. “You told us to think outside the box.” He tilted his head to the side. “I feel so . . . edified . . .”
I snorted. Audibly.
“Asher, do you think I’m stupid?” Mr. Collins scowled at him.
“Not at all,” Asher replied. “Do you think I’m edified?” He grinned. Beside me, Vivvie grinned. The smile was catching.
“Go get someone,” I told Vivvie.
The boy held his hands out to either side.
“What are you going to do?” Vivvie asked me.
I took a step toward the chapel. “I don’t know.”
The door to the chapel roof was propped open and marked with a sign that read DO NOT ENTER. I stepped through it. One more ladder, and I was on the roof.
The boy was still standing at the edge. I could only see the back of his head. He had auburn hair—a deep, rich red that girls would have killed for, but that looked strange, somehow, on a boy. Now that I was up here, standing just a few feet away from him, I wasn’t sure what to do.
“Top of the morning to you,” the boy said without turning around. I took a step forward. He lifted one foot off the roof and held it out—nothing but air and the ground below.
“It’s not morning,” I replied, inching my way out toward him. The roof was steeper the farther out I went.
The boy glanced back. “I’m not Irish,” he said, a hint of a smile dancing around the corners of his lips. “In case you were wondering.”
I was wondering what this guy was doing on the roof of the chapel—because suddenly, I was certain that he wasn’t here to jump.
“It’s the red hair that makes people think I might be,” the boy continued. “And my habit of saying things like top of the morning. And the fact that I took up Irish folk dancing for two weeks when I was fourteen.” He sighed. “It was a beautiful two weeks. Kathleen and I were very happy.”
“Kathleen?” I asked.
“Girlfriend number seventeen,” the boy replied. “Before Sophie and after Sarah.”
“You’d had seventeen girlfriends by the time you were fourteen?” I asked.
“The ladies,” he replied with a shrug. “They love me. It’s because I’m so charming.”
“You’re balancing on one leg on the roof of a chapel. You’re not charming. You’re an idiot.”
“Tell me what you really think,” he said, grinning.
“I think you should come away from the edge of the roof before a teacher sees you,” I told him.
The boy peeked over the edge of the roof. “Too late, fair lady. That ship has sailed and sailed again.”
I rolled my eyes and started back toward the door. I’d thought he needed help—but clearly, what he really needed was a swift kick. Given that we’d met all of two minutes ago, I didn’t feel particularly obligated to be the one who delivered it. He could do the hokey pokey up here for all I cared.
As I hit the top of the stairs, he fell in beside me, that stupid grin still on his face.
“You’re new,” he said.
I didn’t reply. I’d made it to the door of the chapel when he spoke again, more quietly this time. “I was just enjoying the view.”
I turned back toward him, ready to smack the smile off his face, only to discover that he wasn’t smiling anymore. Seriousness didn’t fit with his features.
“The view?” I asked, still annoyed with myself that I’d misread the situation so badly.
“The view,” he replied. “The higher up you go, the smaller they get.”
“Who?” I asked.
He held his hands out to each side, the same way he had on the edge of the roof. “Everyone.”
The second I stepped outside, I realized that the boy hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said the “get down before a teacher sees you” ship had sailed and sailed again. I wasn’t sure if Vivvie had actually gone for help, or if someone else had caught sight of the boy, but there were two teachers in the courtyard now, along with a handful of students—including Emilia Rhodes, who had a distinctly pained expression on her face.
“Did you haul him down?” Vivvie asked me in a whisper. “You forcibly hauled him down, didn’t you?”
“Ms. Kendrick!” A teacher broke through the crowd to reach me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Care to explain what you were doing in there?” The teacher narrowed his eyes at me. Behind him, Vivvie began to gesture emphatically. She was freakishly skilled at charades. Following the gist, I glanced up at the roof. From where we were standing, you could see the edge of the roof, but you couldn’t see farther back, where I’d been standing.
“It’s a chapel,” I said, turning back to the teacher. “What do you think I was doing in there?”
The teacher was flummoxed.
I shrugged. “When you have to pray, you have to pray.” The teacher opened his mouth to reply, and I cut him off. “The Hardwicke chapel is open to students of all religious beliefs and affiliations,” I said. “Isn’t it?”
“Errr . . . yes,” the teacher replied. “Of course.” The man adjusted his tie, then zeroed in on a different target. “Mr. Rhodes!” he boomed.
The boy from the roof smiled charmingly. “Mr. Collins! Just the man I wanted to see.”
“Did you also hope to see Headmaster Raleigh?” the teacher countered. “Because if you did, you’re in luck.”
“I’m always in luck,” the boy—whose last name was apparently Rhodes—replied. “I think I got some really good shots up there.” As I processed the fact that this must be Emilia’s brother, the boy in question held up a camera, which he had most decidedly not been holding on the roof.
“You’re telling me you were up on the roof of the chapel taking pictures?” the teacher asked skeptically.
I gave the boy—Asher—a look. This was never going to work.
Asher met my eyes, and his own sparkled. I could practically hear him thinking, challenge accepted.
“I was digesting what you said in your lecture on perspective in photography,” he told the teacher. “You told us to think outside the box.” He tilted his head to the side. “I feel so . . . edified . . .”
I snorted. Audibly.
“Asher, do you think I’m stupid?” Mr. Collins scowled at him.
“Not at all,” Asher replied. “Do you think I’m edified?” He grinned. Beside me, Vivvie grinned. The smile was catching.
