The Long Game
Page 47
“It’s funny,” I told Henry, drumming my fingers one by one on my knee, “but the moment you said inadvisable, I had a thought.”
Right now, the student body was still in shock. They were mourning. But grief was a multi-layered thing. Eventually, people needed outlets. Eventually, the floodgates broke.
Maybe if I provided the outlet, the floodgates would break a little sooner.
“Do I want to know what you are planning?” Henry asked.
I smiled. “Probably not.”
As soon as class let out, I found Di in the hallway. “I have a proposition for you,” I told her.
“A proposition?” Miss Diplomatic Immunity countered. “Or a dare?”
“A dare,” I said. Di’s eyes sparkled. “I dare you,” I continued,” to host a party Friday night, and I dare you to invite the entire school.”
As far as outlets went, I had confidence that any party Di hosted would be a good one.
“That is not much of a dare.” Di’s Icelandic accent caught on every other word. She folded her arms over her chest and tilted her head to the side, waiting for me to make things interesting.
I thought on my feet. “I dare you to have the party here. At Hardwicke.”
“You want me to break into the school and convince our classmates to do the same?” Di asked, her eyes gleaming. “That is illegal,” she continued, “and there is a very good chance we will get caught.”
“And?” I prompted.
Di ran a hand over her thick, white-blond braid. The edges of her lips curved up into a wicked smile. “Challenge accepted.”
CHAPTER 36
Friday night, Ivy made it home just as I was leaving for the Hardwicke party. I had no idea what she’d spent the past forty-eight hours doing, but I did know that the president was still in a coma.
I knew that Ivy was still on the warpath.
“You look nice.” Ivy sounded more suspicious than complimentary as she assessed my outfit. I was wearing black jeans and a loose gray top—both items she’d purchased on my behalf.
“I’m going to a party,” I said. There was no point in lying to Ivy—not when the truth would cover my goal for this evening just as well.
“What kind of party?” Ivy asked.
The kind where I’m hoping to gather clues about John Thomas’s murder.
I grabbed my phone and house keys and shot Ivy a dry look. “Are we really doing this?”
“The thing where I ask a teenager in my custody where and with whom she’s spending the evening?” Ivy countered. “Yes, we really are doing this.”
“Henry Marquette is picking me up.” I stuck to issuing true statements, one after the other. “Vivvie is meeting us at the party. A lot of people from school will be there. It’s been a rough week.” That was an understatement, and Ivy knew it. “People need a way to forget,” I told Ivy, willing her to think that when I said people, I meant me. “Even if it’s just for one night.”
“Will Asher be there?” Ivy knew me well enough to know that I wasn’t exactly the party-going type. She wasn’t concerned about me letting loose and getting into typical teenage trouble. She was concerned about ulterior motives.
Smart woman.
“Asher was suspended,” I told her. “Half the school thinks he might be a murderer. I really don’t think he’s going to be making an appearance tonight.”
Ivy stared at me for several seconds, assessing the truth of those words.
“Are we done here?” I asked.
Ivy held my gaze for another second or two and then nodded. As I turned toward the door, the expression on her face wavered slightly. She looked tired. Weary, I thought. Brittle.
And then I saw the bruise on her wrist.
I went very still. The bruise snaked out from underneath her sleeve, purplish blue. Fresh. I closed the space between us in a heartbeat.
“You’re hurt,” I said. I’d been focused on the party, on Asher, on keeping Ivy from figuring out what I was up to. I hadn’t registered the fact that she had something to hide, too.
“I’m fine,” Ivy told me.
I grabbed her hand as gingerly as I could. “You’re not fine.”
Ivy with a bomb strapped to her chest. Ivy on the verge of dying, because of me. The memories came suddenly and without warning. I felt like a claustrophobic person in a shrinking room, like there was a weight on my chest that wouldn’t let up until it had succeeded in crushing my lungs.
Ivy caught my chin in her hand. “Look at me.” She repeated the words, again and again, until my eyes focused. “I’m fine, Tessie,” she said softly. “I was trying to get a rise out of someone, and I succeeded. She grabbed my wrist, but I’m fine.”
Right now, the student body was still in shock. They were mourning. But grief was a multi-layered thing. Eventually, people needed outlets. Eventually, the floodgates broke.
Maybe if I provided the outlet, the floodgates would break a little sooner.
“Do I want to know what you are planning?” Henry asked.
I smiled. “Probably not.”
As soon as class let out, I found Di in the hallway. “I have a proposition for you,” I told her.
“A proposition?” Miss Diplomatic Immunity countered. “Or a dare?”
“A dare,” I said. Di’s eyes sparkled. “I dare you,” I continued,” to host a party Friday night, and I dare you to invite the entire school.”
As far as outlets went, I had confidence that any party Di hosted would be a good one.
“That is not much of a dare.” Di’s Icelandic accent caught on every other word. She folded her arms over her chest and tilted her head to the side, waiting for me to make things interesting.
I thought on my feet. “I dare you to have the party here. At Hardwicke.”
“You want me to break into the school and convince our classmates to do the same?” Di asked, her eyes gleaming. “That is illegal,” she continued, “and there is a very good chance we will get caught.”
“And?” I prompted.
Di ran a hand over her thick, white-blond braid. The edges of her lips curved up into a wicked smile. “Challenge accepted.”
CHAPTER 36
Friday night, Ivy made it home just as I was leaving for the Hardwicke party. I had no idea what she’d spent the past forty-eight hours doing, but I did know that the president was still in a coma.
I knew that Ivy was still on the warpath.
“You look nice.” Ivy sounded more suspicious than complimentary as she assessed my outfit. I was wearing black jeans and a loose gray top—both items she’d purchased on my behalf.
“I’m going to a party,” I said. There was no point in lying to Ivy—not when the truth would cover my goal for this evening just as well.
“What kind of party?” Ivy asked.
The kind where I’m hoping to gather clues about John Thomas’s murder.
I grabbed my phone and house keys and shot Ivy a dry look. “Are we really doing this?”
“The thing where I ask a teenager in my custody where and with whom she’s spending the evening?” Ivy countered. “Yes, we really are doing this.”
“Henry Marquette is picking me up.” I stuck to issuing true statements, one after the other. “Vivvie is meeting us at the party. A lot of people from school will be there. It’s been a rough week.” That was an understatement, and Ivy knew it. “People need a way to forget,” I told Ivy, willing her to think that when I said people, I meant me. “Even if it’s just for one night.”
“Will Asher be there?” Ivy knew me well enough to know that I wasn’t exactly the party-going type. She wasn’t concerned about me letting loose and getting into typical teenage trouble. She was concerned about ulterior motives.
Smart woman.
“Asher was suspended,” I told her. “Half the school thinks he might be a murderer. I really don’t think he’s going to be making an appearance tonight.”
Ivy stared at me for several seconds, assessing the truth of those words.
“Are we done here?” I asked.
Ivy held my gaze for another second or two and then nodded. As I turned toward the door, the expression on her face wavered slightly. She looked tired. Weary, I thought. Brittle.
And then I saw the bruise on her wrist.
I went very still. The bruise snaked out from underneath her sleeve, purplish blue. Fresh. I closed the space between us in a heartbeat.
“You’re hurt,” I said. I’d been focused on the party, on Asher, on keeping Ivy from figuring out what I was up to. I hadn’t registered the fact that she had something to hide, too.
“I’m fine,” Ivy told me.
I grabbed her hand as gingerly as I could. “You’re not fine.”
Ivy with a bomb strapped to her chest. Ivy on the verge of dying, because of me. The memories came suddenly and without warning. I felt like a claustrophobic person in a shrinking room, like there was a weight on my chest that wouldn’t let up until it had succeeded in crushing my lungs.
Ivy caught my chin in her hand. “Look at me.” She repeated the words, again and again, until my eyes focused. “I’m fine, Tessie,” she said softly. “I was trying to get a rise out of someone, and I succeeded. She grabbed my wrist, but I’m fine.”
