You'll Be the Death of Me(10)

I shoot Mateo a frozen look of horror, because that was a disaster. Whoever listens to it might actually check in with his mom, which I’m sure is the last thing he needs. I’m expecting him to shift into turbo-annoyed mode, but he starts laughing instead. And all of a sudden he’s transformed—Mateo cracking up looks less like the guy who brushes past me in the hallway as if he doesn’t see me, and more like my old friend.

“I should’ve remembered you can’t lie to save your life,” he says to Ivy, still laughing. “That sucked.”

She bites her lip. “I could call back and tell them you’re feeling better.”

“Pretty sure that would only make things worse,” Mateo says. “Anyway, I meant what I said. I could use a day off.” The parking lot has emptied out, and a bell clangs loudly from inside Carlton High. If we’re going to back out, now would be the time. But even though none of us says anything else, nobody moves, either.

    “Where would we even go, though?” Ivy finally asks when the second bell rings.

I grin. “Boston, obviously,” I say, pressing the key fob to unlock my car. “I’ll drive.”





IVY


It takes less than fifteen minutes for me to realize this was a huge mistake.

At first, all I feel is relief as Cal pulls out of the Carlton High parking lot. My thoughts are as bright and sunny as the crisp September weather: I’m free! I don’t have to listen to Boney’s acceptance speech! I don’t have to endure sympathetic looks from my friends and teachers! Nobody is going to remind me that, even though I’m no longer class president, I can engorge their manhood anytime! Cal fires up a playlist filled with the kind of alternative pop we both love, and we chat about music and movies and where we should go first.

Then we run out of low-hanging conversational fruit, and when I glance in the rearview mirror to see if Mateo might have something to contribute, he looks sound asleep in the back seat. Or maybe he’s just pretending; he used to say that sleeping in cars made him feel sick. Oh God. Is he regretting this already?

    Doubts start seeping in: What if the school calls my parents to check on my absence? I can’t remember what phone number we have on file. My parents still have a landline, even though we never use it, because it’s bundled with cable. If the school calls that, I’m fine—Dad unplugged it years ago to avoid telemarketers—but if they call one of my parents’ cells, I’m screwed. Their flight doesn’t board until around eleven our time, so there’s still plenty of opportunity to catch them, and they’d be beyond disappointed in me.

Even if the school doesn’t call, a teacher might say something to Daniel about me being sick. He won’t know to play along, and even if he did, let’s face it: he wouldn’t. He loves watching me squirm. Should I text him anyway and bribe him into silence somehow? What can I offer? Sneakers? Right, like I have hundreds of dollars lying around for whatever limited-edition pair of Nikes he’s currently coveting.

Should I text my friends? I pull out my phone, and I already have a message from my best friend, Emily. Where are you? Are you sick? Neither of us have missed school since we started hanging out freshman year, so there’s no precedent for this, but it’s definitely the kind of thing we’d let one another know.

My pulse starts to accelerate uncomfortably. What did Dad say this morning? All you can do is hold your head high. This is the opposite of that. This is me slinking away, hiding, letting everyone at Carlton High know that Boney beat me in all possible ways.

It’s so hot in here. There’s no air. Is the AC even on? I stare at the car’s dashboard, at my phone, at Cal, out the window, and then twist in my seat to look at Mateo. His eyes are still closed, but he murmurs, “Three…two…one…”

    That halts my panicked inner monologue. “Huh?” I ask. “I thought you were asleep.”

He opens his eyes and meets mine. “Freak-out.”

“Excuse me?” I ask, startled.

“You. Freaking out about skipping school. Right on schedule.”

“I’m not freaking out!” I snap. I don’t know if I’m annoyed because he was faking sleep the whole time Cal and I were talking, or because he nailed my mental state with his eyes closed. “I didn’t say a word.”

“You didn’t have to.” Mateo yawns and rubs a hand across his head, rumpling his dark hair. “I could hear you bouncing around in your seat.”

“I was not bouncing—”

“Guys, come on!” Cal’s voice holds a note of desperate cheer as he exits the highway. “This is gonna be fun, seriously. And we won’t get in trouble. Someone would’ve called by now if there was a problem.”

I don’t think that’s necessarily true. But I don’t want to get accused of freaking out again, so all I say is “Where are you going?”

“I was thinking we could start at Quincy Market? Lots of parking there, and places to get food and stuff. And the aquarium’s nearby if we want to head over there at some point. Check out the penguins, maybe.”

“Penguins?” I echo.

“I like penguins.” Cal’s voice has a wistful, almost uncertain quality to it. “I used to, anyway. I probably still do. That doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that goes away, even if you haven’t seen a penguin in a while.”