You'll Be the Death of Me(13)

“Huh?” Cal blinks, like it hadn’t occurred to him to figure out a new destination. “Oh, well…I guess…there’s an art store nearby that I like. Maybe we could stop in?”

“Fine by me,” Mateo says. “Ivy?”

“Okay,” I say, even though I can think of a lot of things I’d rather do than watch Cal choose between seventeen shades of green pencil. Though I guess after that, I’ll feel a lot less guilty about abandoning him.

    We start walking again in silence, until my need for information outweighs my need to look cool and unbothered. “So, Mateo. What happened with you and Carmen?”

He shrugs. “Just ran its course. I started working a lot, and she was spending all her time with her friends, so we weren’t hanging out. After about a month of that I saw her and she was like, We might as well be broken up. I was like, Yeah, and she was like, Maybe we should be, and I said, Okay.” His face is as stoic as ever, and I can’t tell if he’s putting up a front, or if the whole thing really was that casual.

Cal looks dubious, too. “Really? That was it?” Mateo nods and Cal sighs. “Well, at least she didn’t dump you at Veggie Galaxy.”

I wait for Cal to add some kind of context to that statement, but before he can, Mateo nods sagely and says, “I tell myself that every day.”

I laugh and then notice Cal’s glum expression. “Wait, did that happen to you?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Right after Noemi told me I was a pod person going through the motions of life.” I make a sympathetic noise, and he adds, “It’s fine. Gave me a chance to get to know someone I have a lot more in common with. We’re not, like, officially dating or anything, but it’s…good for me.” He swallows almost nervously. “I think.”

“You think?” I ask. This sounds like the lead-up to the kind of conversation I used to have with Cal all the time: one where he needs advice, but doesn’t know how to ask for it.

Before I can press him, though, a blur of tie-dye catches my eye across the street. At first I think I must be seeing things; there’s no way it’s the same cursed pattern that’s been haunting my dreams since last week’s class president debate. But when I focus on it and see it’s attached to a familiar, blue-tipped fauxhawk, I stop in my tracks and grab hold of Cal’s arm, anchoring him in place. There’s no denying it.

    “You guys, wait,” I say, pointing at the figure across the street from us. “Do you see that?” Mateo stops, too, turning with a questioning look. “What the hell is Boney Mahoney doing here?”





CARLTON HIGH SCHOOL MEDIA LAB


Two boys are seated at a curved metal desk; the large-screen monitor between them reads CARLTON SPEAKS. The front of the desk is draped with a banner displaying the school mascot, the Carlton High Cougar. The first boy, leaning forward with barely contained energy, is lanky with longish dark curls and the kind of doe eyes that look deceptively innocent; the second boy is broad-shouldered with short locs and posture that would be relaxed if he weren’t constantly fiddling with the pen he’s holding.

BOY #1: What’s up, Carlton High? This is Ishaan Mittal, and…(Glances at the other boy.) BOY #2, setting his pen down: And this is Zack Abrams. We’re supposed to be giving a post-assembly analysis of our new student body president’s speech, but we’re not doing that because— ISHAAN, leaning forward and placing both palms on the desk for emphasis: Because the kid never showed!

ZACK, under his breath: Ishaan, I wasn’t…I was still setting that up.

     ISHAAN, oblivious: This morning, Carlton High’s controversial new senior class president, Boney Mahoney— TEACHER’S VOICE, off camera: Proper names, guys. And just “new senior class president” is fine.

ISHAAN: This morning, Carlton High’s new senior class president, Brian Mahoney, made a mockery of his election by blowing off the entire school— TEACHER’S VOICE: Less editorializing, please. How about we summarize the election and then talk about student reactions to this morning’s assembly?

ZACK: I mean, people were mostly happy they didn’t have to listen to Boney.

ISHAAN: With all due respect, Mr. G., the election is old news. Nobody needs it summarized. The burning question that everyone wants answered is: Where the hell is Boney? (Stares intensely into the camera.) Yesterday, he pledged to lead us into the future. But today— ZACK: Today he probably overslept.

     ISHAAN: He did promise that if we elected him, he’d leave us alone. What none of us realized, perhaps, is that he meant it literally.

MR. G., with a long-suffering sigh: Come on, guys. You know the drill. No curse words, no nicknames, no speculation.

ZACK, quietly: No fun.

ISHAAN, slumping back in his seat: This show is wasting my talents.





MATEO


Ivy looks shocked, then outraged. “I can’t believe him!” she says as maybe-Boney disappears around a corner. I didn’t get a good look at the guy, but she seems sure. “He’s supposed to be giving a speech now!” Her eyes go wide. “Oh my God. Did he abdicate? Am I president now?” She whips out her phone and stares at the screen. “Come on, Emily. You were texting up a storm five minutes ago. Where are you when I need you?”