You'll Be the Death of Me(14)

“Maybe it wasn’t even him,” I say.

“Oh, it was him,” she mutters. “Unbelievable. You can’t miss assembly when you’re class president. Attendance is mandatory. It’s written into the school bylaws, or it would have been, if I’d been elected and the bylaws had passed.” She glares across the street, then starts walking with long, determined strides. “Come on. Let’s see where he’s going.”

“Who cares?” I ask, but that’s a pointless question. Obviously, she does.

    I’m hoping the guy is out of sight by the time we turn the corner, but no such luck. We spot him instantly, and from this angle, I can see that Ivy was right—it’s definitely Boney, with his phone in one hand and a backpack dangling from his shoulder. We trail him down another two streets until he stops in front of a loft-style building with a bright green door. He fiddles with something beside the door, then pulls it open and steps inside.

“Hold on.” Cal grabs Ivy’s arm as she tries to follow. “You can’t just walk in. There’s a security code.”

She blinks at him. “What? How do you know?”

“So…this building…” Cal runs a hand through his hair, his eyes darting everywhere except at us. “You know that person I mentioned before, the one I’ve been seeing lately? Her art studio is in here.”

“Studio?” I ask. “She has an art studio?”

“Well, it’s not actually hers,” Cal says. “A friend rents it and lets her work there sometimes. The building’s up for sale, so the tenants were supposed to clear out last month, but a few of them are still using the space.” Ivy inhales sharply, and Cal’s skittering glance finally lands on her. “Don’t look so shocked. It’s not a big deal. It’s fine.”

“There’s no way it’s fine,” Ivy says, frowning. “If my dad bought this building, he’d definitely have a problem with former tenants squatting here.”

She has a point, but she might be missing a bigger one. “Cal,” I say. “Is this girl not in high school?”

“Not technically,” Cal says.

“She’s in college?” I ask, trying not to sound as surprised as I feel. I never would’ve pegged Cal for the kind of guy who’d go for an older girl. Or have an older girl go for him.

    “Look, can we just…” Cal glances around again. “She’s actually going to be here any minute. She’s always here on Tuesdays, right at ten o’clock. It’s, like, routine with her, because she says the light is perfect then. And it’s going to be super awkward if she sees me.”

“Why?” Ivy asks. “Does she know Boney?” Her voice lowers in sympathy, and she puts a hand on Cal’s arm. “Is this a love-triangle situation?”

“No!” He shakes her off. “Can we just—move on? Visit the penguins. We should’ve started there.”

Ivy crosses her arms. “We can do that after I talk to Boney. Give me the code.”

“I…I don’t know it,” Cal says, looking over his shoulder. It’s such an obvious lie that even I’m not fooled.

“Give me the code,” Ivy repeats. “Then you can slink off and hide. Otherwise, I’m going to force you to stand in the middle of the street until your girlfriend shows up and things get, as you put it, super awkward.”

Cal makes a strangled sound and chokes out “Five eight three two” as if the numbers are being yanked from his throat. Then he ducks into an alley like some kind of fugitive as Ivy takes off toward the green door.

“Cal, what the hell?” I look up and down the street—no mystery girl in sight—before following him. If this entire situation weren’t so weird, I’d laugh at the sight of him pressed into the alcove of a doorway. “What’s your problem? Why can’t she see you?”

Cal licks his lips nervously. “It’s not that, so much. It’s more like she can’t see you.”

“Me?” Now I’m beyond confused. “Why not?”

    “Or Ivy. I shouldn’t have given her the code. I panicked.”

“Cal, you’re making no sense.” Then another thought strikes me, fast and unwelcome. “Shit, you’re right. You shouldn’t have given her the code. It’s a terrible idea for Ivy and Boney to talk right now.” Boney is known for being a laid-back guy, but he has a temper, too. I’ve seen him go off on people, and Ivy looks like she’s been waiting for an excuse to give him hell.

Yesterday, after the election results were announced, Ivy stalked past me and my ex-girlfriend, Carmen, in the hallway. “I’m worried about that girl,” Carmen said, nodding at Ivy. “She seems so stressed. I hope she has some kind of outlet to blow off steam.”

Carmen and I are still friends, because our split was almost as chill as I told Cal and Ivy. Except, when Carmen said we might as well break up, I had the feeling she was waiting for me to protest. And I wanted to. But I didn’t, because as Autumn likes to say, I’m incapable of dealing with even the slightest hint of rejection.

Whatever. Nobody likes rejection. That’s science.

I shake the thought off and focus on the problem at hand: the fact that Cal and I are still lurking uselessly in the alley while Ivy and Boney are probably having an epic screamfest in the middle of an abandoned building. “We better go after her,” I tell Cal, and start for the street. He doesn’t move, and I turn back, exasperated. “Come on. I’m going in, and Ivy’s already there, so whatever you’re worrying about—deal with it, okay?”