You'll Be the Death of Me(25)

“I have a sudden need for towels,” he said, watching her head down that aisle.

“No,” I said shortly. That’s how roughly sixty percent of conversations with my father go: me trying to shut down something embarrassing and/or obnoxious. It’s made worse by the fact that ever since I turned fifteen and got taller than him, he’s treated me like his wingman.

    “Why not?” Dad asked, already pivoting our cart.

“She teaches at Carlton,” I hissed. “Autumn takes her class.” Thank God that stopped him, because Ms. Jamison came back into the main aisle then and would’ve bumped into us otherwise. She smiled politely at my father, glanced at me with a spark of recognition that didn’t catch—I’d gotten a lot taller over the summer—and kept going.

I thought I’d dodged that bullet until Dad loudly said, “They didn’t make them like that when I was in school.” That earned us a lingering backward look from Ms. Jamison before she finally, mercifully, disappeared from view. To this day, I couldn’t tell you whether she was angry or amused. All I knew was that I was horrified, and I’ve avoided Ms. Jamison’s classes like the plague ever since.

I’m the exception, though. Half the guys in school take it in the hopes of getting friendly with Ms. Jamison, and at least a few of them—the jocks, mostly—brag that they’ve done more than that. But they’re the kind of guys you can’t take seriously, so I’ve never paid attention to them. Plus, last winter Ms. Jamison got engaged to Carlton High’s lacrosse coach, Coach Kendall, who’s the human equivalent of a golden retriever. Cheerful, friendly, and liked by everyone. From what I’ve seen of the two of them together, they look happy.

But now here’s Cal—Cal, of all the damn people—leaning as far forward as the table will let him, looking like he’s two seconds away from kissing her.

“This is messed up,” Ivy says.

“No kidding,” I say. “And why is she even here? Shouldn’t she be at school?”

“There’s no art on Tuesday. Budget cuts, remember?”

    I resist the urge to roll my eyes, but just barely. It’s typical Ivy to believe everyone pays attention to stuff like that. “Do you take her class?”

Ivy shakes her head. “I haven’t taken an elective since freshman year. Too busy trying to keep up with…” She catches herself and finishes with “classes,” but I’m pretty sure she was about to say Daniel. He tested off the charts on some kind of gifted exam when Ivy and I were still friends, and she got really intense about school after that. Like she could level whatever playing field she thought the two of them were on through sheer force of will. “Do you?”

“Huh?” I got lost in thought, and have no idea what she’s asking.

“Take Ms. Jamison’s class.”

“Nope,” I say briefly. No way am I getting into that backstory. “Autumn did, though, and she liked her. Said Ms. Jamison was always really encouraging.”

Ivy folds her arms and glares at Cal’s table. “Oh, I’d say she’s encouraging, all right,” she says darkly.

“Do you think Cal’s parents know about this?” I ask.

“Are you kidding? They’d die. Especially Wes,” she says.

“Why especially him?” From what I remember, Henry was a lot stricter.

“Because he’s the dean at Carlton College. Hello?” Ivy waves a hand in front of my face when I don’t react. “Do you not watch the news?”

“You know I don’t.”

“Well, Carlton College just fired a professor for sleeping with a student. It was a whole thing, and Wes was interviewed a bunch of times. If people knew his son was sneaking around with a teacher, he’d look like a hypocrite. Or a clueless, uninvolved parent. Neither is great for the dean of a college.”

    Suddenly, Cal flattening himself against an alley doorway makes a lot more sense. “No wonder Cal freaked out this morning,” I say.

Ivy chews her lip. “He said she wasn’t at the studio, right?” I nod. “But he also said she works there on Tuesdays. She’s blond, and she knows Boney. That’s three strikes. Plus a bonus fourth strike for”—she waves her hand toward Cal’s table—“all that. It’s a good thing we followed him. He clearly has no objectivity when it comes to this woman, so he’s not going to ask any of the right questions.”

“You want to move closer? Try and listen in?” I ask.

“We could,” Ivy says. “And we should. But I had something else in mind, too.”





YOUTUBE, CARLTON SPEAKS CHANNEL


Ishaan and Zack wave at a phone camera from what looks like the front seat of a car.

ZACK: Hey, this is Zack Abrams and Ishaan Mittal, coming to you live from (glances around) Ishaan’s car. Which, not gonna lie, could be cleaner.

ISHAAN: You’re the one who wanted to record here. I voted for Angelo’s Pizzeria.

ZACK: Too noisy. Anyway, we ducked out of lunch to bring you a Carlton Speaks special report on what everyone at school is talking about today: the shocking death of our classmate, Carlton High senior Brian “Boney” Mahoney. The news reports don’t have much detail yet, but it sounds like Boney died in an abandoned building in Boston.