Finlay Donovan Jumps the Gun (Finlay Donovan, #3)(96)

Roddy and Ty stood beside the charter bus doors, issuing certificates of completion to each student as they boarded. Vero and I looked down at the ones Roddy had presented to us from the top of his pile. The certificates were all generic, the recipients’ names left blank. In all the chaos over the last twelve hours, the staff hadn’t had time to worry about preparing for the final ceremony. The only things special about Vero’s and mine were the two first-place ribbons taped to the corners.

“Too bad we all couldn’t stay for graduation,” Vero said, tracing the satin ribbon on her certificate with a sigh. “Sure would have been nice to rub it in Joey’s face.”

“Rub what in my face?” Joey appeared beside her, glaring at her under two sooty eyebrows. It had taken him an hour this morning to convince her to hand over his gun. She’d only relinquished it after he’d threatened to handcuff her and shut her in the back of a patrol car.

“Finlay and I won,” Vero gloated. “We had the most points of any team. Bet you regret betting against us now.”

“You didn’t win,” Joey groused. “The tallies closed early. Those numbers don’t count.”

Nick patted Joey’s shoulder with a pitying smile. “As the program director, I certified the tally. We’ll settle up later at the bar.”

Mrs. Haggerty shambled across the parking lot toward us, waving her certificate. Her grandson gave chase, calling after her. “What’s this business with these awards?” she demanded, shaking her paper at Nick. “Why aren’t there any names on them? How will we know who won?”

“It’s fine, Grandma,” her grandson said, trying to coax her back on the bus.

“No, it’s not!” she said sharply. “And don’t give me any of this ‘everyone’s a winner’ crap. When I was your age, we had real competitions. There were winners and losers, and nobody complained when they didn’t get a prize.”

Vero gave Joey a pointed look.

“Actually,” I said, holding out my certificate. “I think you might have gotten mine by mistake, Mrs. Haggerty.” She pushed up the frames of her glasses as she took it, studying the satin ribbon with a satisfied nod. Vero gasped in protest as I handed her certificate to Mrs. Haggerty’s grandson, swapping it for his unadorned one.

“I was under the impression we came in second place,” he said, politely trying to give it back.

“Extra points were awarded to your grandmother this morning,” I insisted.

“For what?” Vero asked. “Answering her damn phone?”

“For answering the call of duty last night.” I gave Vero a stern look.

Mrs. Haggerty’s grandson touched his chest in a gesture of gratitude. He put his arm around his grandmother, gently steering her back to the bus.

“That woman’s never gonna let you hear the end of it,” Vero muttered.

“It was the right thing to do,” I said, watching as Roddy helped Mrs. Haggerty up the steep bus steps.

Joey’s grin was smug around his toothpick. “Guess my team won after all.” Vero stared a hole in his back as he sauntered into the building.

“What was that all about?” my sister asked, slinging a bandaged arm around me. Sam stood beside her, their hands hanging close together, their pinky fingers touching.

“Nothing. Just giving a little credit where credit is due. Hey,” I said, “have you heard from Mom?”

Georgia nodded. “Dad’s fine. They got home from the hospital late last night. I’ve got to stick around here for a few hours, but I’ll run by their house on my way home and check on him.”

“Wish I could stay, too,” Sam said, “but Nick needs a chaperone for the buses. I told him I’d go.” She hooked her pinky finger around Georgia’s and whispered, “Call me.” Georgia looked a little starstruck as Sam waved good-bye and rolled her luggage across the parking lot.

Max leaned out her window and waved at us from the bus. “Bye, Vero! See you, Finlay! I’ll text you about that interview, okay?”

“So glad I never gave her my number,” I said to Vero as I smiled and waved back. Vero bit her lip, hiding a guilty grin. I gaped at her. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“Better to keep your enemies closer, right? And besides,” she whispered, “how else will we know what’s happening with Ike?”

As soon as the buses pulled away, Georgia took me by the arm and dragged me aside.

“I have a really big problem and I need your help,” she said urgently.

“What kind of problem?”

“I invited Sam to dinner.”

“That’s a problem?”

“I don’t know how to cook.”

“That’s easy. We’ll just call Mom—”

“No, Finn! You know how she gets. If you tell her I’m having dinner with someone, she’ll buy a bunch of wedding planners and magazines and turn into Mom-of-the-Bridezilla. She’ll scare Sam off.”

“Okay,” I said, gesturing for her to calm down. “Vero and I can probably help.”

“Help with what?” Vero asked, waddling up to us in her blanket.

“Georgia asked Sam to dinner, but Georgia doesn’t know how to cook.”