If You're Out There(30)

I open my mouth, then close it. Somehow I hadn’t thought of that. “I suppose I could try to talk to her stepdad.”

“You have his number?”

“I mean . . . yeah. But what would I even say? Do you call your friends’ parents?”

“What if I call?” he says. “I could make up some excuse. See if I can get anything useful out of him before we go jumping to conclusions.”

“Okay,” I say, nodding through my blurry thoughts. “Yeah, do that.”

A knock makes me jump. Dad’s voice comes through the door. “You guys hungry? There’s plenty of takeout left.”

“We’ll get some in a little bit!” I holler. Dad’s footsteps fall away. “If we’re gonna call, we better do it now.”

Logan takes down the number on his phone, pausing. “Your dad doesn’t think we’re like . . . doing stuff in here, does he? I’d like him to understand that I’m classier than that.”

“Ew, no.”

He laughs and sits up tall, stretching his lips into wide, exaggerated shapes. “Getting into character,” he says. “What’s his name?”

“Ben Grissom.”

“Okay, it’s ringing.”

“Wait! What are you gonna—”

“I got this,” he says, perking up. He raises a finger. “Hello? Is this Ben? . . . Hi. I’m David Johnson. I teach laboratory sciences over at Prewitt High School.” His wide smile helps settle my nerves. He’s actually pretty convincing. “Oh yes, I am aware. But I’m heading up the yearbook committee for our seniors this year, and even though Priya transferred, we’d like to include her in a few sections. She was such a star student after all. Mm-hm . . . Mm-hm . . . We have few questions for her. Any chance you can put her on the phone?”

My eyes go wide. I am not prepared for this.

Abort! Abort!

“Oh. Well, perhaps you can have her call us back?” I sigh with relief and he scratches his head. “I see.” I bug my eyes out—WHAT?—and he covers the receiver to whisper, “Her phone broke.”

I hover close, trying to listen in, but he waves me away. “Will she be in later tonight?” He raises his eyebrows at me. “Oh. Wow. That must be quite a change from the Chicago public schools. How did that—” He nods. “I see. . . . Mm-hmm.”

I wish I could hear the other side. As if reading my thoughts, Logan leans in and whispers, “Boarding school.”

“Huh,” I say, taking this in. Priya had been researching private schools in California before she left. She figured if she had to make all new friends, she might as well get a leg up for college. “Will you hate me if I get one of those blazers?” she asked one day, Googling places on my bed. “With the little school crest on the pocket?” I told her it would be acceptable, so long as she maintained her sense of irony. Guess that part didn’t pan out. Last I heard, there were hardly any transfer spots and most deadlines were long gone. But Ben is one of those connected types. I bet he pulled some strings.

“Well, hey. That’s wonderful,” Logan is saying. “Yes, have her give us a call when she gets her new phone. . . . Yes, this number. It’s my personal cell. . . . Hm? Oh, nice. Indiana, yep.” He puts on a snooty expression. “I may be a Harvard man, but it’s always nice to have that little reminder of home.” I give him the signal to wrap it up. No need for the backstory, Logan. But he winks.

“Hm?” His face falls. He closes one eye and starts counting back with his fingers. “Oh, uh . . . 2001?” His face goes pale and I mouth, What?? But he relaxes. “Wow. Must have just missed each other.”

Oh Jesus. I forgot Ben went to Harvard.

“Haha, yes . . . Er, Go, Crimson.” I collapse back onto the bed and cover my face with my hands.

Logan clears his throat. “Sorry—what was the name of Priya’s new school again? I didn’t catch it before.” I peek up at him and a smile beams back. “Got it. Saint Anne’s. Wonderful. Tell her we look forward to hearing from her.” I sit up, my body prickling with something like excitement.

Logan’s face falls. “What’s that?” He lunges toward the desk, scribbles on an open notebook, and holds it up.

What’s my name???

“Er . . . Sorry. I can’t hear you, Mr. Grissom.” I jump out of bed and grab his pencil. “I think the call is cutting out a bit. Hello? . . . Hellooo . . . Can you hear me?”

I scratch the words David Johnson you dummy, my eyes bulging so violently they nearly launch from their sockets.

“Ah. There you are, Mr. Grissom.” I let out a huge exhale and throw myself back onto the bed. I don’t think the CIA will be recruiting Logan anytime soon. “What were you saying? . . . My name! Of course. I’m David Johnson, from Prewitt High. Absolutely. I . . . never had the pleasure of teaching Priya myself, but my students have told me so much about her. . . . Mm-hmm . . . Mm-hmm . . . Yes, you too. Have a good evening.” And with that, he collapses on his back beside me.

He starts to laugh and I do, too, clutching my belly as I catch another whiff of that boy soap smell.

“You’re a terrible liar,” I say to the ceiling.

“Yes, I think we’ve established that tonight.” I can still feel him grinning. “Saint Anne’s, though. That’s something. . . .”