The Long Game (The Fixer #2)(16)

“I’ll step down.” Emilia forced herself to look at Headmaster Raleigh.

“I think that would be wise,” he said quietly.

“And what about the boys in that video?” I asked. “The ones taping a girl without her consent? What about the person who’s sending these texts?”

Now that he’d gotten what he wanted out of Emilia, Headmaster Raleigh seemed less concerned with my presence in the office. “Every effort will be made to find the origin of these texts,” the headmaster promised.

“And if I told you that John Thomas Wilcox told me that he’d sent the picture?” I asked.

Emilia was the one who answered. “It would be your word against his.” She shook her head. “He said, she said.” Robotically, she turned back to the headmaster. “If that’s all, I’d like to do some studying before my next class.”





CHAPTER 15

I didn’t see Emilia again until World Issues. The moment Dr. Clark told us to break into groups, Emilia asked to go to the bathroom. I had two choices: stay and be interrogated by both Henry and Asher about what had happened in the headmaster’s office, or follow Emilia and risk having my head bitten off.

I chose the latter.

When I asked for permission, Dr. Clark assessed me silently. “Off the record,” she said, “if what I’m hearing about how this situation with Emilia was handled is true, I disagree with it on every level.” She nodded to the door. “Go.”

I went.

When I got to the bathroom, Emilia was standing in front of the mirror, applying lip gloss. “Don’t worry,” she told me, an edge in her voice. “I’ll still count your favor paid in full.”

I stepped forward. “That’s not why I’m worried.”

Emilia put the cap on her lip gloss and turned to look at me. “You don’t get to be worried about me,” she said vehemently. “You don’t even like me.”

She’d told me once that Asher was the likable twin. He was the one people trusted. She was the one who had focus. The one who did everything right.

“You weren’t drunk in that picture,” I said softly. “Were you?”

“You saw the video.” She clamored to hide the naked emotion in her eyes.

“Yeah,” I said. “I did.”

In Raleigh’s office, when I’d thrown out the possibility that someone had slipped something into Emilia’s drink that night, she’d told me to stop. Begged me to stop.

It would be your word against his, she’d said later. He said, she said.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep from replaying John Thomas’s leering words from earlier that day: If you ask me, someone did Miss Priss a favor. No one should be wound that tight.

From the beginning, that picture had hit Emilia with crippling, devastating force.

“I’m not talking about this,” Emilia said, her voice taut. “You’re not talking about it. No one is talking about it.” She turned on the faucet and began washing her hands. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Yes. There is. I didn’t say that. I didn’t get a vote about whether we talked about this or not. No one got a vote but Emilia.

“I still owe you a favor,” I said.

Emilia reached for a paper towel. “Do I look like I want a pity favor?” she asked.

“Do I look like I feel even an ounce of pity for you?” I shot back.

For the first time, Emilia allowed herself to look at me. Really look at me. I met her stare unflinchingly.

“Fine,” she said after a moment. “You still owe me a favor. I’ll let you know when I want to collect.”

“You do that,” I told her. “And if you decide you want to collect now—I can get you back in that race.”

“The headmaster—” Emilia started to say.

“I can take care of the headmaster.”

“That picture—”

“By the time I’m done,” I said, “that picture will win you this election.”

John Thomas. She didn’t make the last objection out loud.

“Him,” I said, “I’ll take care of for fun.”

There was a long moment of silence, and then Emilia tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. “There’s no way you’re that good.”

I smiled. “Try me.”





CHAPTER 16

Emilia and I went back to World Issues. It took me less than a minute to get Vivvie on board. I texted Ivy that I was going to Vivvie’s place after school and bided my time until the bell rang. On the way to Vivvie’s, I made four phone calls.

The first was to Anna Hayden.

“How would you like to stick it to John Thomas Wilcox?” I asked her.

There was a brief pause. “I’m listening.”

“He took that picture of Emilia.” I couldn’t tell Anna more than that—not what I suspected about the circumstances in which that picture had been taken, not the devastating effect that even looking at it had on Emilia. But I could give Anna a moment to think about the fact that in another world, John Thomas might have been sending around pictures of her.

“The headmaster pressured Emilia into dropping out of the race because of that picture,” I continued. “I plan to convince him that was a very bad idea.”