“You’re new,” he said.
I didn’t reply. I’d made it to the door of the chapel when he spoke again, more quietly this time. “I was just enjoying the view.”
I turned back toward him, ready to smack the smile off his face, only to discover that he wasn’t smiling anymore. Seriousness didn’t fit with his features.
“The view?” I asked, still annoyed with myself that I’d misread the situation so badly.
“The view,” he replied. “The higher up you go, the smaller they get.”
“Who?” I asked.
He held his hands out to each side, the same way he had on the edge of the roof. “Everyone.”
The second I stepped outside, I realized that the boy hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said the “get down before a teacher sees you” ship had sailed and sailed again. I wasn’t sure if Vivvie had actually gone for help, or if someone else had caught sight of the boy, but there were two teachers in the courtyard now, along with a handful of students—including Emilia Rhodes, who had a distinctly pained expression on her face.
“Did you haul him down?” Vivvie asked me in a whisper. “You forcibly hauled him down, didn’t you?”
“Ms. Kendrick!” A teacher broke through the crowd to reach me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Care to explain what you were doing in there?” The teacher narrowed his eyes at me. Behind him, Vivvie began to gesture emphatically. She was freakishly skilled at charades. Following the gist, I glanced up at the roof. From where we were standing, you could see the edge of the roof, but you couldn’t see farther back, where I’d been standing.
“It’s a chapel,” I said, turning back to the teacher. “What do you think I was doing in there?”
The teacher was flummoxed.
I shrugged. “When you have to pray, you have to pray.” The teacher opened his mouth to reply, and I cut him off. “The Hardwicke chapel is open to students of all religious beliefs and affiliations,” I said. “Isn’t it?”
“Errr . . . yes,” the teacher replied. “Of course.” The man adjusted his tie, then zeroed in on a different target. “Mr. Rhodes!” he boomed.
The boy from the roof smiled charmingly. “Mr. Collins! Just the man I wanted to see.”
“Did you also hope to see Headmaster Raleigh?” the teacher countered. “Because if you did, you’re in luck.”
“I’m always in luck,” the boy—whose last name was apparently Rhodes—replied. “I think I got some really good shots up there.” As I processed the fact that this must be Emilia’s brother, the boy in question held up a camera, which he had most decidedly not been holding on the roof.
“You’re telling me you were up on the roof of the chapel taking pictures?” the teacher asked skeptically.
I gave the boy—Asher—a look. This was never going to work.
Asher met my eyes, and his own sparkled. I could practically hear him thinking, challenge accepted.
“I was digesting what you said in your lecture on perspective in photography,” he told the teacher. “You told us to think outside the box.” He tilted his head to the side. “I feel so . . . edified . . .”
I snorted. Audibly.
“Asher, do you think I’m stupid?” Mr. Collins scowled at him.
“Not at all,” Asher replied. “Do you think I’m edified?” He grinned. Beside me, Vivvie grinned. The smile was catching.
Mr. Collins shook his head. “Stay off the roof,” he ordered. Then he paused. “Stay off all the roofs.”
The fact that he felt he had to make that clarification told me a great deal about Asher Rhodes.
“Sir, yes, sir,” Asher replied. And then, to my shock, Mr. Collins left it at that. The other teacher didn’t say a word to Asher. It was like someone had just flashed the words nothing to see here on a neon sign. The crowd dissipated, and Asher met my eyes and arched a brow.
“What just happened here?” I asked Vivvie, bewildered.
Vivvie shrugged.
“People like me,” Asher informed me helpfully. “I’m very likable.”
“No, you aren’t.”
Asher grinned like I’d just professed my love for him. He lifted the camera up and snapped a picture of me. “Give it a couple of days,” he told me ominously. “You’ll see.”
CHAPTER 13
It didn’t take long for word to get around that I’d taken on Emilia’s case. Forget the fact that I had not taken on Emilia’s case. And the fact that random high school juniors didn’t just declare themselves in business and start “taking cases.” To the Hardwicke student body, the fact that I’d been with Asher and he’d managed to evade trouble was evidence enough that I was embracing my fixer title.