“I wasn’t that polite,” Ivy muttered.
I wasn’t sure what surprised me more—the fact that the First Lady was apparently one of Ivy’s clients, or the fact that Ivy didn’t treat her like a client.
She treated her like family.
“I was very sorry to hear about your grandfather, Tess.” Georgia Nolan reached over and squeezed my hand. “From what I hear, he is a good man.”
I stared down at my tea. She’d used the present tense. He is, I thought, clinging to that one word. He is a good man. He is tough and smart and more like me than either one of us would ever admit.
I could feel Ivy’s eyes on me. I swallowed back the rush of emotion I’d felt at the First Lady’s words. “Justice Marquette has—had—a grandson who goes to Hardwicke,” I said, still staring at the rim of my cup. Better to talk about anyone else’s grandfather than my own. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” My eyes flitted back up to the First Lady’s hazel ones. “Ivy fixes problems. A dead Supreme Court justice is a problem.”
“No,” the president’s wife replied, her voice never losing its warmth. “Theo Marquette’s death is a tragedy.” She studied me for a moment, then continued, “And, quite frankly, it’s an opportunity, tragic though it may be.” She set her tea down. “And speaking of,” she said, turning her attention back to Ivy, “I’m guessing that’s why William paid you a visit?” Georgia gave a small, close-lipped smile. “He has thoughts on the nomination and wants your whisper in this administration’s ear.”
William. It took me a second to process the name. As in William Keyes.
“Georgia.” Ivy gave the older woman a quelling look and then darted a meaningful glance toward me. The First Lady held Ivy’s gaze for a moment, then inclined her head slightly.
“Tess,” Georgia said, “could you give us a moment?”
When the First Lady of the United States asks you to give her a moment, you give her a moment. I went to the bathroom. When I came back, she and Ivy had finished discussing whatever they were discussing.
Georgia stood. She reached over and laid a hand on Ivy’s shoulder. “I’ll let you know which way Peter is leaning on nominees,” she told her, giving Ivy’s shoulder a squeeze. “In the meantime, do keep your ear to the ground.” Then she smiled. “And when things settle down, you and Tess are coming over for dinner.”
CHAPTER 16
This was what my life had become: on Tuesday, the First Lady insisted I simply had to dine at the White House at some point in the near future; on Wednesday, I sat by myself at lunch. Vivvie was absent. I probably could have leveraged my fledgling reputation to obtain a seat at someone else’s table, but I was used to eating lunch alone.
Solitude didn’t bother me nearly as much as the idea of cementing my status as a person to know at Hardwicke.
So I ate outside. By myself. I did the same thing the next day, when Vivvie still didn’t show up for school. And the day after that. After three days of self-segregation—and a half-dozen declined requests for “fixing”—the message was finally starting to sink in with the rest of the student body. I wasn’t a miracle worker. I wasn’t looking to make friends.
I just wanted to be left alone.
On the third day of eating lunch by myself, I got company. And not the good kind.
“If it isn’t my favorite little psychopath.” The boy whose phone I’d confiscated my first day at Hardwicke slid into the seat across from mine. A quick survey of my surroundings told me that his friends weren’t far off. In the past few days, more and more students had moved to eating lunch outside. There were three or four small groups and one larger one.
A few students cast glances our way, but Emilia Rhodes was the only one whose gaze lingered.
“I can’t help but notice you’re looking a little lonely these days.” The boy across from me smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile. “Your fifteen minutes of high school fame over already?”
He was like a predator, going for the antelope that had been cut off from the rest of the herd. I’d threatened him, embarrassed him. He’d steered clear until it became obvious that I wasn’t going to grab at a place near the top of the Hardwicke hierarchy.
Now he’d apparently decided I was fair game.
“If you need a friend . . .” He leered at me, his eyes raking over my body in a way designed to make me feel exposed. “I can be a very good friend.”