“For what?” The cell phone? Did John Thomas really think I was stupid enough to keep it on the premises?
The fact that I’d finally broken my silence seemed to energize Headmaster Raleigh. “I’m not at liberty to share the details of the allegations. In an effort to discourage bullying, Hardwicke has an open-door policy. We encourage students to report any trouble they’re having and guarantee confidentiality during investigations.”
In theory, that might have been a good practice. In reality, it was a system ripe for abuse.
“I despise bullying,” I told the headmaster. “And bullies. You might say that’s something my sister and I have in common.”
Invoking Ivy had exactly the effect I had thought it would. Headmaster Raleigh’s jaw clenched slightly. If his last interaction with Ivy was any indication, he had a healthy amount of fear of my sister’s reach. Either she already had dirt on him, or he was afraid she’d dig some up.
The headmaster offered me a peppermint, then forced a smile. “If you would just allow me to conduct a simple search—”
“No,” I said. “I don’t think I will.”
Behind the headmaster’s desk, there was a photo. As a vein in his forehead began to throb, I counted the number of people in it: three in the back row, two in the front, one off to the side. Headmaster Raleigh was standing between a balding man in his fifties and a slightly older man with a shock of white hair. I recognized the older man instantly.
William Keyes.
“I don’t need your permission to search your locker.” The headmaster’s tone drew my attention back in his direction. This, I inferred from the rise in volume, was supposed to be the voice of authority.
If you didn’t need my permission, I thought, then why did you ask for it?
“I thought Hardwicke respected the privacy of all of its students,” I said. That was what he’d told Ivy. The wealthy and politically elite sent their children here because it was secure and discreet. I had a feeling that random locker searches wouldn’t sit well with the Board of Trustees—and unless Raleigh had something more solid than a vague, anonymous complaint, it would be easy enough to make any search he conducted of my locker look random.
“Maybe you should call Ivy.” I dropped my sister’s name a second time. “I’m sure we can sort this whole locker-search thing out.”
The headmaster fidgeted with his tie like it was choking him. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“Neither do I.”
Raleigh and I both turned toward the doorway. Adam stood there, looking every inch his father’s son. His gaze was steady, his presence commanding. “Adam Keyes,” he introduced himself, crossing the room to shake the headmaster’s hand. “I’m here to pick up Tess.”
“Keyes, did you say?” If anything, the headmaster looked slightly paler than he had a moment before. “And what is your relation to Tess?”
Adam’s lips twisted their way into a smile that looked more like a threat. “Family friend,” he replied. “If you have any concerns about her behavior, I’d be glad to pass them along.”
“No,” the headmaster said hurriedly. “No concerns. I am sure this is just a misunderstanding.”
“I’m sure that it is.” Coming from Adam, that sounded like an order. “You ready to go, Tess?”
I stood. “Headmaster,” I said, meeting his eyes. “Always a pleasure.”
“Do I want to know what he would have found if he’d searched your locker?” Adam asked once we hit the parking lot. His brows pulled together in what was either disapproval or amusement—I couldn’t tell which.
“As far as I know, nothing.” I’d taken the battery out of John Thomas’s phone to prevent anyone from tracking it. I certainly wasn’t stupid enough to keep pilfered goods in my locker.
“So you objected on principle?” The edges of his lip twitched slightly. Amusement.
“On the principle the person who made the anonymous complaint might also have planted something in my locker,” I corrected. Adam gave me a long, assessing look, and I shrugged. “I’ve been making friends.”
“You don’t say.” Adam didn’t sound surprised. He unlocked what I assumed to be his car. I headed for the passenger side, and he stopped me, holding out the keys. “Ivy said you wanted to learn to drive in DC.”
In the three days since my tea with Ivy, she hadn’t said a word about my request for transportation. I’d assumed she’d forgotten or decided to ignore it.
“How did you get stuck teaching me about big-city driving?” I asked Adam.
“I didn’t get stuck with it,” he corrected. “I volunteered.” He looped around to the passenger side, his strides even and brisk. “I don’t trust Bodie to hold you to the speed limit, and no one trusts Ivy behind the wheel.”