“Everyone knows your sister works for Georgia Nolan,” Henry said. “Can you honestly tell me she doesn’t troubleshoot for the president, too?” He didn’t give me a chance to answer. “And William Keyes? He’s rich. Rich enough to pay her whatever it takes for her to protect him and his image.”
“She’s not working for Keyes.” It took everything I had not to raise my voice. “They don’t even get along.”
“Then why did his son pick you up from school last week?” Henry arched an eyebrow at me. “Word travels fast at Hardwicke, Tess. Whether you like it or not, you have to accept that there’s at least a possibility that your sister may have a conflict of interest here. And the side she comes down on may not be the right one.”
Ivy had told me not to tell anyone. To protect me, I thought desperately. She did it to protect me. And Vivvie.
“Tallyho, friends of Asher!” Asher had impeccable timing. He waltzed into the room and hopped up on the computer table, his legs dangling down, like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Like the tension in the room wasn’t thick enough that you could have cut it with a knife.
“Am I interrupting something?” he asked blithely.
Just Henry telling me he thinks my sister might be working to cover up his grandfather’s murder. Henry must have read something in my expression, because a hint of remorse flashed across his features.
“You’re not interrupting anything.” Henry pulled his gaze from mine and turned to Asher. “Tess and I were just having a bit of a debate.” His green eyes found their way to mine again. “I may have pushed my case a little too hard.”
“You?” Asher said, feigning shock. “Never.”
As Asher launched into a story that seemed to involve a cupcake and a remote-controlled airplane—clearly meant to dissolve the tension—I had to fight the urge to stare at Henry until I knew exactly what he was thinking.
What had Ivy done to convince him she was capable of something like this?
I turned my head away from Henry. I could just barely make out our reflection in the glass pane that separated the computer lab from the hall: Asher constantly in motion, and Henry and I sitting still as statues, neither of us looking at the other.
Movement on the other side of the pane forced my attention away from the reflection.
Emilia. She opened the door to the lab a second later. I saw the moment she registered the fact that Henry, Asher, and I had gone silent at her entrance.
Her chin jutted out, her perfect posture going even more erect.
“Did you need something, Em?” Asher asked.
“Not from you.” Emilia’s tone when she addressed her brother was a mix of comfortable and blunt. Henry stood up, obviously expecting Emilia to address him, but she just gave him an icy look, then turned to me.
“I need to talk to you.” Emilia had a knack of issuing statements like orders. I was going to ask her if it could wait, but something in her eyes made me hesitate.
She took a step forward. “It’s about Vivvie.”
That was all it took for her to have my complete attention.
“She’s in the bathroom,” Emilia said softly. “She looks . . .” Emilia bit her bottom lip. I hadn’t pegged her for the lip-biting type. “She’s not okay.”
“Vivvie’s here?” I interrupted.
“Listening comprehension,” Emilia snapped back, looking more like her usual self. “Yes, she’s here. And something’s wrong.”
“Which bathroom?” I asked, a feeling of dread taking up residence in my stomach. Vivvie had buried her father this morning. Why would she have come to school? And how bad must she have been for Emilia to come get me?
“Downstairs,” Emilia replied. “East corridor.”
I started walking before she even finished talking. Henry and Asher followed. When I got to the bathroom, there was no one else inside. I’d expected to find Vivvie in one of the stalls, but she was just sitting on the floor.
“Vivvie.” I knelt down next to her.
“Sorry,” she said roughly. “I’m sorry. I’m fine.”
“What’s wrong?”
“You weren’t in the courtyard,” Vivvie said. “It’s stupid. I came to find you, and you weren’t in the courtyard, and—”
“Breathe.”
Vivvie breathed. Then she thrust something toward me. It took me a second to realize it was a newspaper, and another after that to realize that she wanted me to take it.
I took it. Slowly, I unfolded it. Then I understood instantly why Vivvie had come.
PIERCE FRONT-RUNNER FOR SUPREME COURT, the headline declared. My mind whirred. This wasn’t an op-ed piece, and it wasn’t some two-bit newspaper. This was the front page of the Washington Post.
There was a knock at the door.
“Everything okay in there?” Asher called. “I ask in the most unobtrusive possible way!”
I looked down at the paper in my hand.
“You can show him,” Vivvie told me, pushing herself to her feet. “He’s going to see it anyway. Everyone’s going to see it.”