“What’s up?” he asks once he reaches the bumper of Ivy’s car. She looks nervous all of a sudden, twisting the end of her ponytail around one finger. I’m starting to feel a little weird, too. Now that I’ve summoned Mateo, I don’t know what to say to him. Talking with Ivy is easy, as long as I avoid minefields like the junior talent show, or how she got crushed in the student council election yesterday by Boney Mahoney. But Mateo? All I know about him these days is that his mom’s bowling alley had to shut down. Not an ideal conversation starter.
“We were just talking about the Greatest Day Ever,” I say instead. And then I feel like a loser, because that name wasn’t cool even when we were twelve. But instead of groaning, Mateo gives me a small, tired smile. For the first time, I notice the dark shadows under his eyes. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.
“Those were the days,” he says.
“I’d give anything to get out of school today,” Ivy says. She’s still twirling her ponytail, eyes fixed on the back of Carlton High. I don’t have to ask her why. Boney’s acceptance speech is going to be painful for all of us, but especially her.
Mateo rubs a hand over his face. “Same.”
“Let’s do it,” I blurt out. I’m mostly kidding, until neither of them shut me down right away. And then, it hits me that there’s nothing I’d rather do. I have two classes with Noemi today, a history test I’m not ready for, no hope of seeing Lara, and nothing more exciting to look forward to than burritos for lunch. “Seriously, why not?” I say, gaining enthusiasm as I warm up to the idea. “Do you guys know how easy it is to skip now? They barely even bother to check, as long as a parent calls in before first bell. Hang on.” I pull my phone out of my pocket, scroll to Carlton High in my contacts, and tap the number that pops up. I listen to the main menu until the automated voice drones, If you’re reporting an absence…
Ivy licks her lips. “What are you doing?”
I press three on my keypad, then hold up a finger until I hear a beep. “Good morning. This is Henry O’Shea-Wallace, calling on behalf of my son, Calvin, at eight-fifty a.m. on Tuesday, September twenty-first,” I say in my father’s quiet, clipped voice. “Unfortunately, Calvin is running a slight fever today, so we’ll be keeping him home as a precaution. He has all his assignments and will complete them as needed for Wednesday.”
Mateo grins when I hang up. “I forgot how good you are at imitating people,” he says.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” I say, giving Ivy a meaningful look. The kind that says, If you don’t want this to happen, there’s still time to stop me. She doesn’t, so I redial the number, this time putting my phone on speaker so she and Mateo can hear. When the message beep sounds, I adopt a hearty baritone. “Hi, this is James Shepard. I’m afraid Ivy won’t be in school this morning—she’s feeling under the weather. Thanks, and have a great day!” Then I hang up as Ivy collapses against her car, hands on either side of her face.
“I can’t believe you did that. I thought you were bluffing,” she says.
“You did not,” I scoff.
Her answering half smile tells me I’m right, but she still looks nervous. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” she says, digging the toe of her loafer into the ground. Ivy still has the prepster look down cold, but she’s moved into darker colors with her black sweater, gray plaid miniskirt, and black tights. She looks better than she did in middle school when she was all about the primary colors. “We could probably pass it off as a prank—”
“What about me?” Mateo interrupts. We both turn to look at him as he inclines his head toward me, eyebrows raised. “You good enough to imitate my mom, Cal?”
“Not since puberty.” I dial Carlton High’s number one more time, then hold out my phone to Ivy.
She takes a step back, eyes wide. “What? No. I can’t.”
“Well, I can’t,” I say as the recorded voice starts its spiel up once again. Nobody would believe Mateo’s dad calling in for him. That guy has never been involved in anything school-related. “And neither can Mateo. It’s you or nothing.”
Ivy darts a glance toward Mateo. “You want me to?”
“Why not?” He shrugs. “I could use a day off.”
My phone beeps as the voicemail kicks in, and Ivy grabs it. “Yes, hello,” she says breathlessly. “This is Elena Wo—um, Reyes.” Mateo rolls his eyes at the near slip on last names. “Calling about my son. Mateo Wojcik. He’s sick. He has…strep.”
“Ivy, no,” I hiss. “I think you need a doctor’s note to come back from strep.”
Her shoulders get rigid. “I mean, not strep. A sore throat. I’m getting him tested for strep, but it probably isn’t strep. It’s just a precaution. I’ll call back if he tests positive, but I’m sure he won’t, so don’t expect to hear from me again. Anyway, Mateo won’t be in today, so bye.” She hangs up and practically throws the phone at me.
I shoot Mateo a frozen look of horror, because that was a disaster. Whoever listens to it might actually check in with his mom, which I’m sure is the last thing he needs. I’m expecting him to shift into turbo-annoyed mode, but he starts laughing instead. And all of a sudden he’s transformed—Mateo cracking up looks less like the guy who brushes past me in the hallway as if he doesn’t see me, and more like my old friend.
“I should’ve remembered you can’t lie to save your life,” he says to Ivy, still laughing. “That sucked.”