“It’s no big deal,” Cal says, unrolling his sleeves. You’d think he’d know by now it’s a dead giveaway that he’s being sketchy. “I was supposed to meet somebody, but she didn’t show, and I ran into Ms. Jamison instead. We ended up talking about my midterm project.”
Mateo and I exchange incredulous glances. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting Cal to deploy such deep denial, and it renders me momentarily speechless. “Dude, come on,” Mateo says, stepping in while I blink at Cal. “We saw.”
“Saw me talking about school,” Cal says stubbornly. Mateo gives me a helpless look like, Well, I tried my best. Back to you, Ivy.
“Cal, you don’t seem to understand what we’re telling you,” I say. “It’s not like we just caught a glimpse of you and Ms. Jamison through the window. Remember that big potted fern next to your table?” I get a blank look in return, of course, because he was too busy staring into Ms. Jamison’s eyes. I could’ve tap-danced past them in a clown costume and he wouldn’t have noticed. “We were sitting behind it and heard your entire conversation. We know it’s her studio, and we saw the two of you holding hands.” Cal winces like he’d been hoping we’d shown up after that part. “She’s your mystery girl. So please stop pretending you left us to stew in a bar for an hour after our classmate died so you could talk about a school project.”
Cal has the grace to blush. “Okay. Sorry,” he mumbles. “It’s just really complicated. Nobody knows about me and her, because…”
I can’t help myself. “Because there shouldn’t be a you and her,” I blurt out. “She’s your teacher and she’s way too old.”
Cal’s face shutters in an instant. “We haven’t even done anything.”
“She has,” I say. Even without knowing specifics, I know she’s crossed a line.
His jaw tightens. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
My patience, already stretched thin, snaps. “Do you think her fiancé would?” I ask.
I try not to focus too much on my brother’s extracurricular activities, as a general technique for preserving my self-esteem, but I’ve gotten to know Coach Kendall over the years. He’s one of my parents’ favorite people at Carlton High, and he’s been coming to our Christmas open house since Daniel and I were freshmen. He brings the same thing every year—clumsily decorated cookies—and always asks me for an update on student council activities. Unlike most adults, his eyes don’t glaze over when I answer.
He doesn’t deserve this, is my point.
“You might think you’re in some kind of real relationship, but you’re not,” I continue when Cal doesn’t reply. “Not even close.”
“Oh, really? Is it not even close?” Cal asks with a bitter laugh. “Well, I guess you’d know, wouldn’t you?” His mouth tightens, and my stomach starts to sink. I know that look; I’ve pushed him too far. Cal almost never gets truly mean, but when he does—watch out.
He unfolds his arms and starts clapping softly. “Ivy Sterling-Shepard, ladies and gentlemen. Queen of relationship advice. Remind me, when was your last boyfriend?” Dread inches up my spine as his eyes flick toward Mateo and he adds, “Was it in eighth grade, when you planted one on Mateo and he never mentioned it again? Can’t blame him. He probably didn’t want to hear about it in excruciating detail like I did for two months straight.”
Oh my God. I can’t believe he went there.
My face flames with years of pent-up humiliation. Mateo goes rigid beside me as Cal stands abruptly and glares down at us. “Go to hell, both of you. I’m finding a new seat, and then I’m getting off at Government Center and going home. You can take the T back to Carlton for all I care. And if you tell anybody about Lara…” His lips thin and he lifts his chin toward me. “I’ll tell them I have no idea what you did to Boney before we got there, Ivy.”
My jaw drops as Cal turns away and heads for the back of the train. His burn of an exit is spoiled when the train lurches again and almost sends him flying, but he manages to right himself and sink into a seat as far away from us as possible. Mateo and I remain seated in total silence, which is exactly as awkward as it sounds.
Well. I started this mess by going off on Cal, so it looks like I have to speak first. “Um, so obviously that little blast from the past isn’t relevant to the matter at hand—” I start.
Mateo breaks in. “What did he mean, never mentioned it?”
No, no, no. We do not have to relive this, or attempt to rewrite history. “Mateo, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. It was so long ago. I don’t even think about that anymore.”