“Positive. Only one thing left to do.” Ivy rinses the facecloth in the sink, then wrings it dry and tosses it into a hamper before unwrapping a Band-Aid. She presses it firmly against my temple. “There. Almost as good as new. Don’t do that again, okay?” Her hand brushes my cheek, and she leans forward to plant a light kiss on my forehead.
It feels like a signal; or maybe I just think that because I’ve been hoping for one. “Wait,” I say. Her hair’s hanging in her face again, and I catch hold of the ends before she can pull back, my eyes locking with hers. “I don’t think you’re done.”
“Sure I am. You’re fine,” she says, but she doesn’t move away. Her lips part, and her lashes flutter as color floods her cheeks. It’s one of the great mysteries of the universe why Carlton High guys aren’t lined up outside Ivy’s door. She’s cute from a distance, but up close like this? She’s beautiful. “What else could you possibly need?”
“I need…” I tuck the hair behind her ear, then trail my hand down until I’m cupping the back of her neck. “You.”
Ivy shivers, leaning forward until her soft lips graze mine. It’s not enough, though; it’s nowhere near enough. I tangle my fingers in her hair and pull her closer for a long, lingering kiss. Any questions that might’ve been floating around my brain about whether this is a bad idea—and yeah, there were more than a few—disappear at the sensation of her mouth against mine. Kissing Ivy is both familiar and exhilarating, like coming back to a place I wish I hadn’t left and finding it’s even better than I remember.
“Guys?” Ivy springs backward as Cal’s voice floats our way. She doesn’t get quite far enough to keep his eyebrows from rising when he pokes his head through the doorframe, but whatever he saw wasn’t enough to throw him off course. “Charlie told me what he thinks whoever tore apart his house was looking for, and we have a problem. Wait, let me rephrase that,” he adds, anticipating Ivy’s inevitable correction. “We have a new problem.”
She goes still. “Is someone here? Is it the police?”
“No. No one’s here,” Cal says, leaning against the doorway. Ivy exhales in relief and starts putting the bandages away. “Except the guy we came with. In other words, a very drunk Charlie.” He’s looking only at Ivy, not me, and dread starts pooling in my stomach.
I knew I shouldn’t have left him alone with Charlie.
“A very what?” Ivy asks distractedly. She shuts the medicine cabinet, then does a double take as she catches sight of her reflection in its mirrored door. She tries to put what’s left of her ponytail back together, but eventually gives up and tugs the elastic out of her hair, letting it spill over her shoulders.
“Charlie’s hammered,” Cal says, backing out of the doorway so Ivy can join him in the hall. I get up, too, but Cal still won’t look me in the eye. “He was freaked about Boney, and then freaked about his house getting torn apart, so his solution was to break into his parents’ vodka.” He clears his throat and adds, “Which, I guess, beats overdosing on the Oxycontin that he stole.”
Shit, shit, shit. This is bad. This is what I was afraid of when Charlie’s name started showing up everywhere. It’s the worst possible explanation for how Charlie and Boney are connected.
The less you know, the better.
“Are you serious? No wonder he’s been acting so weird,” Ivy says. I wait, wordless, until she absorbs the rest of Cal’s news. It only takes a second for her eyes to go wide. “Wait, he stole what? Did you say Oxycontin? Like…opioids?”
“I did,” Cal says, folding his arms across his chest. “Charlie told me he found a big stash of Oxy at a party last month, and he’s been selling it ever since. Him and Boney.” Ivy gasps, and Cal finally lets his eyes settle on mine. They’re cool and appraising as he adds, “Along with your cousin. But you already knew that, right?”
CAL
I only half believe what I’m saying until Mateo sags against the wall, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “Yeah,” he says tiredly. “I did.”
“Wait. What?” Ivy asks. Her eyes are so huge, she looks like an anime character. “You’ve been selling drugs?”
“Autumn has,” Mateo says. “And I…haven’t stopped her.”
My frayed nerves, already stretched thin from trying to decipher Charlie’s babbling while these two were getting cozy in the bathroom, snap at his words. “So all this time, while we’ve been trying to figure out what happened to Boney, you knew he was a drug dealer?” I ask. “You saw him lying there with a syringe practically dangling from his arm and thought, Eh, probably not relevant, won’t mention it?”
“I didn’t know Boney was involved,” Mateo insists. “Autumn wouldn’t tell me who she was selling with. She kept saying, The less you know, the better.”