“No, sir.” Cade’s fists tightened at his sides. “I was just studying right before class, and I forgot to put them in my bag. I’m sure you understand.”
“I’m afraid I don’t, Mr. Sano, as I noticed you looking down at your lap many times during the test. I’m sure that other things you have down there aren’t all that interesting.” He parted his lips into something like a growl, showing a crowded row of yellowed teeth. “I’m afraid that you will not be invited to return to class. Please leave.”
Ivy’s heart sped up in her chest. This was bad. This was really bad.
“I didn’t give them to him!” Ivy burst out. She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t let Stratford do this to her, too. “I thought I lost them but he stole them out of my bag! I wasn’t helping him cheat, I swear!”
Stratford cast a look at Cade, who was sucking in these deep, loud breaths. “Is this true, Mr. Sano?”
Cade looked at Ivy. And then he nodded. “Yeah, I swiped them. Ivy didn’t know.” Every word that came out of his mouth was like being dragged across broken glass.
Dr. Stratford looked at Ivy for a half second. “I suppose in this specific scenario, the best thing I can say is that you should have taken better care of your things. Perhaps you can retake my class next summer, Ivy.”
For a moment, Ivy felt like she couldn’t see anything. Her body went stiff and cold and her heart felt like it had turned to scar tissue. And then, what she said next was, quite possibly, the worst thing she’d ever said to anyone.
“I’ll kill you, you bastard! You can’t ruin my life like this!” she said, her voice coming out in a high, windless shriek.
Dr. Stratford smiled.
He didn’t see Cade’s fist coming.
But Ivy did.
She saw the way it collided with his face.
How it knocked him backward.
The way his heels caught the toes of Kinley’s patent-leather shoes.
Dr. Stratford’s face went slack and blank, like everything, all at once, had gone out in him.
His head hit the eraser tray on the chalkboard, and like a soft cloth doll, he fell to the tile floor.
And outside, the rain fell harder and louder, and on the floor, their professor lay, still and silent, with the tiniest trickle of blood coming from his nose.
There should have been more.
“Is . . . is he dead?”
All four of them turned toward the voice, and there he was—Mattie, probably coming back for his phone, staring at their still professor on the floor.
Tyler grabbed Mattie by the collar and pulled him into the room, and then shut the door and lowered the shade.
Mattie rushed to the professor’s side and knelt down, his fingers searching for a pulse.
Ivy dropped to her knees. She held her hand over his mouth. There was no breath.
She looked up at Mattie. He looked back at her. And they both knew.
“He’s dead,” Kinley whispered, her test papers falling slowly to the floor. “You killed him, Cade.”
A crash of thunder shook the room, and the lights went out.
Mattie
Friday, June 12
Mattie rolled back on his knees.
The lights flickered back on. His professor was in front of him. And he wasn’t breathing. He had no pulse. He looked waxen already, and the small bit of blood that had leaked out of his gaping nostril was black-red.
Ivy tipped the professor’s head back, trying frantically to give him CPR. She pumped at his chest and breathed into him. “You have to press hard,” she whispered, half to herself, as she pushed down. The professor’s body jerked under the compressions, but he didn’t open his eyes.
Didn’t take a breath.
Mattie stared. He needed to do something. Anything. He needed to fix this.
Stratford’s blazer fell open, revealing an inner pocket of used tissues.
Mattie almost gagged. The professor had a cold.
“Cade,” Kinley whispered again. “You killed him.”
“We have to call 911!” Mattie said, pushing himself up. “We have to get help.” It was the right thing to do. Where had he left his phone? They had to get help. They had to report this.
“He’s dead as shit,” Cade pointed out, motioning at the body. “No ambulance is going to help him.”
“We can’t just leave him! We have to try.”
“You killed him!” Kinley’s voice was now a whisper-scream. She pushed Cade. “You killed Dr. Stratford.”
Cade stared at her. “No. I punched him. You’re the one who fucking tripped him. I didn’t kill him—you did!” He turned on Ivy. “And you threatened to murder him! Everyone here heard you!”
Kinley’s hands moved to her throat, as if it were choking her. Mattie put his hand on her back. “Kinley. It’s okay. We just need to use the phone. We need to report this.”
Kinley swung around to face him, and her eyes were wide and glassy. “It’s not okay, Mattie. It’s not okay.” Her hands scrabbled at her neckline. “It’s not okay at all.” She clung to him, suddenly and hard, her arms around him so tightly he almost couldn’t breathe. Mattie motioned to Tyler.
“My phone’s on the desk. Get it and call the police. Now.”