I load a spoonful of glitter mousse in my mouth so I won’t make a snarky remark about Chloe’s tight-T-shirt-too-much-makeup cover. Finn gives me a look that says he knew I wanted to say it anyway as he leans back in the booth.
“Chloe did suggest I call you,” he says. “She and her friends were arguing over who the original Avengers were. I told her if it was a nerd question, you could answer it.”
“Movie? Or comic book?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I just know I called you and because of that, you stepped onto the stage, right after Chloe sent me up to adjust the lights.”
“You could have texted me the question, you know,” I point out. “Why didn’t you just ask me when you had me on the phone?”
He looks embarrassed. “Because I wanted to pull you away from your lunch date.”
I roll my eyes at him. “And look where it got you.”
“Even if she isn’t the Traveler, Chloe could be the influential factor that pushed me into my normal position of having a hand in your demise. Anyone could have influenced her to suggest I go up there. Whoever set that in motion just didn’t count on Ben tagging along.”
“Ah, so you believe Ben is innocent now?”
“Not necessarily. He seemed to know an awful lot about those lights, didn’t he?” Finn reaches for a cupcake and starts peeling off the wrapper.
“He saved me, Finn.”
“There were too many witnesses,” he said. “Maybe he suddenly realized someone else could get hurt.”
“You’re grasping at straws.”
“Maybe,” he admits grudgingly. “I just think we have to carefully consider every single option. That’s all.”
I stick my finger in the frosting on one of the cupcakes. I’m not really hungry, even though it looks delicious. Besides, other me has worked so hard to stick to her diet. I’m looking really good.
“So let me get this straight,” I review. “Whoever is trying to kill me is a classmate. Or a teacher.”
“Or a lunch lady, or a janitor, or guidance counselor, or the guy who delivers the office supplies—who knows?” Finn expounds. “But they’ve got a way into the school now, so we need to be even more careful.”
“How can you watch out for somebody who could be anybody?” I ask.
“I don’t,” he says. “I just keep watching out for you.”
29
Hiding Out
It’s 5:40 on Friday and I really, really don’t want to do the ghost tour tonight. I have a feeling all Ben will want to talk about is Finn, and once I get back, all Finn will want to talk about is my night with Ben—especially since he’s still not entirely convinced about Ben even after he saved my life right in front of him.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over my dresser, and I make a face.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to go out to dinner and take the ghost tour, would you?” I ask in a disgusted voice.
And as I stare just a little too long, I swear I see her—my—head nod, ever so slightly.
“Oh, it can’t be that easy,” I murmur. I’ve got a way out of this. I’ll go hang someplace else for a little while, until the evening is over. And it’s not like she’d have it bad—my arm is mostly healed and I’m out of my sling now.
I haven’t traveled anywhere since the soda-spilling debacle. Mario seems to have backed off and let me cool down—I don’t really harbor any hope that he’s letting me out of my job entirely. So I haven’t traveled and no one’s tried to kill me in two days.
In short, I’ve been living a plain old normal life. I look at myself in the mirror again.
I know I shouldn’t do it, but I put my hand to the glass anyway.
A moment later I am through, and my mother bustles into the room behind me.
“Are you still standing there?” she huffs.
“What’s going on?” I ask, turning to greet her.
“It’s time to get ready!”
My eyes widen as I take in the room around me, the striped wallpaper and the wainscoting.
“Jessamyn! Now! It’s nearly six!”
She stands imperiously at the foot of my bed, tapping her foot on the hardwood floor. My mother looks every inch the elegant Victorian woman—one who’s got an agenda. I look at her and can’t help but break into a wide grin.
I’ve seen my mom in work clothes, of course, but she has more of a dress-slacks-and-blouses kind of wardrobe. She might toss on the occasional sundress in the summer, but to see her all decked out in a fancy dress and lacy blouse is beyond surreal.
“Are we going somewhere?” I ask.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! You have to start getting ready.” She throws a pile of undergarments on the bed. “Get your bath and then get all this on. Eleanor will be in to help you with the corset. We leave in an hour.”
“Where are we going?”
“Jessamyn! Are you awake?” She snaps her fingers in front of my face.