“How did I not know about this?” Gwen wondered aloud. “And what? He’s trying to say that it was you?” She dipped an apple slice into her yogurt.
“I spent the better part of the last hour in Finch’s office being questioned. With your ex and his old man there, let me tell you, it was a real party,” he said.
“They seriously think you could have done that?” asked Isobel.
“Yeah, well, I tried to explain that my mind powers don’t work on Tuesdays,” he said, prompting Gwen to let out a tiny, hysterical, almost fearful laugh. She stifled it quickly by shoving half her sandwich into her mouth at once.
“Didn’t you tell them about what happened at the ice cream shop?”
“Wha happwn?” Gwen asked with her mouth full.
Varen shot Isobel a look of warning. “I told them I was at work when it happened. That should be enough, shouldn’t it?” He trailed off. “Hmm,” he muttered, his attention caught by something behind her. “Give me just a second.” He got up.
“Hey, is that hummus?” Gwen seized his Tupperware container.
“Knock yourself out,” he said, and dumped over the paper bag. A Ziploc pouch full of pita bread hit the table.
“Ohh, this looks like the whipped kind Mom used to get from Cohen’s Deli back in Brooklyn.” Gwen snatched up a piece of pita bread and scooped out a Ping-Pong-ball-size glob of hummus.
Glancing over her shoulder, Isobel watched Varen as he intercepted a dark-haired, Egyptian-eyed Lacy, who, it seemed, had been heading straight for their table.
Isobel felt her blood run suddenly hot beneath her skin. Something about them standing there together like that irked her. And then the girl reached out one lace-gloved, copper-toned hand to brush back a few locks from his ear. She stood on her toes, leaning in very close to whisper in his ear as her goddess eyes slid in Isobel’s direction.
Isobel whipped around to face Gwen again, balling her napkin into one tightening fist.
She felt sick.
Gwen shook her head, trying to swallow her mouthful of pita and hummus. “Mmm!” she said, gulping hard. “That’s what I had to tell you.”
A long shadow fell over the table. Gwen averted her gaze and started to nibble on another slice of pita.
“Can you meet me tonight? To work on the project?” Varen asked.
Isobel looked away. She shrugged. “I’m still grounded.”
From beneath the table, she received a kick to the ankle. She kicked back, aiming for Gwen’s shin, but missed. “But I’ll try,” she amended in spite of herself.
“Good. Listen,” he said, pulling a crumpled red envelope out of his back pocket. It was the same red envelope, Isobel knew, that Lacy had given him that morning after he’d stopped by her locker. “I’ve got to go return something right now, but I’ll find you later.”
“Sure,” she said. Then, as he turned to walk away, she called after him. “Hey!”
He turned.
“So, for real, we’re going to get this project thing done, then?” she asked.
He shrugged, walking backward. “Pending any unforeseen disasters . . .”
She nodded, and he turned to go, a group of tray-carrying sophomores clearing a wide path for him.
“Good,” Isobel said, standing. She picked up her own tray, Sloppy Joe remaining untouched. She looked at the cafeteria clock. Almost ten minutes left. It might just be enough.
“Wait a second.” Gwen rushed out of her seat and followed Isobel as she went to drop her tray at the dish-washing window. “Wait for me! I still have to tell you—where are you going?”
Gwen at her heels, Isobel hurried through the cafeteria doors. “There’s something I’ve got to do too.”
22
Cheer Up
“Hold up!” Gwen piped, pattering after her through the empty hall, Varen’s Tupperware container in one hand, the half-eaten bag of pita bread flapping around in the other. “Wait for me!”
“Come on, hurry up. The bell’s going to ring soon, and I don’t know if she’ll give me a note.”
“Who? Isobel, listen, they broke up!”
Isobel stopped. Skidding to a halt, Gwen nearly toppled into her.
“What are you talking about?”
“Varen and Madame Cleopatra,” said Gwen in a low, drawn-out voice, flicking her fingers dramatically over fluttering eyes. “Happened this morning. I heard it from Trevor, who heard it from Sara, who heard it from Ellen, who said she saw them arguing.”
Gwen leaned against a row of lockers, arms folded. “Apparently, though,” she said, “they were only pseudo girlfriend-boyfriend to begin with anyway.”
Isobel narrowed her eyes on Gwen, then whipped around to stalk through the hallway again. “Sure looked like they were broken up.”
She could hear Gwen bustling after her again. “Okay, so I don’t know what that little moment was all about, but I do know for a fact that they’re not together. Didn’t you see his reaction when she came over? So obvious he wasn’t about her.”
“And I care because?”
“Whatever!” Gwen said. A huge smile sprang to her lips, making Isobel feel even worse. “As if. You so got it for him. I mean, can we say, ‘Uhm, urh, durh, Sloppy Joe’? Psh. Please.
Can’t hide it from me. I know all— hey, what happened last night, anyway? Are you ever going to tell me? And oh my God, Brad’s car. Any idea who could have done it? And what’s this stuff about the ice cream shop? What happened at the ice cream shop? C’mon, Isobel, you’re gonna have to fill me in here—hey, why are we going into the gym?”
Isobel came to a halt outside the double doors and pivoted to face Gwen. “You can’t tell anybody.”
“What? That we’re going to the gym?”
“No,” she said. “I mean . . . about Varen.”
“What? You mean . . . that you like him?”
“Swear,” Isobel pleaded. “You can’t tell anyone.”
Gwen’s expression turned coy. “What, you don’t think he likes you back?”
“You do?”
Gwen’s smile grew. “You kidding? I mean, did you not see the way he kept sneaking looks at you? No, I guess you didn’t. He was very good at it. Kinda makes you wonder what else he’s good at.” She elbowed Isobel and beamed. “And why else do you think little Miss Morticia Addams came prancing over? But don’t worry, I won’t tell.” Gwen thrust a fist between them, her smallest finger extended. “Pinky swear.”
Isobel paused, an eyebrow raised, but then hooked her own pinky with Gwen’s. They shook.
“Come on,” said Isobel. Turning, she pushed through the gym doors. Gwen hustled in behind her.
Isobel found Coach Anne in her office, listening to the oldies station and poring over paperwork. She looked up only when Isobel tapped on her open door.
“I want back on the squad,” Isobel said.
Coach’s curiosity over Gwen faded in an instant; her eyes flashed, then narrowed and locked on Isobel. She leaned back in her chair and tossed her pen onto her desk. She rubbed her face like she was too tired to hear it. Isobel stood her ground, determined to do or say whatever it took to get back into the air.
“You walked off the squad, Lanley.”
“And now I want to walk back on,” she said. “I was wrong. And stupid. I want to go to Nationals. I want to see us win.”
Coach Anne pursed her lips, considering.
Behind them, the bell ending lunch echoed through the gymnasium.
“Get your keister back to class, Lanley,” Coach Anne said. “You’ve got two more hours to prepare your formal apology to the squad, and I want it in cheer format, is that understood?”
“Yes!” shouted Isobel, jumping.