It was only a matter of time before she dropped me for good.
I didn’t say a word when Ivy shut herself in her office, or when she left the house, power walking like the devil was on her heels. I let Bodie make me pancakes. It wasn’t until later, after I’d eaten four of them, that I realized suddenly where I’d heard the name Theo Marquette before.
Theodore Marquette was the chief justice of the United States Supreme Court.
CHAPTER 6
Ivy was still in crisis mode the next morning, but—lucky me—she managed to carve half an hour out of her schedule to take me to school. In the back of my mind, I’d expected the illustrious Hardwicke School to look like Hogwarts. Needless to say, I was severely disappointed. The Upper School—because heaven forbid they call it a high school—looked like nothing so much as a granola bar turned on its side.
“The facilities here are just fantastic,” Ivy told me as we walked down a stone path toward the historic home that served as the administrative building. “The Maxwell Art Center has one of the largest auditoriums in the city. The Upper School just added a state-of-the-art robotics lab. And you should see the new gymnasium.”
I gazed out at the nearby playing fields. The wind sifted through my hair, lifting a few strands upward, and for a moment, looking out at the massive stretch of green in front of me, I could almost forget where I was.
“Now or never.” Ivy’s voice brought me back. “And you’re not allowed to say never.”
“You don’t have to come with me,” I told her, hooking my thumbs lazily through my belt loops. “I’m sure you have more important things to do.”
As if to accentuate the point, Ivy’s pocket began to vibrate.
“It can wait,” Ivy told me, but I could practically see her fingertips twitching to answer it.
“Go ahead.” I gestured to the phone. “Maybe there’s an update on Justice Marquette’s condition. Or maybe the president has a head cold. You get calls for that, too, right?”
Ivy looked up at the sky. I wondered if she was asking God for patience. “That moment,” she said under her breath, “when you realize that sarcasm is hereditary.”
Before I could formulate a suitable reply, the door to the administrative building opened, and my sister and I were ushered inside.
“Ms. Kendrick.” The headmaster’s assistant had suburban-soccer-mom hair. She was wearing a peach twinset, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was about to offer us lemonade. Or cookies. Or possibly both. “And you must be Theresa.”
“She goes by Tess,” Ivy said, as if I were five years old and incapable of speaking for myself.
“Tess it is, then,” the woman replied gamely. “We were so sorry to hear about your grandfather, dear.”
I couldn’t help feeling gut-punched. I’d spent the past year hiding my grandfather’s condition. Ivy, apparently, had taken out a billboard announcing it to the world.
“But we’re very happy you’ll be joining us here at Hardwicke,” the woman continued, oblivious to my train of thought. “I’m Mrs. Perkins. If you’ll wait just a moment, Headmaster Raleigh will be—”
A compact man with dark hair and a beard made his way around the corner. Mrs. Perkins cut off her previous sentence with a smile. “And here he is now.”
“Ivy.” The headmaster greeted Ivy by name and reached both of his hands out to take hers.
“Headmaster Raleigh,” she returned, in a tone that made me think that under typical circumstances, she’d leave the headmaster off. “I appreciate you making this happen.”
“Yes, well . . .” Headmaster Raleigh plucked his glasses off his face and began polishing them against his shirt. “We think that you—and Tess—will fit in with the Hardwicke family quite well.”
“I know my way around Hardwicke,” Ivy replied, in a tone that made me wonder what experience she’d had with the school—and why the headmaster looked uncomfortable with the reminder. “This is the right place for Tess.”
“And, of course,” the headmaster added, “you can expect us to respect your sister’s privacy. Just as we respect the privacy of all of our students.”
There was subtext there—a warning.
“What happens at Hardwicke stays at Hardwicke,” Ivy said smoothly. “Believe me, I know.”
“Am I early?” a voice piped up from the doorway. I turned to look at the girl who stood there. Ivy and Headmaster Raleigh kept their eyes on each other.
“You are right on time,” Mrs. Perkins told the girl cheerfully, ignoring the tension in the room. “Tess, this is Vivvie Bharani. Since you girls are in most of the same classes, she’s going to be showing you around today.”
Vivvie was an inch or two taller than me with dark brown skin, a round face, and wavy black hair that she wore pulled into loose pigtails. She offered me a hopeful smile. “I know,” she said apologetically. “This whole ‘hey, new girl, go with the total stranger’ thing is kind of cliché, but don’t think of me as your school-assigned buddy.” Her smile brightened. “Think of me as your travel guide to a strange and bewildering country, where the locals are always restless and the bathrooms are impossible to find.” There was an energy to Vivvie, an earnestness that made her very hard not to like.
“And as your travel guide,” she continued, bringing her right hand to her heart, like she was pledging allegiance, “I am morally obligated to tell you that if we don’t leave now, the Hut will be totally sold out of everything bagels by the time we get there.” She paused to let what I could only assume was the seriousness of that sink in. “You cannot possibly be prepared for your first day at Hardwicke with only some things in your morning bagel.”
I glanced over at Ivy and the headmaster, who’d finally ended their friendly little staring match. Then I turned back to Vivvie. “After you.”
CHAPTER 7
The Hardwicke Hut was essentially a student-run coffee shop that didn’t serve coffee.
“Two everything bagels,” Vivvie ordered, with the air of a fairy godmother granting a most elaborate wish. “And do not tell me you’re out,” she told the boy behind the counter. “You are not out of everything bagels. The world would not be so cruel.”
“We’re not out,” the boy replied. “But there’s only one left. The world is a little bit cruel.”
Vivvie put on a brave face. “In that case, Tess will have an everything bagel, and I’ll have—”
“Half of mine?” I suggested. I would have given her the whole thing, but I wasn’t sure she’d take it.
“I knew I liked you!” Vivvie beamed. As we slid over to await our order, a trio of girls started making their way to the counter. Vivvie mistook my registering their presence as a sign of interest.
“The one on the left is Maya Rojas,” Vivvie told me, like this was some kind of nature documentary and she was narrating. “She’s a three-sport captain. As a junior.” Apparently, at Hardwicke, that made Maya a person to know. “The one next to her, with the white-blond hair?” Vivvie continued. “That’s Di. She’s from Iceland.”
“Di?” I repeated. “As in Diana?” That didn’t exactly sound Icelandic to me.
“Errr . . . no. It’s actually short for something else.” Vivvie tried and failed to sound inconspicuous.
“What’s it short for?”
Vivvie hesitated. “It’s Di as in D period I period. And it’s short for diplomatic immunity.” Vivvie had the decency to look a little sheepish. “Di’s father is an ambassador, and her real name is pretty much impossible to pronounce. Plus she never turns down dares. Like, ever.”
A teenage girl with diplomatic immunity and a fondness for dares. That won’t end well.
That just left the third girl. Vivvie didn’t get the chance to tell me anything about her, because a second later, the girl in question spotted us. She cut across the Hut like a homing pigeon.
“Vivvie, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Without waiting for Vivvie to respond, the girl plowed forward. “I
’m Emilia Rhodes.”
“Tess,” I said. For a moment, Emilia and I studied each other. She was tall, with strawberry-blond hair and eyes that walked the line between green and blue. She wore almost no makeup, except for a light gloss on her lips. “So you’re Ivy Kendrick’s sister,” she said finally. “I thought you’d be taller.”
“I’ll get right to work on that.”
Emilia cracked a very small smile. “Hardwicke almost never accepts midsemester transfers,” she said. “Your sister must have pulled some very impressive strings.”
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”
Emilia might have continued cross-examining me, but Vivvie pulled her attention away. “I saw the news about Justice Marquette online,” Vivvie told her. “Have you heard from Henry at all?”
Emilia gave a brief shake of her head. “Neither has Asher. Henry Marquette isn’t really one for communication. Or sharing. Or the outward display of human emotion of any kind.” Coming from Emilia, that didn’t sound like a criticism. “We’ll hear what happens from the papers before we hear it from Henry.”
Having placed their orders, Maya and Di appeared behind Emilia, like an athletic angel and an Icelandic devil on her shoulders.
“My mom’s already running numbers,” Maya commented. “The president wasn’t expecting to appoint a justice this term. It could be a game changer.”
“Maya,” Emilia interjected, cutting off that topic of conversation completely. “Di.” She looked from one girl to the other. “Meet Tess Kendrick.”
“Ivy Kendrick’s little sister?” Maya raised an eyebrow. “Remind me to stay on your good side.”
“Who’s Ivy Kendrick?” Di asked. Her hair was so pale it practically gave off light. Her accent was sharp—and impossible to ignore.
“Remember the time you got me arrested, Miss Diplomatic Immunity?” Maya shot back.
Di tilted her head to the side. “This sounds vaguely familiar.”
Maya gave Di a pointed look, and after a long moment, a realization settled over Di’s face. “Oh,” she said. “That Ivy Kendrick. Is she the one who . . . that thing with Grant?”
Emilia nodded. “I don’t even want to know what she has on the members of the board,” she added, her gaze darting over to me. “Like I said, Hardwicke almost never admits students midsemester.”
I shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.”
Emilia stared at me for three or four more seconds, then gave up on pumping me for information. “We should go,” she decided with the force of a monarch declaring law. “I have Latin first period. The Aeneid waits for no man.”
As quickly as they’d descended upon us, the three girls were gone.
“Emilia’s angling for valedictorian,” Vivvie said almost apologetically. “I’m pretty sure she’s been angling for valedictorian since we were about four. She comes on a little strong sometimes.” Vivvie took a tiny nibble of bagel, then changed the subject. “I’m guessing you heard that Justice Marquette is in the hospital. It was all over the news this morning.”
I nodded but didn’t mention that I hadn’t gotten my information from the news.
“It’s so sad,” Vivvie said softly. “His grandson Henry is in our grade, and I hear they’re actually pretty close. But even Henry’s friends aren’t thinking about Henry. Or his grandfather. I mean, Maya’s mom works for the White House, and they’re already talking about replacements.”
I felt a pang for this Henry Marquette and tried not to think about grandfathers—Henry’s or mine.
“What exactly does Maya’s mom do at the White House?” I asked. Vivvie had said the phrase White House the way that kids at any other school might say City Hall. From the lack of emphasis Vivvie gave it, Maya’s mom might as well work at the local mall.
Vivvie blinked several times. I could practically see her reminding herself that I was new—not just to the school, but also to DC. “Mrs. Rojas is a pollster. She analyzes numbers and statistics, does surveys, that kind of thing.”
I hadn’t even realized that was a job.
“What about Emilia?”
Vivvie tilted her head to the side. “What about her?”
“Di’s father is an ambassador. Maya’s mom crunches numbers for the president. What do Emilia’s parents do?”
Vivvie thought for a moment. “I think they’re dentists.”
Emilia did have remarkably good teeth.
“One more question,” I told Vivvie.
She made a finger gunning motion. “Shoot.”
“What,” I said slowly, “exactly is it that my sister does?”
Vivvie’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “You don’t know?”
I gritted my teeth. “I know that everyone around here seems to know her name,” I said finally. “I know that she apparently got Maya out of being arrested. I know that Headmaster Raleigh is a little bit scared of her, and I know that she got a call yesterday morning about Justice Marquette.”
I hadn’t meant to say that last bit out loud.
“Your sister,” Vivvie said delicately, “is, shall we say . . . a problem solver. When important people in Washington have problems, she makes them go away.”
“What kinds of problems?” I asked suspiciously. With a description that vague, Ivy could be a hit man.
Vivvie’s shoulders moved up and down in an exaggerated shrug. “Money problems, legal problems, PR problems—you go to Ivy Kendrick, and—poof—no more problems. She fixes things.”
I thought of Ivy swooping onto the ranch like she owned the place, packing my whole life up in a matter of days. “You’re telling me that my sister is a professional problem solver?” I asked tightly. “She just goes around, solving other people’s problems? How is that even an occupation?”
“Supply and demand?” Vivvie suggested. “Around here, we call them fixers.”
CHAPTER 8
“Are you okay?” Vivvie asked me for maybe the fifteenth time in the past six hours.
That’s one word for it, I thought. A better word might have been irked. Or possibly overwhelmed.
I’d traded American History with Mr. Simpson for Contemporary World Issues with Dr. Clark. We were currently broken into pairs, discussing the effects of internet censorship in East and Central Asia. Or at least that was the assignment. I had a feeling most people were actually discussing Contemporary Hardwicke Issues. Namely me. And my sister. Who apparently fixed problems for a living.
“I’m fine,” I told Vivvie. Her brow furrowed. Clearly, she was less than convinced.
“Would you feel better,” she said seriously, “if I recapped my favorite horror movie and/or romance novel for you?”
“All right, people!” Dr. Clark clapped her hands. “I’m going to assume the sound of chattering means you have strong thoughts on the issue of governments limiting access to information—thoughts that you’ll back up tonight with a five-hundred-word essay analyzing the content of a major news site and the effects of denying access to that content.”
I’d made it through English, Spanish, physics, math analysis, and an elective called Speaking of Words. If it hadn’t been for a free period in the middle of the day, I might not have survived this long.
The second the final bell rang, I slipped out of my chair. Automatically, my brain began thinking ahead. Check the feed. Put in orders. Make sure Gramps eats something. Call—
Reality hit me a moment later. I didn’t need to do anything. There was nothing for me to do. And Gramps—
I cut the thought off at the knees.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Vivvie asked. “The offer about the romance novel still stands.”
My lips took a stab at a smile. It probably looked more like a grimace. Get it under control, I told myself. It was just a stupid Pavlovian response. Hear bell, go home. But I wasn’t going home. Home didn’t exist anymore. Not without Gramps.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Vivvie. Ducking into the hallway, I pushed through the crowd and
made a beeline for the bathroom. I just needed a second. I needed to breathe.
The bathroom door closed behind me. I walked over to the sink and turned on the faucet. I closed my eyes and, just for a second, let myself listen to the sound of running water.
And that was when I heard it—a hitch of breath.
I turned off the water and waited, and there it was again. I looked back at the stalls. Only one was occupied. I could picture its occupant, hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the sound of a sob.
It’s none of my business. I made it halfway to the door, but couldn’t make myself keep walking.
“Hey,” I said, feeling about as awkward as I sounded and wishing I was the type of person who could leave well enough alone. “You okay?”
Oh God, I thought, realizing how much I sounded like Vivvie. It’s catching.
There was another ragged breath on the other side of the stall door, and then: “Go. Away.”
Whoever was crying in that bathroom stall would have wished me off the face of the planet if she could have. It wasn’t the anger in her voice that crawled beneath my skin and stayed there—or the deep and cloying sadness. It was desperation: wild, violent, spiraling out of control.
“I said go away,” the girl repeated, her voice hoarse.
I almost did, but as my hand brushed the door to the bathroom, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t just leave.
“Not a big fan of away right now,” I said instead. No response. I leaned up against the wall and crossed one foot over the other. The seconds ticked by in silence. Finally, the stall door opened. The girl inside was doe-eyed and baby-faced—and not a graceful crier. Everything about her screamed freshman.
“You’re the new girl,” she said, her eyes swollen from crying, her voice dull.
“Tess,” I supplied.
She didn’t tell me her name, and I didn’t ask.