“Wow,” says Grayson. “You’re all weird.”
“Where did you get that?” Geri’s voice rises above the others. She’s standing in the living room, face beet red, an apple in her hand. Belk better duck—I think she means to chuck it in his direction.
“Anonymous donation,” Belk says, clearly not entertained or believing that this is true. “She showed up in the middle of the night with a note that said, I’m ready for a new home, Love, Petal.”
Henry gasps again.
I am shaking, trying not to laugh. Beside me, Grayson catches my eye and his mouth tilts in a mischievous grin.
Geri’s making serious strides toward making applesauce with her right hand. Her face right now is the stuff dreams are made of.
“There’s been a mistake,” Geri snaps, but to her credit, doesn’t point fingers.
“Take it up with your classmates,” says Belk, and then he leaves us to our breakfast.
I can’t hold it in any longer. As questions layer one over another of who stole Petal and gave her to Belk, I lower my head and bust up laughing. I don’t even care if we get caught at this point. Maybe it’s a childish way to get back at her for planting pills on me last summer, but it was worth it.
Grayson’s laughing, too, though mostly at me.
“What was that all about?” asks Caleb, his gaze flicking between the two of us. My stomach sinks, the laughter drying in my throat.
“I can only imagine what’s so funny over here.”
Geri strides in from the living room, still gripping the apple in one hand. Having classes the same place where you live generally means everyone dresses casually, but today she’s in a bubblegum-pink sweater that matches her lipstick and jeans that look painted on.
She stops behind Caleb, resting one hand on his shoulder, and immediately I sit up in my chair.
They’re not close enough to touch like that. She’s up to something.
“Good morning, Geri,” says Caleb carefully, glancing at me before looking up at her. Her smooth, dark hair drapes over her shoulder as she grins down at him.
“Hey handsome. We going to practice that dance later? Looks like we have a lot on the line now.”
My fork drops on my plate, making a loud clatter.
She’s mad about Petal, and she’s trying to get even by flirting with Caleb while I can’t do anything about it.
Typical Geri.
Grayson relaxes back in his seat. “Are you seriously competing for that plastic pig?”
“Platinum,” Geri corrects, then mock pouts at him. “You’re not scared, are you?”
“Of that guy?” Grayson motions toward Caleb, then laughs. “You’re kidding, right?”
Caleb’s jaw flexes.
“Not at all. Caleb’s got moves you’ve never seen.” Geri combs Caleb’s black hair back with one hand and I scoff. He stares at the wall behind me.
Grayson’s arm stretches over the back of my chair.
“Good luck,” Geri adds, winking at me. “May the best couple win.”
I’ve got to hand it to her. Geri may be a demon straight from hell, but she just diffused the tug-of-war between Grayson and Caleb. Whatever threat our guest felt from Caleb is eliminated while his attention’s focused on another girl.
I still have to kill her, though.
Charlotte can pet Caleb all she wants. Henry can share a sleeping bag with him for all I care. But Geri? No. I don’t think so.
Without thinking, I stretch my leg out beneath the table, feeling with my toes until I bump into Caleb’s socked foot. His alarmed gaze flicks my way, then back to Grayson.
Feeling brave and reckless and a little stupid, I reach farther until my foot can flex and rise up beside his ankle.
As Geri talks about some ridiculous assignment she has for junior government, Caleb’s hand tightens around his fork. I watch, victory simmering into doubt when he doesn’t respond. But just as I’m pulling back, Caleb’s leg stretches toward me, and his foot slides up my insole, streaking heat up my leg.
I smile at Grayson, but it’s for Caleb, and when he brushes the arch of my foot, I give a tiny, inaudible gasp.
I glance across the table, but Caleb’s staring intently at his Eggo waffles.
“Okay. It’s better than sitting around all day, I guess.”
Grayson’s words snap me out of my trance, and I pull my foot back beneath my chair.
“What’s better?”
“Your stupid class,” he says. “I’m going. Just don’t expect me to stay awake.”
“Great,” I say quickly. The flutters in my belly from Caleb’s touch turn to a sledgehammer. I glance across the table for help, but Caleb’s now cutting his waffles into eight billion microscopic pieces while Geri massages his shoulder with one hand.
Rising, I take my plate to the kitchen. Caleb follows, leaving Geri in the dining room. He doesn’t say anything, but I feel his fingertips skim across the small of my back when he passes, and as I take my place beside Grayson, my own hand lingers there, trying to re-create his touch.
* * *
WE MEET IN a room on the first floor—the usual location for the junior and senior classes. Instead of chairs and desks, there are sofas and discussion tables. A TV hangs on the wall opposite the door, and opening the burgundy drapes is a birdlike woman in a black frock with gray wavy hair.
“Find a seat,” she says as the seniors filter in. There are only five of us—Charlotte, Sam, Henry, Caleb, and me. Six counting Grayson. “We have a lot to cover today, so let’s get started.”
“Is this it?” asks Grayson, looking around at the empty couches.
“It’s a small school.” I’m still irritated at him for the way he brushed off Caleb at breakfast and for acting like we’re more than what we are.
That’s my job.
“You have perfect timing, Mr. Sterling,” Shrew says. “We’re starting a new section today.”
“Lucky me,” Grayson mutters, taking a seat on the sofa in the very back of the room. I motion him up. The cool-kid-in-the-back routine doesn’t work in a class of six.
With a groan, he rises, then collapses beside me on a couch in the middle of the room. Shrew has already tasked Henry and Caleb with turning the one in front of us so we can all face each other.
“Our next reading includes love and betrayal, jealousy, discrimination, and lies. It involves a decorated military general, a woman who has the gall to stand up to her father to be with him, and a friend, bitter enough to see them both dead.” She passes out a stack of paperback books, and I’ll admit, my interest is piqued until Charlotte mutters, “Oh good. Shakespeare.”
“Othello,” says Sam, poking her in the side. “You’ll like this one—the premise, anyway.”
His arched brow makes her chuckle.
“You’ve read it?” I ask.
“He devours the classics for fun,” says Charlotte. “He has a secret spreadsheet where he catalogues and cross-references his favorite literature themes.”
Sam balks. “How else are you supposed to keep them straight?”
“Yes, how else?” I ask, making Charlotte snort. Sam probably has the biggest brain here, hence the old SAT gig. I should have paid him to take mine. The longer I wait for results, the more convinced I am I bombed it.
We’re tasked with reading through the first few acts aloud, which, due to the Shakespearean phrasing, is kind of like driving off-road without a seat belt. Still, it’s going well enough until we reach the third act, when Caleb stands and quietly tells Shrew he has an appointment.
“Carry on,” she tells Grayson and motions Caleb to the back of the room, where her roller bag sits beside a table.
As Grayson stumbles though the first few lines, and the way Shrew and Caleb talk, his hands dig into his pockets cues a frown on my lips. Though I can’t hear what they’re saying, it looks like he’s in trouble for something.
Then he nods, and as he heads toward the door, his eyes meet mine. His expression m
ay be serious, but that wink is all for me. It sends a flutter through my chest and reminds me I’m not the only one straddling this line of truth and lies.
He’s got his assignment, I’ve got mine, and when we’re done, we’ll have more than secret winks and rooftop trysts.
“You’re up, Desdemona,” says Henry.
My eyes snap back from the door to the book, and I struggle to find my place as Grayson’s stare narrows on the side of my face.
My pulse begins to gallop as I struggle.
“Here,” he finally says, pointing to a stanza halfway down the page.
“Right. Thanks.” I take a deep breath, still aware that he’s watching me. I need to be more careful.
“My noble father,” I begin.
“Yes?” says Henry in a dignified voice.
“I do perceive here a divided duty. To you I am bound for life and education. You are the lord of my duty, and I am hitherto your daughter.”
“But,” says Shrew, holding up one finger. “Here’s my husband.” With that she snaps the book shut. “A divided duty. A woman, split in two by loyalty to two different men she loves—her father…”
“And her fine black husband,” finishes Sam.
“I get it now,” says Charlotte, tapping her nose.
Shrew casts them a firm look. “Finish act one tonight on your own, and come up with three discussion questions for tomorrow.”
She segues into group time, but I’m still thinking about the look on Caleb’s face when he left the room, and the pinch in Grayson’s gaze when he saw me staring, and the words I read aloud to the others: I do perceive here a divided duty.
* * *
TO MY LUCK, Myra is scheduled that afternoon, and I help her fold cloth napkins and refill the salt and pepper shakers in the lull between lunch and dinner. Under the overlord Jessica’s watchful gaze, we don’t have much chance to talk, and when Sterling’s campaign staff shows up at four for a staff meeting, I know it’s time to get creative. I need time to get closer to Mark and the staff, and I need Jessica out of the way so I can do it.
Lucky for me, I have a mom who works in food service.
At Gridiron Sports Bar, when you have a rude customer or a bad tipper, things happen to their food. It’s not pleasant, or particularly mature, but that’s how restaurant life works. So when Mr. Jefferies at table nine orders albondigas soup, and a Band-Aid—a clean one, I’m not a monster—tucked into my sleeve makes it into the bowl as I pass on my way to the employee restroom, The Loft goes into high alert. Jessica is consumed with calming him down. Pierre is screaming at the chef, who’s screaming back at Pierre.
And Myra and I have the Sterling staff to ourselves.
The back room is buzzing with activity, and no one seems to notice Myra and me as we hurry to refill waters and the veggie tray against the back wall. From what I gather, they’re coming up short on cash for the park fund-raiser, and they need money fast. Half of the staff are on their cell phones making calls, Mark included.
I squeeze behind Emmett and Ben near the wall, listening as Mark flat-out asks for a donation and then stares, annoyed, at the phone when the person hangs up on him.
“Ouch,” Ben says quietly. “That’s embarrassing.”
“Begging for money or making the calls at all?” Emmett asks, his finger trailing down a list of numbers on a printout.
Ben and Emmett already like me—this is as good an entry point as any.
“It might help if he warms them up first. Makes sure they’re relaxed.”
“I think that’s called foreplay,” says Myra, clearing empty dishes from their other side.
I snort. “It’s called sales.”
“We’re supposed to ask for money,” says Ben with a cringe. “It’s so awkward.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” Before Grayson, we all took Vocational Development, aka conning class, at Vale Hall, which involved a lot of sales training.
As it turns out, working a mark is not so different from closing a deal.
“You want to do it, be my guest,” says Ben.
“She’s too polite,” says Emmett, sinking in his chair.
“Only when I have to be.” I flash him my best grin. He chuckles.
Myra and Ben laugh. Across the table, Mark watches us, his stare pinched.
I lean across Emmett to fill Ben’s water. “I bet I can get a bigger tip from one table than you can get in the next hour calling for donations.”
“Uh-oh,” says Myra. “This sounds like a challenge.”
“Deal,” says Emmett. “What do I get if I win?”
“I’ll donate my tip to your cause.” I grin. “And if I win, you all have to buy me dinner.”
With a smirk, Emmett picks up his phone. “You’re on.”
“Careful,” Myra warns as I head toward the door, but she’s smiling. As soon as I’m out, I’ve picked my mark. “Mrs. Morris!” I head toward the gray-haired woman in a red blouse, feeding her tiny dog the crust of her bread. “How’s Belvedere today?”
An hour later, I’ve earned a hundred-dollar tip for walking Belvedere and praising Mrs. Morris’s hair, and am getting reprimanded by Mark for the effort.
“I don’t know why my interns put you up to this,” he says, like he isn’t only a year or two older than them, “but this is campaign business. We don’t need a waitress—”
“Hostess,” I correct with a smile. Even though Emmett didn’t make a dime, I still handed over my profits in good spirits. I need an in with the team, and now that I’ve got their attention, I need their secrets. Still, this wasn’t exactly the response I was hoping for when I handed a cheering Ben my earnings. So much for impressing the boss.
“Whatever,” he says, losing a little more of my respect. He’s shorter than me by an inch, with a sliver of a goatee that probably took him months to grow and enough gel in his blond hair to chip a tooth. “What would your boss say if I told her you were soliciting club members on our behalf?”
I cringe internally, positive that Jessica would fire me before she even heard my side of the story.
I can’t lose this job—not yet, anyway.
“Please don’t tell her,” I say, amping up my worry. “I’m so sorry if I screwed up.”
He’s pulled me out of the meeting room, into the hallway that leads to the bathroom. We’re out of sight from the others, but it’s just a matter of time before Jessica catches us and asks what’s going on.
“I didn’t solicit anyone,” I continue. “I wanted to donate money I’d earned, that’s all.”
With a sigh, he pulls me deeper into the shadows, letting his hand linger on the back of my arm. I glance down at it, feeling my pulse tic in my ears.
“Look, you’re sweet,” he says, and I catch a glimpse through his professionalism to the slime just beneath as he glances over his shoulder to make sure we’re alone. “And we could use someone with your … skill set.”
I bet.
“But … and don’t take this the wrong way, but a waitress making the guys look bad? It’s not good for morale, you get me?”
No, I don’t get him. First, I’m pretty sure I told him I was a hostess. Second, if I was a waiter I doubt we’d be having this conversation right now. Third, he can’t honestly think Ben or Emmett or any of the others were threatened by my rake. Emmett gave me a high five and asked me to teach him my Jedi mind tricks.
But I can’t challenge Mark and risk him telling Jessica before I know about Jimmy Balder. I’m not here to burn bridges; I’ve got do whatever I can to make friends.
“I get you.” I summon my best puppy dog eyes, because that’s clearly the response Mark’s hoping for. “I didn’t mean to make anyone feel bad. You don’t think…” I swallow. “You don’t think they’re mad at me, do you?”
Mark’s expression softens. His hand, still cupping my arm, squeezes before sliding away.
If this wasn’t a job, I would flatten him.
“I’ll talk to them. Smooth it out
. And don’t worry, I won’t tell your manager.”
My hero.
But in that instant, I see an entrance that’s evaded me up until this moment.
“I knew you’d be a nice guy,” I tell him. “Jimmy said I’d like you.”
If a weasel could smile, it would look a lot like Mark Stitz, right now. “Who’s Jimmy?”
“A friend that used to work for the campaign. Jimmy Balder?”
Mark scoffs. “You should pick better friends.”
Pretty solid advice coming from this guy. Still, Mark remembers who he is, and that means I’m on the right track.
“Why do you say that?” I ask.
Mark takes a step back. His dress shirt is too wide for his skinny body, and it makes wings beneath his arms when he puts his hands on his hips.
“I really shouldn’t be talking about it, but the guy wasn’t exactly Sterling material. Got booted halfway into our primo donation season.”
I try to place the timeline in my head. Dr. O said he disappeared before Susan Griffin died, which would have been a year ago, sometime before Christmas.
I frown. “Seriously? I always thought … well, given the way he spoke so highly of you…”
Mark lifts his chin, staring down his nose at me. “He was decent before he left, I’ll give him that.”
“So why’d he get fired?”
“You’re his friend. You ask him.”
I cross my arms over my chest. My concern isn’t part of the show.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen him,” I say.
“You and me, both.”
“You’re the intern supervisor,” I say. “You didn’t let him go?”
“That’s confidential.” He’s still standing close enough I have to press my back against the wall so I don’t accidentally touch him. He may be small, and pathetic, but he’s got power here and he knows it. That makes people like him dangerous.
“I’m starting to worry about him. I didn’t know he’d been fired. He hasn’t answered my calls in a couple months.”
Mark’s eyes roam to my mouth. The hair rises on the back of my neck.
“What a jerk. You deserve better.”
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