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“Well, that’s good,” her dad said, dragging his fork through the wilting leaves of his salad. Isobel glanced down to the empty place mat in front of her and traced the floral imprint with the tip of her finger. She opened her mouth and drew in a breath, deciding it would be better just to blurt it out now and get it over with. They’d have to go easy on her since she’d been sick, right?
In the kitchen, the phone rang.
Isobel’s back shot into a straight line. “Hello?” her mother answered.
She sat rigid in her chair, hoping it was a wrong number, or Danny’s troop leader, or her dad’s boss—or hell, even Coach Anne.
“Expecting a call?” asked her father.
Isobel’s attention snapped back to her dad, who sat eyeing her curiously, an odd smile on his face. Oh God, she thought, knowing exactly what that expression meant. He thought he had this all figured out, that this all must be over Brad.
“Isobel,” her mother said, and poked her head out of the kitchen. She held out the cordless handset. “Phone.”
He wouldn’t dare, she thought. She rose, took the receiver, and retreated with it into the kitchen. Her back to her mother, she answered with a quiet and warning, “Hello?”
“Oh, good,” a girl’s blunt, clipped voice said, “you’re not dead.”
“What? Who is this?”
“It’s Gwen.”
“Gwen? Gwen who?”
“Gwen Daniels. Our lockers are next to each other? Let me guess, you never knew my name to begin with, did you? Again, I fail to be surprised.”
“Uh, how did you get my number?”
“I looked you up online.”
“You can do that?” Isobel asked with a twinge of unease.
“Internet White Pages. Duh. What the heck is going on with you? Are you okay? Half the school thinks you’ve killed yourself.” There was a pause before Gwen added, “The other half thinks you and Varen eloped.”
“What?”
“Wait . . . Nobody told you what happened?”
“Happened? No. What happened?” Who exactly did Gwen think would tell her? Hello, news flash. Had she not witnessed firsthand her social demise in the lunchroom?
“Hold on,” Isobel murmured. Quickly she left the kitchen and went up the stairs. In her room, door closed, Isobel didn’t have to prompt Gwen to continue.
“So did you know your boyfriend knows your locker combination?”
“You mean Brad? We broke up. I thought that was obvious.” It irked her that people at school might still think they were together, or worse, just on the fritz.
“Oh, you know what I meant. That’s not the point. Did you really tell him your combination?”
“He knows it,” Isobel grumbled, getting more annoyed by the second. Was it any of Gwen’s business who she gave her locker combination to? They were locker neighbors, not locker roomies. “What does that have to do with what happened?”
“It was right after last period. Your big football player ex-guy—did you say his name was Ben?”
“Brad.”
“Right, well, for some reason, that guy was in your locker. Now, I wasn’t there yet, so I can’t say exactly what the deal was. I sort of figured out this much after the fact—from what other people said they saw.”
“Other people?” She cringed.
“Well, apparently, this Brad guy was getting stuff out of your locker, planning to take it with him, it looked like.”
