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“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!”
