Page 13

Chapter 13

James

“What do you mean you need your sister’s schedule?”

I sighed. Principal Unger and her hideous pink pantsuit were looming over our school secretary’s desk, her eyes narrowed and mouth in a straight, suspicious line. Mrs.Flamporis, for the record, had gone from her perky self to a scared Chihuahua—shaking like she’d just experienced a horror movie jump scare. She deserved another latte.

“We talked about it this morning,” I told Principal Unger, because of course she’d just happened to walk by now. “When we were on the phone with her? She asked me to go around and get her homework, and I have a free period, so I thought—”

“Ah,” she said. “Well, James, you might have a free period, but class is still in session. You would be interrupting other lessons by visiting Grace’s teachers now.”

I wanted to groan. Then when the fuck am I supposed to do it?

“Between classes would be more appropriate,” Unger said, her voice sounding so sugary that it hurt like a cavity.

Yes, I thought, because five minutes is definitely enough time to stop by my locker to change out my stuff, race to random classrooms to grab Grace’s work, and then make it to my own classes!

Passing time used to be ten minutes, but when Principal Unger was promoted to head honcho last year, she’d cut that in half. Apparently ten minutes had allowed for “too much socialization.”

I mean, technically the phrase she used was “too many distractions.”

But we all knew what she’d meant. “Can’t you get it changed back?” I’d asked Grace after she had been elected president. “Five minutes is farcical. You have people running through the halls like they’re in a marathon so they don’t miss the bell.”

Isa, who always wore high heels, was going to wipe out and break an ankle one of these days.

Grace had sighed. “She wouldn’t budge, James. I brought it up in our first meeting, and she immediately changed the subject.”

So why didn’t you circle back to it? I’d wondered. Because I would’ve; I loved a healthy debate.

“Okay, I’ll swing by in between classes,” I said now. “But I still need her schedule.” I paused, then dared to deadpan, “I apologize for not having it memorized.”

That earned me a glare I would treasure forever. “Fine,” Unger said. “That’s fine.” She turned to Mrs.Flamporis. “Please print James out a copy of Grace’s schedule.”

As if our secretary hadn’t already done that.

“Thank you,” I said once the witch had flown away on her broom. Mrs.Flamporis had handed me a sheet of paper. “Although I was also wondering”—I dropped my voice—“if I could get Isa Cruz’s schedule? Since she’s also out today? Our families are really close friends, so it’ll be easy to drop off her homework.”

“Oh, yes,” said Mrs.Flamporis. “A family emergency, as I understand it.”

A family emergency.

If I hadn’t already figured out Isa had texted me from Grace’s phone, I’d be worried. The words still felt like a punch to the gut, and I prayed that Isa hadn’t jinxed her family’s health. Her grandparents were far from finished with their Renaissance Faire adventures!

“Mm-hmm,” I mumbled evasively while Mrs.Flamporis worked her magic on her computer, her printer spitting out another piece of paper.

Then I tested my luck further.

“Maybe Everett Adler’s, too?” I asked carefully. “I know he was picked up early—”

“By the Phillie Phanatic!” Mrs.Flamporis easily filled in the blank. It was great that she was so enthusiastic—and a natural gossip. I was definitely making another Dunkin’ Donuts run on Monday.

“Right, the Phillie Phanatic.” I nodded instead of rolling my eyes. I knew once I got my phone back, I’d see photos of Everett and an undercover Grace—and probably Mr.Murphy, since he had a Phanatic poster taped up in his office—when I searched our school’s Instagram. I should follow it one of these days. “Mrs.Adler was excited for him?” I asked, knowing Everett would’ve needed parental permission. “Because, funny story, she’s actually a Mets fan.”

“Oh yes,” Mrs.Flamporis said. “She was absolutely delighted! Between you and me…” She leaned across her desk,as if she had major tea to spill. “Between you and me, James, she mentioned today is a difficult one for their family.”

What? I thought. A difficult one for their family?

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” Mrs.Flamporis said, giving me Everett’s schedule. “But I know all your parents are close.” She paused. “Is today the anniversary—”

“No,” I said quickly. “No, it’s not.”

Because Everett’s dad had passed away in January, not May. Two winters ago, I’d volunteered to go on a food run while everyone else sat in the hospice waiting room to visit with Mr.Adler. My dad had called when I was swiping Mr.Cruz’s American Express card for a fortune’s worth of Chinese food. “He’s gone, James,” he said, and I would never forget the way his voice had cracked. I’d never heard my dad cry before. “Buddy, he’s gone.”

Father’s Day wasn’t until next month, so could today be Mr.Adler’s birthday? Because that was another sore spot on the calendar. I knew the Adlers still celebrated with his favorite cake, and my dad and Mr.Cruz went out to their favorite bar for a stiff birthday drink.

God, I thought. It has to be his birthday, right?

(Memorizing birthdays was never my strong suit.)

I wondered if Grace knew.

Where the hell had she taken him?

I smiled and thanked Mrs.Flamporis for the three schedules.

I ignored what Principal Unger said about interrupting classes; I spent the rest of my free period interrupting them anyway. The teachers and students so did not give a crap—in fact, they seemed relieved. Relieved that I had walked through the door and overwhelmingly eager for the latest news about Grace’s alleged food poisoning. “Stable,” I said as her calculus teacher put together a packet for her. “The docs have assured us that she’s in stable condition, so don’t worry….”

But the more classes I visited, the more annoying things got. Teachers abandoned their lectures at the drop of a hat to organize Grace’s missed assignments, and people kept asking for our address. “A bunch of us might go in on an Edible Arrangement,” one sophomore told me. “We want President Barbour to know how much we’re thinking of her.”

President Barbour.

Hearing that was officially too much.

Okay, that’s not quite true. It was officially, officially too much when I noticed that students had taped sympathy notes on Grace’s locker and plastered huge #SavingGrace posters around school. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I grumbled. If my phone hadn’t been seized, who knew what I would’ve found on Instagram and Snapchat.

Or, god forbid, TikTok.

No one but Principal Unger blinked an eye when I didn’t show up for school, yet when my sister was absent, it was like one of the British royals had died. I’m not saying I wanted that much fanfare and fuss, but while I always ended up in trouble, Grace was celebrated.

Even once I’d moved on to Isa’s and Everett’s assignments, it was still all about her. How is she? Where is she? Will she be good to go for Monday’s tennis match against South?

Funny, I couldn’t recall being promoted from First Brother to presidential press secretary.

Honestly, who would ever want that job?

“Listen, I don’t know about tennis!” I told Grace’s teammate. My shoulders tensed. “I’m not CNN!”

But before I could apologize—I really was going to, I swear—she’d called me a douchebag and stalked away down the hall.

“I can’t believe you,” I muttered a few minutes later as I tried to jam the huge stack of papers into my locker. The back of my neck prickled. “I can’t believe you, Gracie.”