Nevermore

“Hey, Earth to Isobel.” Gwen banged her spoon against Isobel’s tray. “Why the snap-crackle-pop didn’t you call me back?”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“Well, I’m about to ‘Oh I’m sorry’ forget to tell you what I found out this morning.”

“Uh. What?”

Gwen grinned. Looking self-satisfied, she folded her arms. “No, I’m not tell—” but she stopped, her eyes growing round. Something over Isobel’s shoulder had caught her attention.

“Oh my.”

Isobel twisted in her seat. A hush fell over the entire cafeteria. All eyes focused on Mr. Nott, the assistant principal, who’d entered through the double doors, Brad on one side of him, a dark, familiar figure on the other.

“Oh, no,” Isobel said. She pressed both hands against the table and pushed herself up to get a better look. At the sight of him, a thrill of excitement mixed with nervousness surged through her. She scanned him, taking an inventory of all appendages and searching for any sign of bruises or blood or evidence of a fractured skull. His face still looked as perfect as it had the previous night, smooth and calm. Brad, however, stood scowling, his shoulders tensed, his hands clenched into fists.

The two boys broke away from Mr. Nott and strode in opposite directions, ignoring each other as well as the countless stares. Brad headed for the crew’s usual spot, while Varen, bypassing his own table, moved straight for her.

“Holy granola. He’s coming over here,” Gwen whispered, hands flapping, knocking over her yogurt cup.

Isobel took in a sharp breath as she watched him approach.

A brown paper lunch bag hit the tabletop. “Mind if I join you,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Gwen, in a flurry, scrambled to move down one seat.

“Hey,” he offered to Gwen as he slid onto the bench next to her, directly across from Isobel.

“Shalom,” she said, raising a hand.

“What the hell is that?” asked Varen. He nodded at Isobel’s tray.

Isobel sat stunned for a moment, her brain flatlining when she felt his knee brush hers. “Uh.” She shook her head. Why couldn’t she think straight? She glanced down at the soupy contents of her plate. Just tell him what it is. Simple. Look at it and say what it is. “Sloppy Joe,” she managed.

“Hmm,” he said, sounding doubtful. “May he rest in peace.”

“So, I don’t mean to be rude,” Gwen interjected, “but are you going to tell us what that was all about or what?” She jabbed a thumb toward the door through which he and Brad had entered.

Isobel’s eyes darted to Varen. Gwen, unlike her, seemed to have the audacious ability to jump in there and ask the hot-button questions. The girl was really starting to grow on her.

Varen sat very still, staring Gwen down in that withering way that always left Isobel wishing she could blend into the furniture. After an immeasurable moment, he blinked slowly and, turning back to Isobel, said, “Apparently, during football practice yesterday, somebody overturned your boy’s car in the school parking lot.”

“What?” Isobel and Gwen shouted in unison.

Several sets of eyes shot in their direction. The three of them ducked their heads and turned to their lunches. Gwen tore her grilled cheese sandwich in half. Isobel poked at her fruit salad with her fork, while Varen pulled a small Tupper-ware container out of the paper bag.

Isobel leaned forward over the table. “That’s what he must have meant last night,” she whispered.

His eyes locked on hers, causing a mosh-pit sensation to erupt in her stomach. When he looked at her like that, it was like he was trying to communicate through some form of telepathy. It was a language she wished she held the power to decipher.

“How did I not know about this?” Gwen wondered aloud. “And what? He’s trying to say that it was you?” She dipped an apple slice into her yogurt.

“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