Brandon frowned. “No. Charlotte wanted to, but my mom said naming her would create an attach⁠—”

“Then I’ll do it,” Genevieve said. “You can’t keep calling her ‘dog.’”

“Why don’t you ask your dad, if no one comes for her⁠—”

“Even if he allowed it,” Genevieve interrupted, “I’m never home, you know that. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“That won’t be the case next year,” Brandon pointed out. “Unless you’ve changed your mind and are actually considering going away to college?”

Genevieve balked. “Of course not! I just meant... I’ll be working more at Sweet Dreams, you know.”

Brandon grinned at her slyly. “Not if Tyler what’s his face succeeds in his dastardly plan to usurp your position as master scoop.”

Genevieve swatted him across the table. “Shut up, I’m trying to think of names.”

Brandon sipped his coffee in silence while she pondered aloud. “Goldie?” she murmured. “Sunshine?” She drummed her fingers on the table, then suddenly laughed. “I know. How about Butterscotch?”

Brandon rolled his eyes. “Of course you’d pick a dessert flavor.”

But the dog had leaped up at Genevieve’s excitement and began prancing in a circle, her toenails clicking on the tile, and even Brandon had to laugh.

“I guess she likes it,” he said.

Genevieve brushed her hand across her shirt in a gesture of snobbish pride, and then snickered. The distraction of Hidden Treasures and the stray dog had brightened her mood even more than her “Bad Day Sundae.” She and Brandon chatted for another few minutes, and she was grateful to her best friend that he chose not to bring up the exchange with Ms. Pierce earlier, which she’d told him after school she really didn’t want to talk about.

When Genevieve’s phone buzzed on the table between them, she glanced at the message, sighed, and drained her cup of tea. “Time to go,” she said. “The diabolical master scoop just graced us with his presence.”

She waved goodbye to both of them and headed back to work, feeling less than enthusiastic about another closing shift with Tyler and hoping that this time he didn’t smash any of her dishes.

The next morning in Econ neither Miss Love nor Ms. Pierce showed up. Instead, to everyone’s surprise, Mr. Mattison, their balding, stern-faced principal, shuffled awkwardly into the classroom. He was balancing a stack of folders and a very large mug of coffee.

“Greetings, class,” he said with stiff formality. “Unfortunately, the office has been unable to contact a sub this morning, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.” He moved to put the stack of files on the already crowded desk and the top of the stack began sliding. He lunged to catch the files and ended up sloshing hot coffee over the sleeve of his white Oxford button-down shirt (which was ironed to perfection, Genevieve noted with approval). “Shoot!” he barked, and a few students snickered.

Principal Mattison slammed the folders and the mug down and spun to face the class, apparently preparing to scold them, but instead his shoulders sagged, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is going to be a long day,” he muttered, and Genevieve felt a stab of sympathy. That was how she had felt lately, facing shifts at Sweet Dreams with her new closer, who last night had skulked around the shop like a bad impression of Frankenstein’s monster.

“Excuse me, sir,” Genevieve said, raising her hand. “Where exactly is Miss Love? We all miss her.” Several students murmured their agreement.

He began shuffling the papers on the desk. “That is very kind of you all, very thoughtful. I’m sure Miss Love would appreciate knowing that. As it were, I have no knowledge of her return anytime soon, and why, I cannot say.”

There was a burst of conversation amongst the students, and the principal held up his hand for silence. He snapped out a sheet of paper. “Oh, here we are,” he said, and began to take roll. Genevieve studied him with disappointment.

What did he mean, he had no knowledge of her return anytime soon? Did that mean she meant to return? Or had she resigned her position and he just wasn’t saying?

“Excuse me, Mr. Mattison?” She raised her hand again.

Without looking up, the principal said, “Yes, Miss Winterland.”

“I just wondered… we were told Ms. Pierce may be staying on a while⁠—”

Now he did look up at Genevieve, and she saw a flash of something in his eyes—apprehension? Concern.

“As I stated before,” he said, “the office has been unable to contact any of our subs this morning.”

A teacher’s assistant from across the hall entered the room and offered to take the roll call sheet to the office.

“Very good. Thank you, James,” the principal said appreciatively.

“You look like you could use a vacation,” James said, peering closely at his face.

Principal Mattison eyed him sardonically. “That, young man, is quite the understatement.”

James waited while the principal signed the sheet and handed it over. “We were just up north last week,” James said, and Genevieve remembered several of the administration had cabins north of Mountain Ridge. James’s father worked at the district office. “The fishing is excellent⁠—”

The principal gave him a strained smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you,” he said, turning to the class. “Although it looks like my next several weekends will be spent grading papers.” He sighed and flipped open the Econ book.

“No worries, sir,” Devine Jackson called from the back of the classroom. “You don’t have to assign us any homework.”

Everyone laughed, and the tension broke. Mr. Mattison shook his finger in mock reproval to Devine, then they settled into a lesson on market structures.

No one seemed to question further the fact that there were now not one, but two, missing teachers. Genevieve realized everyone else was just glad to not have Ms. Pierce there, and she had to admit Mr. Mattison was a better option, but still. Bree had said Ms. Pierce was hinting that she’d be there for at least another week... so where was she now? And why had that look of concern crossed the principal’s face at the mention of her name? Genevieve wondered.

“Yes, Miss Winterland? How can I help you?” Miss Annie, the school’s office manager, was a broad woman with impeccable nails who always smelled like gingerbread. She eyed Genevieve with sharp intelligence.

Genevieve nodded at her professionally. “Yes. I would like the mailing address for Miss Love, please.”

Miss Annie raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? And why, may I ask?” She smiled sweetly at Genevieve and clicked her nails on the counter, as if she couldn’t wait to hear this story.

Genevieve switched tactics, looking around as if embarrassed and lowering her voice in confidence. “It’s just, she’s one of my favorite teachers, and I hear she’s not feeling so good. I’d like to send her a get-well card.”

“Certainly,” Miss Annie said. “What a very lovely gesture. Give the card to me and I will be sure to mail it to her.”

Genevieve stammered, “But⁠—”

“Miss Winterland,” Miss Annie said calmly, “you are a smart young lady. Surely you know I cannot disclose the home address, or any other personal information, of our staff. I don’t know what you’re up to, but you’ll have to do better than that. Good day, my dear.” She turned back to her computer in an obvious dismissal, and Genevieve, her cheeks burning, slinked out of the office.

“Seriously though, what did you think would happen?” Brandon said, chuckling. They were in her car on the way home. “Miss Annie’s been office manager since my parents went there. You can’t get anything past her.”

Genevieve took the corner onto Aspen Lane a bit faster than she needed to. “Well, I’d already tried looking up the information online; Miss Love isn’t a homeowner. And I have to find a way to get a hold of her.”

Brandon flailed in his seat, throwing his arms in the air wildly at her turn, but she didn’t even smile. He sighed. “Okay, so your plan is to show up on her doorstep and beg her to come back to teach your Economics class?”

Genevieve pulled into Brandon’s driveway and cut the engine. There was the familiar pine tree, leaning impossibly away from the house she’d spent half her childhood in. “Maybe,” she said softly, and Brandon, who’d been reaching for his backpack, stopped to look at her closely.

“What is it?” he asked.