“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.
“I don’t know,” she said.
He waited.
She sighed. “Do you remember that time when we were in fifth grade, and I slept over? We were watching a movie, I can’t remember what, and I suddenly got this weird feeling like I needed to get home and check on my dad? Your mom drove me home and we found him on the kitchen floor—he’d slipped and fallen and was out cold. Thank goodness it ended up not being a serious injury. Anyway, it’s like that. I just know something’s wrong.”
Brandon was quiet a moment. “Okay,” he said finally. “We’ll need to call in some reinforcements. Ah, I know.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ll recruit Dillon.”
Genevieve frowned. “Who?”
“Dillon Palmer.”
“That guy you used to hang out with in middle school? The one who wore shorts in subzero weather and started you on that Block Story game?”
Brandon laughed. “I can’t believe you actually remembered someone by details other than their favorite flavor of ice cream.”
“Mocha chocolate chip,” she said promptly. “What about him?”
“He’s a computer genius, that’s what. If I asked him to, he could probably break into Pinewood High’s staff directory and get you the address.”
Genevieve’s eyes widened. “Would you ask him?”
“No.” He rolled his eyes and reached again for his backpack. “I was just suggesting it for fun.”
That night, as Genevieve sat on her bed studying for a calculus test, her phone buzzed with an incoming call from a blocked number. Must be the hacker extraordinaire, she thought, and tapped the screen.
“Hey,” Genevieve said.
“You owe me.”
She smiled. “Let me guess. You want your payment in ice cream, specifically mocha chocolate chip in a dipped cone.”
“A month’s worth, at least.”
Now Genevieve began to laugh. He sounded the same as when he was a scraggly preteen in seventh grade. It was the next year he’d gotten sick with mono, and afterward he’d never returned to in-person school, having adjusted so well to online classes. “How have you been, Dillon? I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“Yeah, I don’t really like leaving the house,” he said. She could hear the rapid-fire clicking of his keyboard as he typed and wondered if he was joking. “The human race is an abomination. Surely you know this. You work in customer service.”
“Serving ice cream though,” Genevieve said amiably. She grabbed a pillow and hugged it into her lap. “Ice cream brings out the best in people.”
