Page 40 of Lessons in Power
Ivy turned back to face me, her own coffee mug held between two hands. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Did I want to talk about John Thomas’s last gasping moments? About pressing my hands to his chest, trying to staunch the flow of blood? About the moment when his eyes went empty, and his head lolled to the side?
“I hated him.” I stared down at my hot chocolate. “The boy who got killed, John Thomas Wilcox—I hated him.”
Ivy knew when to keep quiet. I filled the silence, unable to stop talking now that I’d started.
“He was a horrible person. The day I arrived at Hardwicke, he was showing off pictures of the vice president’s daughter.” I paused and let that pause do the talking about thetypeof photos John Thomas had taken. “She’s fourteen. He told her he liked her. He told her she was special, and then helaughedat her while he flashed those pictures around.
“This morning, he baited Asher into a fight. He told the entire school that Henry’s father was in and out of rehab before hedied.” The more I talked, the faster the words came. “He texted these pictures of Emilia where she’s totally out of it to the whole school. A video, too.” I swallowed, remembering the words John Thomas had used to taunt Asher. “He said things about that night. I don’t know how much Emilia remembers. I don’t know if John Thomas assaulted her, but he enjoyed making her think that he did.”
Ivy held her expression carefully constant, but I caught a surge of anger in her eyes.
I closed mine. “An hour before he died, John Thomas told me that he’d accessed Hardwicke’s confidential medical files, that he knew who’d been treated for eating disorders and depression and—” I swallowed back the fury that still wanted to come, thinking about the way he’d singled out Vivvie. “He threatened to tell everyone the details.”
“What you’re saying,” Bodie commented from behind me, “is that the kid had enemies.”
I wondered how long he’d been standing there, how much he’d heard. I twisted in my seat.
“I’m saying that I’m one of them.” I turned back to Ivy. “I threatened him in class this morning. I told him that I would bury him.”
And now he was dead. I knew that didn’t look good. I couldn’t quit thinking about the blood, the empty look in his—
“Hey.” Ivy reached across the counter and took my hand in hers. “No amount of hating him caused this.”
I nodded, as if I could will myself into believing what she’d said. “Right before you showed up, the police started asking more pointed questions.” I met her eyes. “They’re not going to have totalk to many people to figure out that John Thomas and I didn’t get along.”
“Don’t worry,” Ivy told me. “I’ll take care of it.”
When Ivy Kendrick said she’d take care of something, she meant it.
“I tried.” My voice broke on that word. “When I saw him, I tried to save him. I screamed for help, and no one came. I called 911—”
Ivy came around to my side of the counter. She wrapped her arms around me. For once, I didn’t stiffen in her grasp. “If I could take this away,” she said, “if I could snap my fingers and go through this for you, feel it for you, I would.”
“I’m fine.” I managed to form the words, but we both knew that was a lie.
Bodie crossed in front of us, pulled a large glass out of the cabinet, and started rummaging around in the fridge. After a few minutes—and some rather questionable blender use—he put the glass in front of me. “Drink this,” he told me.
The liquid in the glass was murky brown.
I eyed Bodie warily.
“Drink,” he told me.
“Is that your hangover cure?” Ivy asked him.
Bodie ignored her. He nudged me with his foot. “Drink,” he ordered.
I took a gulp of the liquid and almost choked on it. “And the purpose of me drinking this is what exactly?” I asked, grimacing.
“Distraction,” Bodie replied. “You’re welcome.”
Before I could formulate a suitable reply, Ivy’s phone rang. She moved to answer it, then let her hand fall back to her side. I could see her thinking,Tess needs me right now.
I could also see her wanting to answer.
“Answer it,” I told her. “Take the call.”
