my brain. “Zhù Wong?”
“Sí. You know him?”
“He’s a friend of a friend.” I wondered what would make Zhù miss class. Maybe she hadn’t told me the truth. Maybe he was ill.
Señora dragged her purse strap over her shoulder. “Please respect his privacy and tell no one.”
I hoped Zhù didn’t have something life-threatening. Parvani would never forgive me for keeping it from her. “I promise not to tell.”
“Bueno.”
Dismissed, I headed out the door and down the hall, no doubt frowning just like Mom. A few students had clustered under the overhang near the lockers, but everyone else seemed to be in the cafeteria already. I rounded the corner of the building and almost ran into Miss Ravenwood.
The temperature plummeted at least ten degrees. Miss Ravenwood scowled down at me and I swear I heard the witch’s theme song from The Wizard of Oz. I clutched my Spanish folder to my chest and averted my gaze. Miss Ravenwood swept past me, her disdain palpable.
I blew out a long breath. For once, I was glad I sucked at math.
Parvani and, to my surprise, Salem, were waiting for me outside Mr. Ross’s door.
“Where have you been?” Parvani asked.
“Señora Allende needed to ask…”
Mr. Ross poked his head out. “Girls? I have to take off. If you want to use the room you’ll have to come in now and lock the door.”
“May Sarah join us?” Parvani pushed her glasses higher up her nose. “We promise we won’t let anyone else in.”
Mr. Ross hesitated. His glance flicked over Salem’s eyebrow stud and makeup. Instead of her usual neo-medieval blouse, she wore a black tee shirt emblazoned with a skull and crossbones. He probably wondered how many school supplies she would steal. I held my breath, willing him to trust our judgment.
“Okay, she can stay,” he finally said. “But no one else.” We let ourselves in while he checked his pockets for his keys. “I’ll be back soon,” he warned. The heavy door closed behind him with a click.
We threw our backpacks on the table nearest the television and scraped back three molded plastic chairs. “I was going through my parents’ old yearbooks last night,” Salem said in a conspiratorial whisper. “And I found this.” She pulled a mud-colored yearbook out of her pack. Jefferson High School, 1974 angled in pale green lettering across the front.
“My parents were eleventh graders in ‘74.” Salem opened the yearbook to a page she had marked with a hot pink sticky note. “But look at the ninth grade class.” She pointed to a flinty-eyed girl on the right hand page.
“Miss Ravenwood?” Parvani said in disbelief. “She went here?”
My parents had graduated from Jefferson, too. I did some quick subtraction on my fingers. “Wait a minute.” I glanced at the names accompanying the photos on the left hand page, and there it was, like a sucker punch, Deaman O’Reilly. Dad, fourteen years old, his hair windblown and his eyes bright with imagined adventure.
“Did you find it?” Salem asked.
“Yes.” The word came out as a croak.
Parvani leaned closer to the page. “What?”
“Evie’s mom. Her picture is here too.”
“My mother?” I scanned the rows of smiling faces. Mom’s familiar, knowing eyes snagged my attention. Olivia Portland.
“Am I right?” Salem asked.
“Yes.” I drifted back to Dad.
Parvani gasped and pointed to his picture. “There’s Evie’s father.”
Salem bent over the page. “But his byline always says Dash O’Reilly.”
“Said,” I corrected, my voice thick. “A fellow cameraman gave him the nickname because he was always dashing into danger.”
The laugh track erupted on the television.
“I bet they knew each other,” Parvani said. “Evie, you should ask your mom.”
“I will.”
“Maybe you could find her yearbook,” Parvani suggested. “See if Miss Ravenwood wrote anything in it.”
Bad blood. No wonder Mom had stiffened when she saw Miss Ravenwood in Sage Mage.
Parvani
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