she’d been fighting slipped past her eyelashes. She swiped at the trail, annoyed. “Quincy, she’s so nice. We have to find her.”
Without another word, Quincy pulled her into his massive arms. His hug felt like home. Warm and comforting and oddly constrictive.
Principal Jacobs stood. “Aurora, I need to know you aren’t going to try to hack my system again.”
Hope blossomed inside her. “I won’t try again. I swear.”
“Well, then, I don’t see why we can’t let this slide, considering the circumstances.”
While Mr. Jacobs seemed satisfied, the new sheriff wasn’t so easily placated. Her expression remained impassive as she scrutinized her daughter.
“Mom?” Auri said, her chest squeezing her lungs until they hurt.
“And,” the principal continued, addressing the surly woman in black, “since there’s an ongoing investigation, I suppose giving you a copy of Sybil’s class schedule wouldn’t be breaking any laws. If it just happened to slip out of your hand and into someone else’s—like, say, a student’s—that wouldn’t be on me.”
Her mom deadpanned him. “You’re encouraging my daughter to insert herself into an ongoing missing persons investigation?”
A wicked smile spread across his face. “I try to nurture the talents of all my students. Not just your daughter, Little Miss Sunshine.”
Auri almost snorted aloud. Instead, she slammed a hand over her nose and mouth to hold it in.
Her mom cast him a withering scowl. “You know, you got away with that nickname when I was in high school—”
“And I’ll get away with it now.”
Ignoring her indignation, he walked to his office door. “Corrine, could you print a copy of Sybil St. Aubin’s schedule?”
“Of course,” she said, stuffing the last bite of her sub into her mouth and swinging her chair around to her computer.
Two office aides had come in to work, a boy and a girl, both of them upperclassmen and each one of them on separate tasks. They both paused and focused their attention when Principal Jacobs walked to the door. But what Auri found interesting was when the principal asked Corrine for the schedule, the guy whipped his head around in surprise.
He caught himself and recovered quickly, bending over a stack of papers he was separating into three mystery piles, but the knee-jerk reaction was hardly subtle.
Auri made a mental note to check him out later. Unfortunately, when she turned back to her mom, she realized she’d made the same mental note.
Auri gestured toward the guy, urging her mom to let her help, to let her question him, but Sunshine fired a warning shot over the bow of her ship. A ship called In Your Dreams.
As frustrated as Auri was, she did understand. A girl was missing. Her life was in danger. Auri had to remember that. Not only could she get caught up in a bad situation, she could botch the entire investigation.
But she wasn’t born yesterday. She knew the stakes. And she knew how to handle herself. She prodded her mom to let her help with another pleading glance.
As the principal droned on about something her mom had done in high school that involved a training bra and a stuffed monkey, her mom cast her a warning glare, ordering her to stand down.
Auri pursed her lips and lifted her shoulders, pleading.
Sunshine shook her head.
Auri spread her hands in the universal gesture for why not?
Sunshine crossed her arms, refusing to budge.
Auri crossed her arms, too, and sank down in her seat, literally pouting like a five-year-old.
Sunshine tilted her head to the side, asking her to understand her position.
Auri turned her face away, refusing to even try.
Sunshine released a long sigh.
Auri kept her gaze averted.
Sunshine softened her expression.
Auri sat up and offered up her best look of hope.
Sunshine caved, and she dipped her head in a barely perceivable nod of approval, but then her expression morphed into a lecture. A long lecture complete with PowerPoint slides and a pop quiz, and she did it all with one ominous glance.
Auri nodded. She understood what was at stake.
“And that’s how your mother came to be known as the Masked Potato.”
Auri sat beaming, then the principal’s words sank in. “The Masked what?”
“Can I have a moment alone with my daughter?” her mom asked him.
“Of course.” He grabbed the schedule from Corrine, handed it to the sheriff, and left them alone. Well, almost alone. Quincy was still in the room.
“That was fascinating,” he said. “Can all mothers and daughters have an entire conversation without saying a word?”
“Yes,” her mom said before leveling another death stare on her.
“I’m so sorry, Mom.”
Watching her mom downshift