The Ivies - Alexa Donne Page 0,47

right into bad-daughter territory. Swell. I duck into an alcove off the lobby and lean against the wall.

“Sorry. Yesterday was a blur with an assembly, and my police interview, and studying for finals.” And launching a murder investigation, I add in my head. “I meant to call.”

“I’m worried about you, and you’re barely responding to my texts.”

I resist groaning, because the scolding I’d get for daring to be annoyed with my mother isn’t worth it. Plus, she isn’t wrong. But how do I explain to her that I’m dealing with more shit than I can handle? She’s already concerned enough with me being so far away, and she’s never understood the appeal of Claflin. She doesn’t get the Ivy game like I do. I don’t need her to add my friend’s murder and my grief to her plate. And, god, if she knows I’m a suspect? She’ll be on the first plane up here. That’ll really fuck things up. I can’t very well solve Emma’s murder with my mom tagging along.

“Sorry, Mom,” I finally say. “It’s been hectic here. But I’ll be home Monday, so…” My mom does not take the hint, that I’d really love to end our conversation, table all of this until I am home for Christmas.

“How are the girls? Avery, Margot, and Sierra? That Avery’s not as tough as she wants people to believe, ya know. I worry about you all up there. And I cannot believe they’re still making you take exams.”

“It’s because of college admissions, Mom. They have to. And we’re all fine. I’m hanging out with Avery tonight,” I make up on the spot.

“That’s good, Liv. I sent flowers to the Russos. You’ll find out when the funeral is, so we can attend? I’ll have to find some way to afford the trip. We’ll make it work.”

“Yes, of course, Mom.” I’m on autopilot now, letting my mom hyperfocus and whip herself into her Mom frenzy. I just have to agree at intervals with whatever she is saying.

Finally, there’s a moment of silence. It hangs, and I brace myself for a Mom bomb. “Olivia, I want you to give some serious thought to coming home permanently. Your friend has died, and you know I don’t like how you get when you’re up there. You got into Harvard. You’re done. You can finish your senior year at Highland. High school is high school. It doesn’t matter.”

“Mom.” It comes out like ice. “You know I can’t do that. I only have one semester left. It’s fine.”

“Okay.” Such a simple word, but we can load it with such meaning. My mom is backing down for now, but the war is not over. We’ll discuss this again over the holiday. “I’ll see you in a few days. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

As I’m saying it, my phone buzzes, tickling my ear. My mother’s goodbye gets lost as I look down at my screen. I end the call and pull up the text that just came in. It’s Ethan.

Ready for our dinner date?

My stomach gurgles a yes.

See you in five, I respond, trying not to think too hard about the fact that Ethan used the word date. A hostile three-person, cornered-in-a-murder-plot date, but still a date. My first date.

Progress.

I should head straight to the dining hall, but something locks me in place. There’s a buzzing, like a bee is trapped in my brain. I lied to my mom. Not the first time, but maybe for the first time about something that mattered. I tap into my text messages and pull up my thread with Avery. Our last solo exchange was over a month ago. I swipe a new message.

You working on RD apps tonight? Maybe we could work on them together?

There. A lie made true. Now I can eat with one weight off my shoulders. Though I suspect Autumn is going to lob another anvil on.

I find her at the dining hall entrance right on schedule, hands stuffed into the center pocket of her Claflin hoodie, brown eyes carefully neutral. We’re teammates, but she’s always been chilly. I’d always assumed it was WASPy snobbery, but the last twelve hours have cast everything I thought into question. Ethan stands beside her, already comfortably in conversation. No frost toward him, it would seem.

“Hey!” I say, with a grade too much cheer in my voice.

The ice in Autumn’s stare could reverse global warming. “I’m not doing this for you,” she remarks flatly while