My face burns with the shame of being put in my place.
“Isla,” Nate says, “your appointment is on Tuesday. Why don’t—”
“Thank you for your help,” Mrs. Wasserstein says to him. “I understand that my son has been making your job difficult. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you like this.”
I get the sense that she’s been making his job difficult, but Nate only rubs his shaved head. “It’s what I do. And it’s okay, he’s a good kid.”
She clearly doesn’t believe him. Maybe she would if she knew Mike and Dave. She gives him a brusque nod before turning back to Josh. “We’re leaving.”
His eyes widen. “Where are we going?”
“Your room. We have much to discuss, young man.” She holds open the door and nods again, her farewell to me. “Isla.”
My ribcage is compressing my heart into a tiny, painful stone. As he’s led away, Josh squeezes my hand with the same unbearable force. Our hands let go only when they can no longer reach. There’s a final exchange of anguished expressions, and he’s gone. I’m rigid with silence. Nate sighs.
“We’re in a lot of trouble, aren’t we?” I finally manage.
“You’ll be all right.”
“Will Josh?”
Nate gives me a sad look.
Another horrible thought occurs to me. “Are my parents coming? Is that why my appointment isn’t until Tuesday?”
“No. Your appointment is on Tuesday, because tomorrow is a holiday. Remember?”
Tomorrow is the first of November. All Saint’s Day. It’s a national holiday in France, which means that…the head of school is coming in on her day off to speak with Josh.
It’s understood that Josh and I won’t be seeing each other until after his appointment. But that doesn’t stop me from checking my phone for texts every sixty seconds.
I hate my sister. Hate. Her.
If it wasn’t for Hattie, I’d be in Josh’s room right now – and his mother would not – and we’d be planning our Swiss rendezvous. My phone blips. I lunge for it, but the text is from Kurt: Train timetable says you should have arrived 3 hrs ago.
I reply: We did.
Are you ok?
NO.
A minute later, he knocks on my door. “Why don’t you just push it open, like you always do?” I shout.
Kurt does. “You sound angry.”
“I am.”
“Are you angry with me?”
“Yes.”
He wedges a textbook underneath my door. “I had to, Isla. They asked me.”
“What did Hattie even want?”
“She wanted to borrow your hair dryer.”
“My hair dryer?”