with this before.” We both know what he means bythis . “What, um, should Ido? ”
He looks really worried. That and the bed head make him seem younger than he really is…which, at twenty-six, is still younger than me. Almost as young as Barista Boy.
“Be strong,” I say, laying a hand on his massive, Izod-sweater-clad shoulder. “And whatever you do…don’t try to solve the crime yourself.Believe me.”
He swallows. “Whatever. Like I want to end up withmy head in a pot? No, thanks.”
I give him a reassuring pat. “I’ll be on my cell if you need to reach me,” I say.
Page 24
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Then I beat a hasty retreat into the hallway, where I run into Julio, the head housekeeper, and his newly hired nephew—nepotism is as alive and well at New York College as it is anywhere else—Manuel, laying rubber-backed mats along the floor in order to protect the marble from salt the residents will track in when it finally starts snowing.
“Heather,” Julio says to me worriedly as I breeze past, “is it really true, what they say? About…” His dark eyes glance toward the lobby, in which police officers and college administrators are still swarming like fashionistas at a sample sale.
“It’s true, Julio,” I stop to tell him, in a low voice. “They found a…” I’m about to saydead body , but that isn’t strictly true. “Dead girl in the cafeteria,” I settle for finishing.
“Who?” Manuel Juarez, an outrageously handsome guy I’d heard some of the female—and even some of the male—student workers sighing over (I don’t bother, because of course I don’t believe in romance in the workplace. Also because he’s never looked twice at me, and isn’t likely to, with so many nubile nineteen-year-olds in belly-baring tees around. I haven’t bared my belly since, um, it started jutting over the waistband of my jeans), appears concerned. “Who was it?”
“I can’t really say yet,” I tell them, because we’re supposed to wait until the deceased’s family has been informed before giving out their name to others.
The truth, of course, is that if it had been anyone but Lindsay, I’d have told them in a heartbeat. But everyone—even the staff, whose tolerance for the people whose parents provide our paychecks is minimal, at best—liked Lindsay.
And I’m not going to be the one to tell them what happened to her.
Which is one of the reasons I’m so grateful to have this chance to be getting out of here.
Julio shoots his nephew an annoyed look—I guess because he knows as well as I do that I’m not allowed to give out the name—and mutters something in Spanish. Manuel flushes darkly, but doesn’t reply. I know Manuel, like Tom, is still so new that he’s on employment probation. Also that Julio is the strictest of supervisors. I wouldn’t want to have him asmy boss. I’ve seen the way he gets when he catches the residents Rollerblading across his newly waxed floors.
“I have to go to the hospital about a different kid,” I tell Julio. “Hopefully I’ll be back soon. Keep an eye on Tom for me, will you? He’s not used to any of this stuff.”
Julio nods somberly, and I know my request will be carried out to the letter…even if it means Julio has to fake a spilled can of soda outside the hall director’s door, so he can spend half an hour cleaning it up.
I manage to make it past all the people in the lobby and out into the cold without being stopped again.
But even though—miraculously—there’s a cab pulling up in front of Fischer Hall just as I walk out, I don’t hail it. Instead, I hurry on foot around the corner, back toward the brownstone I left just a couple of hours before. If I’m going to be sitting in the hospital all day, there are a couple of things I need—like my remedial math textbook so I can be ready for my first class, if it isn’t canceled due to snow, and maybe my Game Boy,
He looks really worried. That and the bed head make him seem younger than he really is…which, at twenty-six, is still younger than me. Almost as young as Barista Boy.
“Be strong,” I say, laying a hand on his massive, Izod-sweater-clad shoulder. “And whatever you do…don’t try to solve the crime yourself.Believe me.”
He swallows. “Whatever. Like I want to end up withmy head in a pot? No, thanks.”
I give him a reassuring pat. “I’ll be on my cell if you need to reach me,” I say.
Page 24
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Then I beat a hasty retreat into the hallway, where I run into Julio, the head housekeeper, and his newly hired nephew—nepotism is as alive and well at New York College as it is anywhere else—Manuel, laying rubber-backed mats along the floor in order to protect the marble from salt the residents will track in when it finally starts snowing.
“Heather,” Julio says to me worriedly as I breeze past, “is it really true, what they say? About…” His dark eyes glance toward the lobby, in which police officers and college administrators are still swarming like fashionistas at a sample sale.
“It’s true, Julio,” I stop to tell him, in a low voice. “They found a…” I’m about to saydead body , but that isn’t strictly true. “Dead girl in the cafeteria,” I settle for finishing.
“Who?” Manuel Juarez, an outrageously handsome guy I’d heard some of the female—and even some of the male—student workers sighing over (I don’t bother, because of course I don’t believe in romance in the workplace. Also because he’s never looked twice at me, and isn’t likely to, with so many nubile nineteen-year-olds in belly-baring tees around. I haven’t bared my belly since, um, it started jutting over the waistband of my jeans), appears concerned. “Who was it?”
“I can’t really say yet,” I tell them, because we’re supposed to wait until the deceased’s family has been informed before giving out their name to others.
The truth, of course, is that if it had been anyone but Lindsay, I’d have told them in a heartbeat. But everyone—even the staff, whose tolerance for the people whose parents provide our paychecks is minimal, at best—liked Lindsay.
And I’m not going to be the one to tell them what happened to her.
Which is one of the reasons I’m so grateful to have this chance to be getting out of here.
Julio shoots his nephew an annoyed look—I guess because he knows as well as I do that I’m not allowed to give out the name—and mutters something in Spanish. Manuel flushes darkly, but doesn’t reply. I know Manuel, like Tom, is still so new that he’s on employment probation. Also that Julio is the strictest of supervisors. I wouldn’t want to have him asmy boss. I’ve seen the way he gets when he catches the residents Rollerblading across his newly waxed floors.
“I have to go to the hospital about a different kid,” I tell Julio. “Hopefully I’ll be back soon. Keep an eye on Tom for me, will you? He’s not used to any of this stuff.”
Julio nods somberly, and I know my request will be carried out to the letter…even if it means Julio has to fake a spilled can of soda outside the hall director’s door, so he can spend half an hour cleaning it up.
I manage to make it past all the people in the lobby and out into the cold without being stopped again.
But even though—miraculously—there’s a cab pulling up in front of Fischer Hall just as I walk out, I don’t hail it. Instead, I hurry on foot around the corner, back toward the brownstone I left just a couple of hours before. If I’m going to be sitting in the hospital all day, there are a couple of things I need—like my remedial math textbook so I can be ready for my first class, if it isn’t canceled due to snow, and maybe my Game Boy,
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