Chapter 7: The Name on the Screen
I didn't try to see the name.
I didn't need to.
What I needed was to get Ivo out of that room.
"Come on," I said, standing and holding out my hand.
"Let's get some air."
He took it without hesitation.
That small, automatic trust — his fingers wrapping around mine — was the thing that kept my voice steady when nothing else did.
We stepped into the hallway.
Mrs.
Hargrove followed us out, pulling the door mostly closed behind her.
"How is he?" she asked, low enough that only I could hear.
"He's holding up," I said.
"Better than I would have at his age."
"Children who've had to be careful for a long time learn to hold things quietly," she said.
"It doesn't mean they aren't feeling it."
I looked down at Ivo.
He was examining a framed photograph on the hallway wall — a family portrait, Melisande and Roderick and Sophia, taken somewhere with a lot of light.
He studied it with the detached curiosity of someone looking at a picture of strangers.
"Mrs.
Hargrove," he said, without turning around.
"Did I really get nominated for the Young Achiever thing?"
"You did," she said.
"The committee described your research project as — and I'm quoting Patricia Voss directly — 'the most original student submission we have reviewed in six years.'"
Ivo was quiet for a moment.
"Can I still get it?" he asked.
"Or is it too late?"
Mrs.
Hargrove and I exchanged a look over his head.
"I spoke to Patricia last week," Mrs.
Hargrove said carefully.
"When I realized this was going to come to a head.
I wanted to know the answer to that question before you asked it."
Ivo turned around.
"The nomination cycle for this year is closed," she said.
"But Patricia has asked the committee to review the circumstances.
She believes there is a case for a special consideration.
It isn't guaranteed.
But it is possible."
Ivo absorbed this.
"What does special consideration mean?"
"It means the people who make the decisions are going to look at what happened and decide if the rules should bend a little," I said.
"Because sometimes the rules don't account for someone getting in the way."
He nodded slowly.
"Okay."
Then my phone buzzed.
I glanced at the screen.
Unknown number.
Text message.
*You should think carefully about how far you push this.
Melisande has friends in this district.
People who make decisions about school placements, funding allocations, class assignments.
It would be a shame if Ivo found the next few years more difficult than they needed to be.*
I read it twice.
Then I took a screenshot.
"Everything alright?" Mrs.
Hargrove asked.
I showed her the screen.
Her expression didn't change dramatically.
But her jaw set.
"Forward that to Carol Deane," she said.
"Right now, before anything else."
I did.
I typed a short message with it: *Received 4:47 PM.
Unknown number.
Melisande was texting under the table approximately ten minutes ago.*
Carol Deane's reply came back in under two minutes.
*Received.
Do not respond to the unknown number.
I'll be in touch before end of day.*
I put my phone in my pocket.
"Who was that?" Ivo asked.
He had been watching my face.
"Someone who made a mistake," I said.
He considered this.
"A big one?"
"Yes," I said.
"A very big one."
We stood in the hallway a little longer.
Through the door, I could hear the low murmur of Roderick's voice and then Melisande's, faster and higher, and then Roderick's again, slower and final.
Then silence.
The door opened.
Roderick stepped out.
He looked at Ivo with the expression of a man who has just set something down that he'd been carrying for years and isn't sure yet how his hands feel without it.
"Ready to go?" he said.
Ivo looked at me.
"Go," I said.
"I'll be right behind you."
Roderick and Ivo moved toward the front door.
I turned back toward the sitting room.
Through the open door, I could see Melisande still at the table, her phone face-down in front of her, her hands flat on either side of it.
She looked up when she felt me watching.
"You have no idea what you've started," she said.
"I think I do," I said.
"And I think you're starting to as well."
I pulled the door closed behind me and walked out into the late afternoon.
My phone buzzed again.
This time it was Carol Deane calling, not texting.
I answered before the second ring.
"The number," Carol Deane said.
May you like
"We traced it.
You need to hear this."
