My cheeks are on fire. Rachel’s my friend and I hate that this is what she thinks of me now. “Okay, I suck. All right?” I say. “But I didn’t actually succeed. Amy did.”
She narrows her eyes. “You got what you wanted, though. So what’s changed? Why do you suddenly want him to have his job back?”
I glance away from her. “Because I like him,” I say. So much my heart aches. Admitting this out loud to her somehow makes it even more real. “But more importantly, it’s the right thing to do. He didn’t steal anything.”
Rachel nods. “Wellllll, I’m glad you’ve decided to use your powers for good and not evil, so okay. I’ll help you. That wench Amy definitely deserves to go down.”
“Thank you,” I say, relieved. “Now help me figure out how to convince Joe to hire Wesley again.”
“Throw yourself on his mercy.” Rachel twirls a piece of her newly dyed blue hair. “It’s worked for me a few times.”
“No way. He’ll fire me.” This would obviously be no less than I deserve—Erin was totally right about karma—but honestly, I want to keep my job. I like working at Tudor Tymes. “There has to be another way.”
And then Alan strolls past us. I remember our conversation last night and, like an answered prayer, an idea comes to me. Maybe he can help me after all.
I smile slowly. “I know exactly what we should do.”
*
It doesn’t take us long to convince Alan. His finely tuned sense of justice makes it impossible for him to turn us down.
Phase One of the plan involves getting Amy to come with me, which is harder than I thought it would be. “I just need to talk to you for one minute,” I say, trailing her into the kitchen. I’ve been after her to come with me all night, but she’s been avoiding me, which I guess isn’t all that surprising.
Amy sighs heavily, dumping a load of dirty dishes onto the counter. “Fine, if it will get you off my back.”
I walk away, but when I turn around a few steps later, she’s not behind me. She’s still standing in the same spot. “Why can’t we just talk here?” she asks, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
My heart begins to pound. She has to come with me for this to work. “Um, it’s kind of a private matter,” I say. “About Wesley.”
His name gets her feet going; Amy hustles across the kitchen and grabs my arm hard, her fingers like a cuff around my bicep. She marches me down the hall, toward the staff room. The problem is, I need her over by the alcove.
I wrench my arm away from her. “Forget it,” I say, walking quickly in the opposite direction.
“Oh no,” Amy says. “You wanted to talk. Let’s talk.” Just as I’d hoped, she follows me. I stop in front of the blue velvet curtain Rachel hung over the alcove to hide Alan, hoping Amy’s too preoccupied to notice the big black boots sticking out from underneath it.
“I’ve been thinking about what you did to Wesley,” I say. I need her to confess, to say that she’s the one who stole the money, so Wesley can be vindicated.
Amy stares at me, her head cocked. “What are you talking about?”
My face burns. “You switched your swipe card with his.”
I’m worried she’s onto me, but then she says, “I already told you why I did that. Anyway, what difference does it make to you? I thought you hated him.”
“That doesn’t mean he deserved to be fired for something you did.”
Amy leans closer and pokes me in the chest with her index finger. “Remember what I told you, Quinn,” she hisses. “You better keep quiet, or I’ll—”
She jumps back as Alan suddenly bursts through the curtain, his face thunderous. “What’s this now?” he says. “Sir Wesley has been punished for your crimes?”
Amy shrinks as Alan towers over her. “No, no, Your Highness. You misunderstood.”
He straightens even taller and puffs out his chest. “You dare to challenge the king?”
She shakes her head. “No, I’m not challenging you, I’m just—”
But Alan is well past the point of listening. He’s already tried and convicted her, and is ready to mete out justice in the best way he knows how. “How now!” he booms. “Guard! Guard! There’s a thief in our midst!”
Bruce appears from the shadows where he’s been waiting. He shoots Amy a disgusted look, ready to lead her to Joe’s office.
“It’s not my fault,” Amy begs, backing away from him. “Quinn! Quinn, tell him it’s all just a misunderstanding! Please.”
“But it’s not a misunderstanding,” I say coldly. “You stole the money and you let Wesley take the fall for it.”
Amy glares at me. “Yeah? Well, you put a hair in a customer’s food.”
Rachel snorts. “Oh, please,” she says. “We’ve all put hair in a customer’s food.”
Amy’s face tightens. “Fine,” she says, tearing off her Tudor Tymes apron and throwing it on the ground. She even grinds the heel of her boot into it. “I quit. I hated this job anyway.” She storms past us and out the door. I wonder how long it will be before she remembers her purse is in the staff room.
Rachel cheers. “Good riddance,” she says. She holds up her phone, where she’s recorded the entire conversation. “I’ll go update Joe.”
“Thanks,” I say. “And thank you, Your Highness.” I drop into a deep curtsey.
Alan smiles. “No need to thank me, Quinn,” he says. “It was my pleasure. Now go tell Wesley he has his job back, if he wants it.”
My heart falls. I’ve been so focused on trying to get Wesley his job back, thinking that if I could just fix this, then things could go back to normal. It didn’t occur to me that he might not want to come back.
I need to find him and explain. I just hope he’ll listen to me.
twenty-two.
Wesley’s avoiding me. I’ve been trying to reach him for days to apologize. I even showed up at his house once, but I was too nervous to knock on the door.
Having Wesley shut me out has only reinforced how stupid I’ve been. About him, and about Gran. And while I can’t do much more to fix things with him at the moment, at least not until he calls me back, I can do something about Gran.
So, finally, I am here.
I run my finger over the nameplate on the wall beside Gran’s door. Her name is written in block letters on a sheet of card stock slipped inside a plastic sleeve. I guess they use paper instead of something more lasting because it’s easier to change when the next resident arrives.
I don’t like to think about what a new resident would mean for Gran. It’s hard to believe that she won’t ever leave this place. That this is her home now.
I’m glad that Celia insisted that she have her own room, despite it costing a lot more money. I’m happy we could do this for her, even though privacy probably doesn’t top the list of things Gran cares about anymore.
I’ve been standing outside her door for a few minutes, trying to work up the guts to go inside. I told Celia and my mom that I was ready for this, but the reality of being here? So much harder than I imagined. Everything in me wants to run, to get as far away as possible, but I know I have to face what’s happening behind this door. I owe it to Gran. And to myself.
So I knock.
Nothing.