Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Harriet
The Brennan Family Funeral Home is a two-story brick building with the doors propped open. We weave between people who’ve spilled out onto the front stoop. Inside is just as much of a mob scene, with people everywhere dabbing at eyes and speaking in hushed tones.
As usual, Alexandru draws stares. The teenagers nearest the door stop mid-sentence. An older woman touches her pearls. It's not his charcoal suit—it's a funeral, so he's not overdressed for once.
It's more that Ashwood does not produce men who look like this. Neither does anywhere else, exactly.
The viewing room is lined with photo boards that show Nick Lernov as a young man with a full head of hair and a skinny tie. Nick Lernov at a chalkboard writing something about the industrial revolution. Nick Lernov holding a trophy, surrounded by beaming teenagers.
A lot of the photos feature teenagers, actually. And trophies.
“Quiz Bowl,” Alexandru reads from a banner in one of the photos. “This is a sport?”
“Sort of. Teams compete to answer questions about a range of subjects, like history, science, literature, math.”
“You participated in this?”
“No. I was a different sort of nerd.” I lean closer to a photo from what looks like a state championship. The kids hold up a massive trophy, and Nick Lernov stands behind them, beaming. “This team did really well.”
We drift along the photo boards, eavesdropping on the mourners. “…never talked down to us.” “Strict, but not in a power-mad way.” “...helped me so much that year...”
A baby begins to wail loudly.
“Lots of prey and emotions in a small space,” I say quietly. “How are you holding up?”
He gazes down at me like it’s so strange and bizarre that somebody would ask him how he’s doing. “I will survive.”
I study a photo of Mr. Lernov at his retirement party. It’s the most recent one on the long table.
Alexandru touches my elbow. “Look.” He points at a team photo from maybe twelve years ago. A group of teenagers in matching polo shirts holds a banner. Mr. Lernov in the center.
And on the far left, younger but unmistakable—
KC.
“What?” I grab it and study it more closely. “KC!”
“Yes.”
“I guess KC is from Creighton. But… I don’t know, is this a coincidence?”
“Perhaps.”
KC knew Mr. Lernov. And he knew Varla.
Mind racing, I whisper, “KC is always trying to get me to use his apps and workarounds, trying to show me better ways of doing things. I always thought he was eager to impress me or something, but...wow, could it be?”
We look around for other photos from that school year. There aren’t any. “They went to state. It seems like every year except the year KC was on the team.”
“A poor player,” Alexandru observes.
“If he was a truly poor player, he’d be cut from the team.”
“Ah. You do cull your weak, then.”
“We cull them from teams, Alexandru. Not from existence. People help those who need it; they don’t kill them. It’s a little thing called human civilization.”
“Human civilization.” Alexandru’s words drip with disdain, showing exactly how he feels about human civilization.
He plucks the photo from my fingers and turns to a nearby trio of women crying over photos from the year before. “Tell me what you know of this man.” He points to KC’s face.
Instead of looking at the photo, they just stare at him, dumbstruck. One woman has literally stopped crying mid-sob, like Alexandru’s outrageous hotness knocked the sadness right out of her.
A thrill skitters up my spine, watching him in action out in the wild. It’s not the place, not the time, but sometimes he takes my breath away.
“This male. You three are pictured on the team with him. What can you tell me about him?”
I raise my brows; I didn’t know his raptor-like vision extended to photos.
One of the women takes the framed photo and scowls at it. “Oh yeah, that’s KC Hawkins.”
The tallest of the three makes a sound of disgust. “That jerk. He got the whole team banned from state one year. It was awful.”
I move in next to Alexandru. “What happened?”
“He hacked into the competition coordinator’s email and downloaded the question database for regionals,” the first one says. “He was telling kids on the team which topics to focus on, sneaking in his own flashcards, and it was very suspicious how right he always was.”
“Yeah, and Mr. Lernov busted him. He could tell the team’s accuracy was too high,” the tallest one puts in. “The school made KC turn over his laptop, and the proof was all there.”
I glance at Alexandru. He raises one eyebrow a fraction of an inch. We’ve got something. I want to grab his arms and yell Dude! and swing him around or something.
“Mr. Lernov got the Quiz Bowl people involved, not to mention the principal and his parents. KC was acting like Mr. Lernov was this bad guy for reporting it and ruining his college prospects, but what about us? We had to forfeit all our regional wins. We didn’t get to go to state.
The following few years, everybody looked at us like we were cheating if we did well. ”
“Did KC get kicked out of school?” I ask, trying hard not to look at Alexandru because I feel like he’ll make me smile.
The women look at each other. “I feel like he got suspended for a pretty long time,” the tallest one says, and the others nod in agreement. “Such a loser.”
“Mr. Lernov didn’t deserve that,” the first one says, protective. “KC made him out to be the villain when he was just doing his job.”
I nod solemnly, like I’m commiserating about the injustice to Mr. Lernov. Which I am. But also: we need to get out of here so I can properly freak out about this lead.