8. Ryan #2
Ally takes my wrist before I can put the phone away. “Ryan.”
“What?”
“Don’t get caught.”
“That was already part of the plan.”
The door opens without warning. I turn so fast my hand is already moving toward Ally before Becca sticks her head inside. “Jesus, Rambo.”
“Knock next time?”
“You told me to come.” She comes in and takes one look at Ally. Her expression changes immediately. “Hey.”
“I’m okay.”
“Didn’t ask.” Becca crosses the room and hugs her. Ally goes into her arms without arguing. That tells me exactly how not okay she is. Becca looks over her shoulder at me. “I’ve got her.”
My phone vibrates. Penny.
Penny: meeting over
All three of us go quiet. Another message.
Penny: he’s coming out
I look at Ally. “Stay here.”
“Ryan—“
“Wait.” Thirty seconds.
Penny: talking to headmaster in hall
Another thirty.
Penny: walking toward front entrance
Penny: outside
I wait. My heart is pounding now. Not fear. Timing. Everything becomes timing.
Penny: car is here
Penny: getting in
Penny: gone
I look at Becca. “Nobody comes through that door.”
“Nobody comes through that door.”
Then Ally catches my hand. I look at her. “Come back.”
Two words. Not be careful. Not don’t get caught. Come back. I squeeze her fingers. “Always.”
Then I go. By the time I reach the second floor, Cat is already moving. She passes me near the stairs carrying a folder thick enough to qualify as a weapon. We don’t stop.
“Thirty seconds,” she says.
I take the longer route around the science corridor. My phone vibrates.
Danny: back hall clear
X: main hall clear
Iz: I’m being very distracting
I round the corner to see Iz leaning against the wall outside administration talking to three girls, one guy, and Coach Dempsey.
How the fuck he collected five people in under three minutes is a question for another day.
He’s laughing about something. Loudly. Everybody is looking at him.
Of course they are. He sees me. Doesn’t acknowledge me.
Through the glass doors of administration, I see Cat arrive at Mrs. Halverson’s desk.
“Hi. I’m sorry, but I need somebody to explain this to me because the registrar’s answer makes absolutely no sense.”
Mrs. Halverson looks up. Poor woman. She has no idea what’s about to happen to her. “What seems to be the problem, Catherine?”
“My transcript.” Cat lays several pages across the counter. “I think one of my weighted courses is being calculated incorrectly.”
Mrs. Halverson looks down. “I don’t see an error.”
“Exactly.” I almost laugh. Mrs. Halverson frowns. Cat launches. “The issue isn’t the grade. The issue is the weighting standard being applied to dual-enrollment coursework versus AP equivalency, because the registrar’s email says—“
I slip through the side entrance. Nobody looks at me. The headmaster’s office door is closed. Mrs. Halverson is already pulling something up on her computer. Cat has moved her to the far side of the office. I scan the front counter.
Nothing. Fuck. Desk. Clipboard. Folders. Nothing. Where did Roman sign it?
I look toward the smaller conference desk behind the partition Ally described. There. A cream folder. Edgewood crest. A blue sticky note on top.
O’TOOLE, ALISON
Everything inside me goes cold.
I cross the office. Don’t rush. Don’t look suspicious. Which is difficult when I am, in fact, doing something extremely fucking suspicious. I open the folder. First page.
STUDENT WITHDRAWAL AND TRANSFER AUTHORIZATION
I take the picture. Page two. Academic records release. Picture. Page three. Enrollment verification request. Picture.
I don’t read. Not here. Not with Mrs. Halverson fifteen feet away and Cat eventually running out of creative ways to misunderstand grade weighting. Picture. Turn. Picture. Turn. Picture. Receiving institution. Picture. Supporting documentation. Picture. Financial records. Picture. Travel paperwork.
My hand pauses. Travel? No. Read later. Picture. Turn. Picture.
There’s more than I expected. Way fucking more. This isn’t someone moving their kid from one private school to another. There are medical releases. Housing paperwork. Travel consent. Copies of identification. A passport information page. Ally’s passport.
My pulse is hammering now.
I hear Cat behind me. “I’m sorry, but if the school is applying the collegiate weighting scale, why does the handbook specifically reference equivalent AP rigor?”
I reach the final page. Photograph it. Then put everything back. Exact order. Edges straight. Folder closed. Sticky note exactly where it was. I turn. Mrs. Halverson is still looking at the computer. Cat is still politely ruining her afternoon. I walk out through the side entrance.
Iz is telling Coach Dempsey a story that apparently requires his entire body. He catches my eye for half a second. I tap my phone against my thigh. Got it. He doesn’t react. I keep walking.
My phone vibrates before I hit the stairwell.
Kaid: good?
got it
Cat: YOU OWE ME.
deeply
Cat: I have just pretended not to understand grade weighting for twelve straight minutes. I feel dirty.
Danny: thoughts and prayers
Iz: so brave
Cat: Fuck all of you.
I take the stairs two at a time. Not because I’m panicking. Because now I have the answer in my fucking pocket. I just haven’t read it yet.
Becca unlocks the music-room door before I knock. Ally is standing behind her.
The second she sees me, she searches my face. “Well?”
“I have it.”
Her shoulders sag. “Was it mine?”
“Yeah.”
She closes her eyes. “He’s pulling me.”
“Yes.”
I lock the door behind me. Then we move to the back of the room. Ally sits on the piano bench. Becca beside her. I crouch in front of them and open my photos.
First page. Withdrawal. We already know that. Second. Academic release. Third. I zoom.
Receiving Institution: L’Institut Sainte-Catherine
Ally leans closer. “What is that?”
“No idea.”
“French,” Becca says.
I glance at her. “You know it?”
“The language, dumbass. Not the school.”
Right. Sometimes I forget Becca’s childhood was less family vacations and more Theodore dragged his terrifyingly intelligent daughter across half the planet and accidentally created a tiny diplomat.
I swipe. There. Enrollment confirmation. Same name. L’Institut Sainte-Catherine. An address sits beneath it. I read it once. My brain doesn’t process it. I read it again. Vevey, Switzerland.
My stomach drops. No. Fucking no.
“Ryan?” I don’t answer. Ally leans closer. “What?”
Becca reads it over my shoulder. Her expression changes. “Oh, fuck.”
Ally looks between us. “What?”
I lift my eyes to hers. “Switzerland. It’s in Switzerland.”
Her face empties. “My dad is transferring me to Switzerland.”
“That’s what the paperwork says.”
“No.”
“Ally—“
“No, I mean—“ She looks at me. “That’s not another school.”
“I know.” Her hand goes to her stomach. Becca immediately takes her other one. I move closer. “Pretty girl.”
“He’s sending me to Switzerland.”
“He’s planning to.”
“What’s the difference?”
“The difference is he doesn’t know we know.” Her eyes stay on mine. “Roman thinks he walked into Edgewood, signed his paperwork, and left. He doesn’t know you saw him. He doesn’t know I copied every fucking page.”
Becca reaches for my phone. “Give me that.” I hand it over. She starts scrolling. Fast. Not panicked. Reading. Actually reading. Her eyes move over the enrollment paperwork, then the next page. “This is full residential.”
Ally looks at her. “What?”
“Not an exchange. Not a semester abroad where you’re staying with a host family. Residential enrollment.”
“I know what residential means.”
“I know. I’m telling you what they’re saying.” She scrolls again. “This is an authorization for the school to handle routine medical care while you’re there.” Another page. “Academic records. Financial guarantee.” Another. “Travel authorization.” Her finger stops. “Jesus.”
“What?” I ask. Becca zooms in.
“Your passport information.” Ally goes pale.
“What?”
“It’s already attached.”
Becca looks at me. “This wasn’t arranged this morning.”
“I figured.”
“No, Ryan.” She turns the screen toward me. “This is an actual enrollment packet. There are completed authorizations from multiple places. Travel documents. Residential paperwork. Medical paperwork. This took time.”
Ally is staring at the phone. “How much?”
“I don’t know.” Becca keeps scrolling. “But your dad didn’t wake up this morning, get pissed off at your friends, and call some school in Switzerland.”
Yesterday didn’t cause this. Yesterday might have changed something. But Roman had already been planning to send her away.
Ally’s voice is quiet. “So he knew.”
“Knew what?” I ask.
“That he was sending me when he sat across from me yesterday. He knew when he talked about graduation. He knew when Victor talked about the wedding.”
“We don’t know when he made the decision.”
“But it was before yesterday.” Becca answers that one.
“Yes.” No bullshit. No trying to make it softer.
Ally nods slowly. Then she looks at the paperwork again. “Is all of it in French?”
“Some. Most of what Ryan photographed is English because it’s the paperwork Edgewood and your father needed. The school documents are mixed.”
She goes back to the paperwork. A few seconds later, her expression changes again.
“What?”
“There’s an intake date.”
Everything in me tightens. Ally goes still. “When?”
Becca turns the phone so we can both see.
Monday, April 6, 2026.
Not tomorrow. Not this week. Not even next week. Weeks away. Enough time that my lungs actually work again. Not enough time that I feel anything close to relief.
Ally calculates it faster than I do. Her hand presses more firmly against her stomach. “That’s not very long.”
No. For anyone else, it might be. For us? For the baby she’s trying to hide? For the warrants Arthur still can’t promise? For Tobias? It’s fucking nothing.
I take her hand. “It’s more than today.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.” I squeeze. “It’s supposed to keep us from pretending this is happening tomorrow when it isn’t.”
Becca keeps reading. “There’s private travel coordination too.”
“Private plane?” Ally asks.