Find Me Page 5

  “Whoever sent this . . .” Lauren studies the email on my computer screen. I watch her eyes trace the words twice more. “Whoever sent this thinks you can help.”

  And why the hell is that? It’s not like Tessa and I were close. I mean, we were friends once, but my dad ruined it. It was one of the few times he actually remembered to pick me up. I was at Tessa’s house, and he showed up drunk. I remember being so embarrassed and then just grateful he wasn’t angry, or trying to hit me. It should have been a good day.

  But the Wayes were horrified, especially Mr. Waye, who said he didn’t want his daughter hanging around such “trash.” Tessa never spoke to me again. She wouldn’t want my help. After that afternoon, she never wanted anything more to do with me.

  It makes me the worst person for the job.

  Or am I better suited because I knew what really went on behind the Wayes’ closed doors?

  “Wick?” I jerk to attention. Lauren is still staring at me. “How did someone get the idea you could help? What kind of hacking are you doing?”

  Her question smothers me. “I dig up personal information on people.”

  “What kind of personal information?”

  “The kind that wives and girlfriends want to know: finances, other women, jobs.”

  “Why?”

  I start to say something, but Lauren nods. She looks around my borrowed bedroom and she knows.

  “I thought you quit, but you never stopped, did you? How long have you been doing this?”

  “Three, maybe, four years?” Lauren studies me. I can’t tell what’s she’s thinking until her attention swings down to the diary. “What are you doing?” I demand.

  “Looking through the diary.” She flips past the opening pages, lingers over the torn-out section. “Everyone wants to know why Tessa killed herself. This could have the answers.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “You mean you haven’t?”

  “Yes—no!” I sound ridiculous. “I did glance through it, but it was wrong. Privacy is important. Just because Tessa’s dead doesn’t mean we can forget that her diary was never intended for anyone else’s eyes. It’s wrong.”

  “Fine.” Lauren snaps the book shut, thrusts it at me. “But someone wanted you to read it.” Why else would it get left?

  “Who cares?”

  “You do. I know you, Wick. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t do something.”

  “Bullshit, I don’t care about Tessa Waye.”

  But I know I’m lying.

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  I don’t think about my life as having to live up to

  my parents’ expectations. I want to. I’m just doing

  an epically shitty job of it.

  —Page 14 of Tessa Waye’s diary

  Lauren’s right, of course. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself, but that doesn’t mean something’s not badly wrong here. You don’t ask someone to find you if you’re planning on committing suicide, and if this is a cry for help or whatever, you sure as hell don’t ask someone you haven’t spoken to in years.

  But of course, none of these objections surface until Lauren’s left. After she’s gone, I sit in my room for a long time, the sheer weirdness spiraling around in my head in kaleidoscope colors. At first, I stare at my computer, refreshing my in-box every few minutes, waiting for my stalker to take the bait. Then I stare at the diary.

  After a few minutes, I pick it up again, turn to the beginning, and read. I’m barely onto the second page before she starts talking about how much she likes this guy. He’s funny, hot, and . . . I flip a few pages ahead . . . and he has no name.

  What the hell is this? First pages are ripped out and now names are missing.

  “Wick?” Bren’s voice floats down the hallway. “Do you want dinner?”

  Not really, but if I don’t, Bren will think I’m developing an eating disorder, and that’s the last thing I need. “Down in a minute!” I call.

  I tuck the diary away, send my computer into sleep mode, and dig through the gym bag sitting at the foot of my bed for a clean T-shirt and shorts. I find some, but they’re wrinkled. Bren hates that, so I try to smooth the fabric.

  We’ve been here for five months now. Lily’s been unpacked for weeks, but I’m still living out of my Adidas bag. There’s no point in hanging up my stuff. It just makes everything take longer when we have to leave.

  I head downstairs, barely making it to the landing before I hear Lily squeal loud enough to make my back teeth click together. Paper bags crinkle, and another round of squealing ignites.

  Bren’s been shopping again. I round the corner into the living room just as Lily pulls a bright pink dress on top of her school clothes. It has a fitted bodice and full skirt. There’s some sort of lace on the sleeves. It’s very girly and would take a round of rhino tranqs to make me wear it, but Lily’s grin is wrapped around her head.

  Bren kneels between the shopping bags, watching my sister spin in circles. She’s still playing with her pearls, but you can see the cartoon hearts blooming in Bren’s eyes. She’s totally taken with Lily, and honestly, I get it. I do. Lily’s adorable. It’s easy to fall in love with her. She’s small-boned and blonde with atmosphere-blue eyes and the world’s sweetest demeanor.

  I am heart-attack serious here. My sister looks like small woodland creatures should be brushing her hair or helping her dress. I have never understood how we share the same gene pool.

  Bren probably doesn’t either, because as soon as she notices me standing in the doorway, the edges of her mouth pull low. Her pale eyes trail down my shirt, snagging on the wrinkles. I start to tug the fabric straight and stop.

  I tell myself I don’t care what she thinks, and I’m so good at lying, I almost believe it.

  “Are you really feeling better, Wick? I could always bring you dinner in bed.”

  “No, I’m fine. You don’t have to do that.”

  “Wick!” Lily twists to the right and then to the left so I can see her dress from all angles. “Isn’t it great? I’m going to wear it to the lake house this summer.”

  “Wow, Lil. It’ll be perfect.” I guess. The dress looks a little fancy for going to the Callaways’ lake house, but I’ve never lived with people who had second homes, so what do I know?

  “I got you some things today.” Bren nudges a dark blue Abercrombie bag toward me. “I saw them and thought of you.”

  I peek inside. She saw baby-duck yellow and thought of me?

  There are two pairs of jeans, a few tank tops, some sort of long leather thing that’s either a belt or something to hang yourself with. They’re all very preppy, which kinda makes me think of Griff. Somehow I don’t think he’d be into baby-duck yellow either, but I’m not really sure.

  I put the clothes back in the bag. I don’t understand why Bren’s doing this. I don’t think anyone ever told her you don’t have to treat your foster kids that great. I mean, it’s not like the last three places liked us that much.

  Lily says Bren does extra stuff because she’s always wanted kids, and I guess I should be happy about that, because Lily’s always wanted a mom. She was seven when our mom died, and even though it’s been a long time, there’s still a forever hole inside Lily.

  So even though I don’t get Bren and I’m a little scared to even like her, I think of my sister and summon a smile. “Wow, they’re super nice. You shouldn’t have.”

  “I really hope you like them. They had the cutest dresses too. You would look so adorable in—”

  “Wicket?”

  I look up. Todd’s standing in the doorway, both hands braced on either side of the jamb.

  “Yeah?”

  “There’s someone here to see you.”

  Bren and Lily swivel to get a better look at me; then, simultaneously, their attention switches to Todd.

  “
Someone from school?” Bren asks.

  Todd shakes his head. “No, it’s Detective Carson from the police.”

  Carson stands at the end of the hallway, near the front door. It’s not overly bright, but he’s still wearing his sunglasses. The aviators are so dark it looks like part of his face has been scraped away, leaving only blackened hollows. I’m about halfway to him when Carson spreads his feet and slumps his shoulders like he’s all relaxed.

  But when Todd and I get closer, the veins on his neck bulge.

  “Hello, Wicket. Do you remember me?” Carson thrusts out his right hand.

  I ignore it. “You’d be a little hard to forget.”

  The offered hand retracts. He shrugs, takes off the sunglasses. “Fair enough.”

  Except it isn’t fair, I want to say. It isn’t fair at all. Seeing him makes me start shaking. It also makes me want to rage. The irony is, we’re kind of alike. We’re both interested in my dad. Carson wants to know where he is so he can arrest him. I want to know where my dad is so Lily and I can run the other way. Odds are, neither of us is going to get what we want.

  I push away from Todd. “Did you find my dad? Is that why you’re here?”

  Carson hesitates, his attention ping-ponging between Todd and me. “No, it’s not. I’m not here about your father. I’m here because of Tessa Waye.”

  I hear liquid churning in my ears. My blood is humming like bees trying to escape a hive. “What about her?”

  “I heard that you girls were friends.”

  I fight off a scowl. Damn Nurse Smith.

  “Did you notice any differences in Tessa’s behavior before she died? Did Tessa tell you anything?” Carson asks.

  Of course not. Tessa wasn’t big on good-byes, or she wasn’t five years ago. I remember finding her in the hallway after that awful afternoon, and she just walked right by me like I didn’t even exist. Sometimes, I would catch her eye across the lunchroom, but after a while, even that stopped.

  It should’ve pissed me off, but instead I was just . . . hurt. Sad thing is , she could’ve walked up to me yesterday and asked to be friends again and I would’ve said yes. Pathetic, isn’t it? Thing is, Tessa was the only person who liked me the way I was. Bren didn’t. She overhauled me as soon as she could, and Lauren only met me afterward. For both of them, my past is past. They don’t understand how it still lives under my skin. But, if Tessa came back, and she was okay with it, maybe I could be okay with it too.

  I miss her. Probably always will.

  I shrug. “No, nothing.”

  “But you were classmates at school. Surely you must have been around her a lot.”

  “No, not really.”

  Carson raises one eyebrow. “But I heard you were awfully upset about what happened.”

  I open my mouth, half-ready to say I don’t even know what, when Todd puts his arm around me. There’s no pressure, but my words retreat like they were yanked from the tip of my tongue.

  “Everyone was upset to hear what happened, Detective,” Todd says, his fingertips brushing my collarbone. “Tessa was a wonderful person.”

  Carson’s attention flicks to me. “And that’s why you were so upset? Because she was ‘wonderful’?”

  “Wicket can feel however she wants.” Todd sounds all adult and authoritative. Actually, that’s not quite right. He sounds defensive. “The last time I checked, feelings weren’t a crime.”

  Why would he be defensive? I blink. Blink again. He’s standing up for me. Part of me wants to say, What the hell? But another part of me starts to glow. I’m not alone.

  “We’ve already discussed this, Detective,” Todd continues, and I have to hide my surprise. He’s already spoken to Detective Carson? “You should be looking closer to Tessa’s home for answers. You need to speak with her father.”

  “Todd?” Bren’s voice floats down the hallway. She’s in the doorway, holding the cordless phone to her chest like it might leap away. She doesn’t even bother acknowledging Carson. “It’s the school’s principal again. He needs to speak with you about getting an additional counselor.”

  “I can call him back.”

  Why? So he can sit here with me instead? I blink—twice—before I realize that’s exactly what Todd wants to do. In fact, that’s exactly what he will do if I let him.

  All I’d have to do is ask.

  “It’s fine,” I say, but my voice wavers a little like it isn’t.

  Todd tenses, turning toward Bren. A charged silent something snakes between them. They heard the waver too. “Tell him I need five more minutes and—”

  “It’s fine.” I sound better now, more like myself. With the Callaways behind me, I feel a surge of courage. The detective can’t run me off. He can’t keep me scared anymore. I won’t let him. I look at Carson and smile. “After all, it’s just a few more minutes, right?”

  He smiles back. “Right.”

  Reluctantly, Todd stands, giving me one last, hard look before heading down the hallway. Carson and I watch each other in silence until we hear Todd pick up the phone.

  Then Carson’s smile drains like a wound. “You’re holding back on me. You know something.”

  “I know lots of things,” I retort. “Want to know something about the cop who sits outside my house every night?”

  Carson’s lips go thin as scars.

  I nudge my chin in Todd’s direction. “Think he might want to know about it too?”

  “If you were going to tell someone, you would have already done it.”

  True, but I’m not going to admit it.

  Carson’s eyes flick to the door and return to me. The skin around his eyes has softened. and his voice tips low. I’m sure he thinks it sounds all comforting, but my dad used the same tone with wound-up addicts. “You can talk to me, Wicket. I’m one of the good guys.”

  “Who sits outside our house every night.”

  “There’s more to this than you know.”

  No, dude, there’s more to this than you know.

  Carson’s hand lifts like he’s about to touch me. “You have to trust me.”

  Great. He’s going touchy-feely on me. . “I don’t think so.” I study him for a beat. “I thought Tessa’s death had been ruled a suicide.”

  “It has.”

  “Then why are you still investigating?”

  Carson stares down at me. The good cop routine switches, snaps off like a light, and the detective I remember from my dad’s bust emerges. “You know how I can tell you’re trouble?”

  I don’t answer. This is self-evident, I think. But I don’t say the word. He probably wouldn’t know what it meant. I raise my eyebrows instead, waiting for the explanation I know he’s just dying to make.

  “Because you have an answer for everything.” Carson pulls a little closer, and I have to stab my feet into the hardwood floor to stand my ground. “You see, nice girls don’t. They don’t know how to work law enforcement or social services because they’ve never been in them. But you have. Trash like you always has an answer.”

  His eyes sweep over me like he can see through the pretty new clothes, the pretty new haircut. That makes two of us.

  I glare up at him. “Ohhhh, so that’s it! Man, I’ve really been wondering. Thank God you could explain it to me.”

  Carson’s laugh is silent. “You’re brave now, aren’t you? That’s you, Trash. You always know how to play the game.” He looks incredibly amused, and motions to the polished foyer around us. “But what happens when all this goes away?”

  Yeah, what happens? The question feels so natural. Like it was living under my heart all this time.

  “I’ll leave my card.” Carson flicks out a business card, lays it on the side table. “It has my work and cell numbers. You’ll need them, kid.”

  He flashes me that smile again, the same as this morning’s. “After all, if you can’t trust the cops, Trash, who can you trust?”

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  My mom loves him, but he only wants me.

  —Page 22 of Tessa Waye’s diary

  Yeah, who can you trust? Definitely not Carson. Maybe not even me. I know better than to fall for Todd and Bren, and yet here I am. In Abercrombie. In some Peachtree City mansion.

  In denial.

  Or at least, I was. The soap bubble’s burst now. This is who I am: a foster kid living a borrowed life. How could I have been so stupid?

  There’s a small noise to my left, and when I look up, I see Lily trailing down the hallway. She’s been eavesdropping. “That went well.”

  “What can I say? I’m freaking sweetness and light.” I sound like it’s no big deal, and briefly, I’m proud. Then I remember Carson’s explanation for my smart mouth: Trash always has an answer.

  I guess he’s right. I might have a new address, but I’ll always be that same loser girl.

  Lily stands with me as I watch Carson’s sedan pull away. Part of me thinks this is becoming an annoying habit. Another part of me is panicking. I feel like my insides are about to turn outside, like even my bones want to escape.

  Escape where? It’s almost hilarious. I’ve nowhere to go.

  I rub my temples with both palms and realize I haven’t heard Todd’s voice in several minutes. I look past Lily, down the hallway, but it’s still deserted. “Is Todd still on the phone?”

  She nods, eyes still pinned to the window and the now empty street.

  I sag. Good. When Todd returns, there will be questions, and at the moment, I’m too tired to answer.

  Lily retreats a single, deliberate step and points her finger at my chest. “What have you done to make him hate us so much?”

  I hesitate. Carson’s interrogation was hard, but Lily’s will be far worse. “He doesn’t hate us.”