“But it was just a day,” I say, hating the hollow ache in my middle.
“Hm, I think I need to be more clear.” A wicked smile curves on his face as he leans close, his breath tickling the side of my neck. “I’m not going to kiss you in front of him. But you’d better believe I’m thinking about it.”
He backs away again, and I’m pretty sure he takes all the oxygen in the room with him because every breath I take feels thinner than the last.
“So this weekend,” he says. “Study date? We’ve got that pre-calc final.”
“I just tanked my quizzes in chemistry and English. You might need to trade me up for a better model.”
“Hell no. Math’s your subject. You’re not getting out of helping me because of a bad mood.”
He dumps his tray by the cafeteria door, keeping only the apple he stole from my plate. I can’t help but call across to him.
“You’re not even eating?”
“I paid for the company,” he says. He gives me one last grin, one that makes my whole middle squeeze in on itself, and then he’s gone.
Blake’s expression wipes the smile right off my face. I see him whip out his cell phone, texting something almost violently.
“Okay, I’m officially wanting t-to know what the hell you’re up to.”
I whirl with my tray, tuna sandwich almost sliding off. “Maggie?”
I don’t know whether to do cartwheels at the fact that she’s speaking to me in public or to be terrified of the bald accusation in her eyes.
“Yeah, we need t-to talk,” she says. “Back steps?”
“Definitely.”
We make our way out of the cafeteria to the back stairs of the school. During freshman year, I got in trouble once for being too loud in the cafeteria. When it became perfectly clear I was never going to learn to keep my trap shut, we found the back stairs. Right across from the girls’ bathroom, we could always claim feminine issues if the teachers asked.
I glance at the bathroom door, listening to the squeal of underclassmen inside. I remember those days, poised in front of the mirror, lip-glossing myself into a shimmery concoction for a boy that probably didn’t even know I existed.
We nibble our sandwiches in quiet for a while before Maggie puts hers down and brushes off her hands. “So what’s going on with you?”
“What do you mean?
“I mean your sudden g-guy switch. You’re t-trading in Blake f-for Adam?”
“It’s not like that,” I say, but really it’s sort of exactly like that.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
I put down my uneaten half sandwich. “No. I’m not.”
Maggie seems satisfied with this until she frowns. “I never got it, you know. The hot factor.”
“With Adam?” I ask.
She waves a hand dismissively. “No, not Adam. He’s g-got that whole tragic but beautiful thing happening, though I never thought you noticed.”
“I didn’t,” I admit, dropping my voice to a whisper. “But I do now. I can barely go an hour without noticing.”
“I was t-talking about Blake.”
I feel my nose wrinkle. “You didn’t get why I’d like Blake? Who doesn’t like Blake? He’s Mr. Nice Guy,” I say, though I’m sarcastic as hell.
Mags pushes her plate away and looks across the hall, shaking her head. “Maybe. Or maybe that’s what he wants everyone to think. I could never t-tell.”
“You never said anything to me.”
“I never thought your crush would come t-to anything.” She turns sideways on the step to face me.
It stings like a barbed hook, and I lean back, recoiling. “So you thought I never had a chance with him?”
“No. But I d-didn’t think he’d have a chance with you either. Not if you really knew him.”
I don’t know what to think then. I nod once, and Maggie picks at her sneaker.
“Did you look into Dr. Kirkpatrick?” she asks.
“I did. I thought I had something, but it might be a dead end.”
“Keep digging. I’m t-telling you, there’s something there.”
“What about Mr. Chow? Is he even still here this year?”
Maggie shakes her head. “I heard he got a teaching gig b-back in China. I don’t know—he seemed p-pretty harmless.”
“And my mild-mannered therapist didn’t?”
Maggie’s face pinches off. “Maybe. But she wasn’t.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to keep looking.”
“You don’t have to d-do anything.” She shrugs, sliding her disinterest back into place.
“Yes, I do. Julien said I know what happened to her. Do you think I can just let that be?”
“I d-don’t know how long you can let it be. Lately you haven’t exactly b-been the person I thought you were.”
“I’m still the same person. I haven’t changed.” Mags looks unconvinced, so I reach for her hand, giving her fingers a squeeze. “I know you don’t believe me.”
She pulls free from my grip. “You’re right.”
“Then I’ll prove it to you. And I’ll start with Julien.”
Chapter Nineteen
It’s one o’clock in the morning, and I’m hiding in my kitchen using the Internet on my dad’s cell phone. It’s not my finest moment. But I’m grounded from everything except going to school and using the bathroom, so I don’t have much of a choice—unless I want to risk the possibility that someone is tracking my phone or laptop and will see what I’m up to, which I seriously don’t. Yeah, I am totally that paranoid now. And determined, thanks to Maggie’s little challenge on the stairwell.
Sadly, Julien’s cyber trail is pure as driven snow. There are dozens of news clips from her life in Ridgeview. Her volunteer work at the senior center and a bunch of stuff on different academic awards she’s won over the years, but, funny enough, not a single thing from San Francisco. It’s like she fell headfirst into the San Andreas Fault.
My own phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it up, surprised to see Maggie’s number and a text message.
You asleep?
Nope. I’m researching.
A second passes, and my cell phone rings. I answer it with a laugh.
“Me too,” Maggie says.
I grin and wait her out. She wouldn’t be calling if she wasn’t helping.
“I found an address for the M-Millers.”
“The PO box, right?”
“No, a real one. And guess what? It’s not in San Francisco. It’s in San Diego. I mean, it could be someone else, b-but with the initials I and Q?”
Iona and Quentin. Miller is a common enough name, so I never even thought to try. Maggie gives me the address and the name of the nearest high school. I shake my head, amazed.
“I don’t know how you found it, but you’re a genius. I’ve got to call Adam.”
Maggie takes a breath on the other end of the line. I hesitate, frowning. “What’s the sudden silence? You want to say something, don’t you?” I ask.
“No. Yeah. M-maybe.”
I sigh, dropping onto one of the kitchen stools. “So what’s stopping you?”
“Nothing. I j-just think you should be careful.”
“Careful with Adam.”
Her silence confirms it. I roll my eyes. “You know, you’re starting to sound like my mother. The guy isn’t Hannibal Lecter, okay? I mean, maybe he’s had some trouble—”
“It’s pretty big t-trouble,” Maggie says, interrupting me. “Has he ever talked t-to you about it?”
“No. But I’ve never asked. So what if he made some mistakes? Haven’t we all?”
Maggie’s quiet for a moment, and I can tell she’s treading carefully. “Just ask him, all right?”
“Will do.”
“I need to g-get some sleep.”
“Mags, wait,” I say, before she can hang up.
“What?”
“Thank you. It’s been…really good to talk to you.”
She pauses before she hangs up. I know she’s not ready to say the same. But she’s thinking about it, and that’s something.
I put down my phone and stare at the browser on my dad’s phone, wondering about Adam’s so-called crimes. But juvenile records aren’t public record.
He’s been nothing but good to me. Good and honest and there. I don’t have a single reason not to trust him.
Except for Maggie’s advice.
I chew on my bottom lip and think long and hard about calling him. I could just ask. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it?
In the end, I snap my dad’s phone back on the charger on my way up to bed.