Jonah remembered that Katherine hadn’t been able to help Chip out the night before, because she’d had gymnastics practice. He felt a little guilty for not helping Chip himself.
“And,” Chip continued, “every single ‘survivor’ I’ve talked to is adopted, just like us. They’re all thirteen years old, or they’ll turn thirteen within the next month. They all have fall birthdays. And all of them were about three months old when they were adopted.”
Just like me, Jonah thought.
“What are they—clones?” he asked sarcastically. “Did you ask to check their DNA?”
“Jonah, eight of them are girls. Three are Asian. Two are black. They’re not clones.”
Jonah decided to stop making jokes.
“I haven’t even told you the weirdest thing,” Chip said. “Everybody lives here in Liston or in Upper Tyson or Clarksville.” Upper Tyson and Clarksville were the two closest suburbs.
“So?” Jonah challenged. “How’s that weird? Maybe this is just the territory for the FBI office I went to.”
Chip shook his head.
“Most of the kids were adopted in other places, like me,” Chip said. “But even the ones who used to live someplace else, they’ve all moved here. All within the past six months. That’s twelve kids moving here, all since June.”
Jonah had chills suddenly. Then he thought of something.
“Wait a minute—let me see that list again.”
Chip pulled the papers back out of his pocket. Jonah yanked it out of his friend’s hands and stabbed a finger at one line of print.
“See, this person you were asking me about before, that’s an address in Ann Arbor, Michigan,” he said triumphantly. “That’s miles away, a whole different state. Maybe it’s just a coincidence that Katherine only got the complete information on people who live close by. No, wait—here’s somebody in Winnetka, Illinois. So, there are at least two people who live somewhere else—”
“Jonah, that’s me, in Winnetka,” Chip said. “I’m on the list twice, with my new address and my old one, both, just like I got two copies of each of those weird letters….” His voice faltered. “Oh, I see….”
“What?” Jonah thought of something new, too. “You think the FBI sent us the letters?”
“No…I don’t know,” Chip said distractedly. “But this person in Ann Arbor? It’s a girl, and her name’s Daniella McCarthy.”
The only thing Jonah could see above the address, 103 Destin Court, Ann Arbor, Michigan, was a little line, right above the t of Court. It might have been the loop of the y at the end of McCarthy. Or it might have been just a wrinkle in the paper, magnified and darkened by the camera.
“How do you figure that?” Jonah asked.
“I bet you anything it’s the same girl as down here, the one at 1873 Robin’s Egg Lane,” Chip said. “And I bet there’s a Robin’s Egg Lane in Liston or Upper Tyson or Clarksville. That’s the pattern on the entire list—old address, new address…. I bet if I call this Ann Arbor number, I’ll get one of those messages, ‘Doo-doo-doo…The number you are calling has been changed. The new number is…’” He’d made his voice robotic, just like a computerized phone message. Now he slipped back into his usual voice. “I’ll prove it.”
He pulled his cell phone out of his backpack and began dialing.
“Chip, do that later. The bus is coming,” Jonah said, because he could see the headlights swinging around the corner.
“I’m just going to get a machine,” Chip said. “Got anything to write with?”
Jonah fished a pen out of his own backpack. Chip held out his left palm.
“I’ll repeat the number back to you. You write it on my hand,” Chip said.
Chip was still talking when the phone clicked—Jonah was close enough to hear—and a decidedly noncomputerized voice said, “Hello?”
It sounded like a girl.
“Uh, hello,” Chip said awkwardly. “Uh, Daniella?”
“Yes?” She sounded impatient.
“Um…you still live in Ann Arbor?”
“Where else would I live?”
“Uh, Liston, Ohio? Or maybe Upper Tyson or Clarksville, but that’s not as likely—are you sure you aren’t moving or planning to move or in the process of—?”
“No,” the girl said, in a tone that very clearly said, that is such a stupid question.
“Hey, you two going to school today?” the bus driver yelled.
Jonah realized that the bus had arrived and almost all the other kids had already climbed on. He jerked on Chip’s arm, pulling him toward the bus.
“Um, sorry,” Chip was saying into the phone. “I think I have some bad information. You really don’t have another address on a Robin’s Egg Lane in another city?”
Jonah couldn’t hear what the girl said in reply, because they were stumbling up the steps. But a moment later, as they shoved their way down the aisle, Chip began pleading, “No, wait, don’t hang up—are you adopted?”
“Great pickup line, dude,” an eighth-grader muttered from his seat.
Chip lowered the phone from his ear.
“Let me guess—she hung up?” Jonah asked.
Chip nodded.
Both of them plopped into their seat as the bus pulled away from the curb.
“Wow—you really have a way with girls,” Jonah wisecracked.
Chip shook his head.
“I don’t understand. This doesn’t fit the pattern at all. And now she’s all mad at me, just for asking—really, I did a much better job with all the other calls, or I had Katherine make them—”
“So just have Katherine call this Daniella back tonight and ask things the right way,” Jonah said.
“You don’t understand,” Chip said. “I want to know everything now.”
Chip slumped in the seat, staring at the cell phone as if it had betrayed him. He looked so miserable that Jonah felt obligated to cheer him up.
“Hey,” Jonah said, jostling Chip’s arm. “You and Katherine have been hanging out together a lot. Do you still have a crush on her?”
It was strange, how talking about Chip’s liking Katherine had become the safe topic.