Another horn blast. An irate driver in a pickup truck swerved around her through the oncoming traffic lane, flipping her the bird as he passed.
“I said,” her manager repeated. His voice was steely. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
Josie shook her head, trying to jar her brain back into working order. Time? What time was it? Her eyes drifted to the dashboard clock.
“Four oh-nine?” She couldn’t keep the question out of her voice. Ten minutes? She’d been at the train crossing for ten minutes? That was impossible.
“Exactly,” he said. “You’re fired.”
She heard the phone go dead, yet Josie didn’t move. She stared at the digital clock display wondering what the hell had just happened.
4:21 P.M.
Josie eased the Teal Monster onto the soft shoulder of Leeland Road and cut the engine. She felt disoriented and confused, and her head still ached from the blinding flash of light that seemed to come from nowhere. She sat in the car, her heart pounding, and tried to figure out what she was going to do next.
She could have gone home, but to what? An empty house and no one to talk to. Not what she needed.
Other options: Penelope would be home, posting on one of her favorite online forums, but she’d immediately theorize that Josie’s experience at the train tracks was part of a government mind-control experiment gone haywire or something equally off the rails, and Josie wasn’t quite in the mood for that. Nick would still be at track practice. She hated bothering him while he was training for regionals, but maybe if she texted to explain what had just happened . . .
Josie paused. What had just happened to her? She had absolutely no clue. One minute she was counting train cars, then the Teal Monster jumped off its tires and something blinded her. A flash. From the train, maybe? She thought it had come from that direction, but what on the train could have produced a flash that painfully bright? She remembered squeezing her eyes shut against the blue-white light. And then . . .
Nothing.
She needed to talk this through with someone right away. Someone who would listen and wouldn’t judge. Like Madison.
Josie drove crosstown, the stupid mirror sliding back and forth in her trunk at every stop sign. All this drama for a mirror. She wanted to stop the car, haul the thing out, and smash it into a million pieces.
At the sight of Madison’s car in the driveway, Josie breathed a sigh of relief. She ran up the driveway, taking the wooden steps to the enclosed patio two at a time, and rang the doorbell.
Josie crossed her right foot behind her and tapped the toe of her pink tweed Converse impatiently while she waited. Come on, Madison! Answer the damn door. After what seemed like forever, Josie rang the bell again, leaning on it so the old-fashioned chime tolled half dozen times.
Still nothing. Maybe Madison had the music cranked up in her room and couldn’t hear?
Josie retreated down the steps and snaked around to the backyard. Madison’s house was in one of the newer developments, with lots of land in between the homes and absolutely no fences, unlike the craftsman Josie’s parents owned in the old part of town, where the lots were practically on top of one another. Josie half expected to hear Madison’s favorite Pandora station blaring from the open window of her second-floor bedroom, but the whole house was oddly quiet.
Where the hell are you, Mads?
She pulled out her phone and checked the time. Four forty-five. Nick might be done with practice. It was worth a shot. She hit the call button and held her breath.
As the phone rang in Josie’s ear, another sound drifted down from above. A tinny rendition of Josie and Nick’s song. Which was also his custom ringtone for her calls.
Josie froze. Her phone continued to ring before it went to voice mail. “Hey, this is Nick. You know what to do.”
Josie hit redial before the beep. She didn’t even hold the phone to her ear, her arm lank by her side as she gazed up at the house. Once again, the opening chords of their song drifted down from the second floor. Through the open window in Madison’s bedroom.
With a shaky hand, Josie ended the call and immediately dialed Madison’s cell.
Another cell-phone ringtone pierced the stillness of the afternoon—“Weird Science” by an old eighties band called Oingo Boingo—which Madison had programmed for Josie.
From the room above, someone silenced the phone after just a few seconds of ringing.
“Shit,” said a male voice.
Nick’s voice.
Josie caught a flicker of movement at the curtain in Madison’s window. A flutter as if someone had peeked out, then quickly let the fabric fall back into place.
“Shit.” Madison’s voice echoed.
Josie felt all the warmth drain out of her body. Her hands went numb, and the landscaped backyard blurred in and out of focus. The realization was slow and painful. Her best friend. Her boyfriend. The oldest cliché in the book.
“Seriously?” Josie said out loud. Her voice shook. “On our anniversary? Seriously?”