“B?”
“Someone—someone tweeted me from Erica’s account. It said, ‘Remember me?’ over and over again.”
“That could be anyone, you know, it could mean anything.”
“And then someone called me and it—” Just the echo of the voices on the phone stung her. “It was a recording of us that night. Right…right before everything happened.”
“Someone’s playing a joke on you. That’s all it is. Someone is playing a really awful joke on you. It’s probably some horrible ass from your old school. Some idiot who thinks he’s being funny.”
Brynna wasn’t sure if Evan was trying to convince her or himself.
“Did Erica have any siblings or anything? They could have easily had access to her accounts and stuff.”
She shook her head. “No. Well, her father was married before, but his stepson was, like, ten years older than us. He never lived with Erica or anything.”
Evan tapped his foot on the hardwood. “B—what is it?”
Brynna swallowed hard. “What if—what if it’s not someone from my old school? What if it’s Erica? What if she’s back?”
FIVE
Brynna nearly dropped her mug when her cell phone started blaring. She glanced down, certain it was Erica, and blew out a semi-relieved sigh when she recognized the number.
“Hello?”
“Oh, Brynna, thank god. Where have you been? Why weren’t you answering?”
“Dad?” Brynna inched back as though her father were standing in front of her. “Uh, I was in school. I can’t use the phone until school is over.”
Her father sounded exhausted—and irate. “You got out of school over an hour ago.”
Brynna’s eyes went wide. “I did?”
“Your mother and I have been worried sick. She came to pick you up and you weren’t there. She’s been driving around looking for you, and I was just about to leave the office and—Brynna, what’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing, Dad. I just lost track of time.”
He let out a long, exasperated sigh. “You know we had a deal.”
A lick of anger sparked in the pit of Brynna’s stomach. “I know, Dad,” she said slowly, trying to keep her voice even. “I wasn’t doing anything. I just—” She thought of telling her father about the tweet but just as quickly dismissed the idea. Her parents would probably move Dr. Rother in with them and give Brynna a drug test with her Cheerios every morning and a breathalyzer check at lunch. “I was just,” she thought fast, “watching the swim team practice.”
There was a long pause, and Brynna imagined her father, pushed back in his enormous leather office chair, pulling out his legal pad and writing himself a message: Brynna—late—on drugs?
“I’m really sorry. I guess I just got caught up. The team is doing heats.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stave off the headache that was already starting. “I’m helping the coach keep time.”
“The swim team, huh?” Her father’s voice took on a note of interest, and Brynna envisioned him scrawling a second note: swim team—better?
“It’s over in twenty minutes. And Evan’s here. He could drive me home.”
Another pause. “You’re still in trouble, young lady. Your mother will be waiting outside the gym when the swim team is through.”
???
After a “we’re all trying to learn together” lecture from her parents and a grounding, Brynna retired to her bedroom and braved a hot shower that was more panic-inducing than relaxing. Wrapped in her robe, she crossed her room, her fingers brushing over her iPad. Should she check?
She swiped the thing on, and when she got to her mailbox, she let out the breath she didn’t know she had been holding. The only tweets were from Lauren with a few responses from Teddy and Darcy. Nothing serious.
Nothing from Erica.
She glanced down at the phone and scrolled to the call log, finding the number with the Point Lobos area code. She hit the send button without waiting for her heart rate to climb or that little inner voice to tell her to stop. There was an odd crackle as if her call was going through actual wires and being connected, and then she heard the first ring. It shot a chill straight through her.
What would I say to Erica?
I’m sorry.
I should have let the dare go.
I miss you.
Is it really you?
Images of Erica pinballed through Brynna’s head while a second ring sounded. She remembered Erica with pigtails when they step-touched on their first day of dance class. Erica licking her greasy, salt-covered fingers after she ate all Brynna’s fries when Brynna never even offered. The way Erica’s eyes looked when Brynna said, “I dare you.” Wide. Round. Scared.
There was a click on the other end, and someone sucked all the air out of the room.
“Erica, is that you?” she stuttered into the phone.