For a second, his heart felt full.
But later, as he was walking out—walking, not being shoved—he pushed his feelings away. He reached into his back pocket and ran the flash drive between his fingers.
There was something wrong there.
Something very wrong.
His Kinley—his only friend in all of this—was full of shit.
Five years ago, he had been chosen for the May Day parade.
Not Kinley.
And five years ago, there hadn’t been a parade.
It had been canceled due to rain.
Maybe she just had her facts wrong. Maybe it happened the year after. Or the year before.
But Tyler didn’t think so. His mother was on the parade committee, and he was pretty sure she would have mentioned a serious injury.
He wanted to believe Kinley. He told himself to believe her. But there was something wrong.
He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not on the walk to find the purple Jeep. Not when he arrived at home. Not until his brother confronted him in the front hallway, his voice hushed and urgent.
“Do you have it?” Jacob asked, standing close enough that Tyler could smell the wheatgrass smoothie on his breath.
Tyler stepped out of his shoes. His mother hated when people tracked things into the house. He reached into the waistband of his jeans and pulled out a small package wrapped in dark yellow paper and secured with careful strips of packing tape.
“Here.” Tyler handed the packet to his brother. “Make it last, okay? I don’t have access for a while.”
His brother tucked it under his arm. “Thanks, man. Listen, you’re resourceful. I’m sure you can handle it.”
Tyler narrowed his eyes and followed his brother into the kitchen. “No, dude. I can’t.”
Jacob filled himself a glass of water and turned toward him, leaning against the sink. “You will find it, Tyler. If you don’t, Mom and Dad might get suspicious.”
Tyler stared at Jacob. “Is that a threat, big brother?”
“You’ll figure it out.” He laughed, like it was all some big freaking joke.
“You’re not funny,” Tyler told him.
Jacob dumped the water out in the sink. “I know.”
Cade
Wednesday, June 17
“Doesn’t look like you’ll be having class tonight.”
Cade looked up from his Wheaties. They were his father’s favorite—he actually really believed that Breakfast of Champions stuff, and it was all they’d had at the house for years and years. Once, Cade had snuck Froot Loops in to share with his sister, and when his father found out, well . . . Cade may as well have been sneaking heroin.
“What do you mean?” Cade asked. His father was scrolling through his iPad, like he did every morning now. A couple years ago, he had declared paper passé and decided e-books and e-papers were the only things worth his time.
“Who was your teacher? Stratford?”
Cade’s pulse sped up, until it seemed like little lightning bolts were speeding through his body. “Yeah?” he asked, forcing his voice to be level. Calm. He thought about what he’d normally say about Stratford. “He’s such an asshole.”
His father raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat. “Well, you might want to keep that opinion to yourself. It would appear he’s missing. He was last seen”—he paused, scrolling through the paper—“last Friday. Probably after your class. It appears that he was headed through the parking lot, toward his home.”
Cade forced himself to take another spoonful of ?Wheaties. They were dry and scratchy in his throat and a pain to swallow. Wait. Hadn’t Kip said he’d seen him after class? He must have gone to the police.
“He didn’t show at class on Monday,” Cade said, chasing another soggy rectangle of wheat around his cereal bowl. “I told the office. We waited a little longer after that, but eventually the whole class just left.”
“You told them?” His father pointed at him. “You?”
Cade suddenly was uncomfortable, like he was too big for his chair. “Uh, yeah. Just the receptionist. She didn’t seem concerned. Stratford’s a little . . . intense. I didn’t want him blaming the class when no one was there.”
Mr. Sano shook his head. “Just surprised you were the one to do the right thing. That’s all.”
Cade should have been used to it. He should have. It wasn’t like his father didn’t do this every time they were together. But still, the words burrowed their way through his skin and into his stomach, where they sat, weighty and sick.
Mr. Sano laid the iPad on the table and considered his son. He pointed at him with the spoon.
“Cade, if there’s something going on, I need to know. You need to tell me.” He paused. “Your sister talked to me, and I helped her, you know.”
“Yeah, you helped her, all right.”