The original plan had been that I would go to the cops, but I’d known from the start that wouldn’t work. I hadn’t argued because I knew Pluto wouldn’t want to be second-guessed. I shifted again in the seat. I was sweating, and the plastic of the chair was making it worse.
Despite what Pluto thought, the cops wouldn’t listen to me. My brain stuttered on the name Pluto. I was still trying to get used to it. He’d insisted on fake names. And it wasn’t just his name. Pluto had come up with an entire alternate biography—?down to his hobbies and hair color. Everything about him was a lie, and it was my job to keep those lies straight, even in my own head. I was to forget everything real and replace it with what Pluto dreamed up so that the two could never be confused. It was probably a good idea. Not that I had any clue—?I wasn’t exactly a criminal mastermind. What I did know was that while Pluto might be right about names, I was right about the cops.
Mr. Lester was a better choice. First off, he was a huge believer in woo-woo, which meant he’d already be inclined to believe my story. He always talked about signs and trusting your gut. He wore a bracelet made of woven leather and rocks that some shaman gave him when he went to California on a meditation vacation. A man willing to wear magical rocks as an accessory was exactly the person I needed to disclose the whole thing to. Secondly, the cops would listen to him when he came forward. They could ignore me, but they wouldn’t take the chance with a school official. Lastly, as much as I teased him about his bracelet and motivational posters, he was one of the few people in this town I trusted. He’d help me. Even if he didn’t know exactly how he was accomplishing it. I’d volunteered in his office for years, and while I wouldn’t say we were friends, he liked me.
Another minute slowly ticked past. “Do you know how much longer he’ll be?” I asked Ms. Brew.
She looked up from her ancient computer monitor, mildly shocked to still see me there. I was willing to bet she was surfing some TMZ site and reading diet secrets of Kate Middleton instead of working.
“His phone meeting should be over soon,” she said, then resumed ignoring me.
I flicked through the brochures on the table. Support groups for LGBTQ students, info on how to identify addiction, and a helpful top ten list on how to deal with bullies. First bell rang, and the halls emptied out as everyone else hustled to class. A part of me wanted to forget the whole thing and go to history. Once I talked to Mr. L, there would be no going back. If I walked away now, I could avoid being involved any more than I already was.
Not that I was involved, I reminded myself for the thousandth time since I’d seen Paige on TV. If anything, I would help the situation resolve more quickly. There was no point in feeling guilty about it. Paige would be home safe and sound before she knew it. She would have been abducted regardless of what I did. It wasn’t like it was my idea—?the entire scheme had already been planned, down to the tiniest detail, before I knew a thing about it.
There had been a spreadsheet, for crying out loud; it was going ahead with or without me. I just had to do this small thing and then I’d have the money I needed for New York. Drew, and everyone else, would never know I’d lied, and I’d be out of this town forever as soon as the graduation ceremony ended. It would be worth it once it was over. Besides I couldn’t go back in time and change anything. Paige would be fine. More than fine. For people like her, everything always turned out.
I rested my palm on my belly and took a deep breath to ensure I was using my diaphragm the way Lester taught me freshman year when my anxiety had been really bad. Lester was always on me to stop imagining the worst. To focus on what really happened, not some worst-case scenario. Paige had disappeared Thursday after school. Now it was Monday morning. Basically four days. That was little more than a long weekend. I crossed and then uncrossed my legs. Paige would be found, there would be a tidy ransom, and then she’d be home. Easy peasy. Depending on how you looked at the situation, it wasn’t even really a crime, more like a political statement.
“Skye?”
My head jerked up. From the way Mr. Lester and the secretary were looking at me, I sensed he’d said my name more than once.
“Sorry.”
Mr. Lester winked. “The way you were ignoring me made me think you’d decided to go back to calling yourself Candi.”
I smiled weakly at his lame joke because that was what was expected.
His face morphed into his somber expression. “You needed to see me right away?”
Deep breath. Showtime. This was my last chance. I could burst into tears and plead panic over looming graduation, let him talk soothingly to me for a half hour and then walk away, or do what I’d promised.
“I need to talk to you about Paige Bonnet.”
Seven
Mr. Lester’s brows furrowed at the mention of Paige’s name. “Of course.” He stepped to the side so I could go into his office. I’d spent so much time in this space, I knew it like it was an extension of my own home. The back wall was floor-to-ceiling dark IKEA bookcases filled with books and odds and ends like a signed Lions football helmet and a stone Buddha. His desk and a large filing cabinet were tucked into the corner.
He’d replaced the industrial office furniture with two comfortable mismatched wingback chairs that took up the bulk of the space. It was supposed to give you the sense that you were simply having a casual conversation in someone’s living room instead of spilling your guts to a school counselor. It worked, too. There’d been plenty of times I caught myself forgetting that he was paid to be nice to me.
I crossed my legs, and he did the same, mirroring my posture. I did that too when I was doing a reading. It was supposed to make the other person feel more relaxed.
“Would you like some tea?” Mr. Lester nodded toward the bookshelf where he kept his electric kettle. “I’ve got some of that creamy Earl Grey you like.” He tugged on his short red hipster beard as if encouraging it to grow.
“No thanks,” I mumbled. I stared down at my hands. I was too queasy to get anything to stay down.
“If you’re worried about your volunteer obligation with exams coming up, we can cut back,” Mr. Lester offered. He’d arranged for me to work in his office for school service hours years ago. This meant I got free hot lunch without having to volunteer in the cafeteria. The only thing worse than being the kid with no money is having everyone know you’re a charity case week after week as you dole out applesauce and extra helpings of undercooked Tater Tots.
I rubbed my hands on my jeans. Instead of looking directly at him, I focused on counting some of the millions of rust-colored freckles on his pale arm. “That’s not really what’s bugging me.”
“You mentioned Paige,” Mr. Lester said. “I didn’t think you two were friends.”