The streetlight in front of the apartment building blinks, on the verge of burning out. Lex parks in the spot in front of the balcony, and Cujo stands on his hind legs, paws up against the window ledge, as if he senses I’m out here.
Colored lights flicker behind his pointy ears. Dad leaves the TV on for Cujo if he’ll be gone for a long time—a crime show channel, because he thinks our dog likes reruns of Law & Order and Cold Case.
Our dog.
I stare at the two-story garden apartment building with the shitty outdoor staircase that sucks even more if it’s raining, the identical balconies with the parking-lot views, and the sliding glass doors that offer zero privacy.
This place is home, and that’s okay.
The fact that I can’t stand to look at Dad doesn’t matter. I feel like myself here—or at least like I’m getting closer to figuring out who I am now.
“Do you believe everything happens for a reason?” Lex looks straight ahead, her expression impossible to read. We used to sit outside behind my house for hours, lying on our backs and staring at the stars in silence. A person really understands you if you don’t have to say a word to hear each other. “Frankie?”
“I’m not sure. That would mean Noah’s death happened for a reason, and I can’t think of one that makes sense. Maybe some things do and others don’t.”
Lex props her elbow against the window. “It feels so arbitrary.”
“I know.” I get out, but I don’t close the car door. “I’m worried about him, Lex.”
She knows I’m talking about Marco. “Worrying won’t change anything. It’s just a way to fool yourself into believing things will turn out differently.”
I’m not sure what she means. As she drives away, a heaviness settles in my stomach. Marco isn’t the only person I’m worried about.
*
The note on the kitchen table is barely legible.
Working late. There’s pizza in the freezer.
Don’t forget to lock the door. Dad
At least he won’t be here all night spying on me. I crumple the message and toss it in the trash.
After an hour of bad TV, my cell phone rings.
“Frankie? It’s Cruz,” she says before I say hello. “Are you there? Frankie?”
“Did she pick up?” Ava asks in the background.
“What’s wrong?” I hear it in her voice. Something bad happened.
“Marco was arrested.”
The world stops, and there’s nothing but panic and a loud echoing sound, like a big seashell is pressed against my ear. But instead of ocean waves, wind rips through my head. It’s like I’m in a flashback with no images. Picturing Marco in jail … I can’t do it. Or I won’t let myself.
“Frankie?”
“I’m here.” The words sound far away. “Did he get caught racing?”
She’s silent for a second at the other end of the line. “Marco told me that you know about his … situation. He wasn’t racing. The cops busted him in a stolen car.”
He stole another car.
What did I expect? Marco never told me he’d stop.
But I hoped he would.
Why? Because he loves me? Or because I told him I loved him tonight? Love doesn’t pay the bills.
Cruz starts talking again. “Marco couldn’t say much. But it sounded like someone set him up. The cops were waiting. State troopers. They busted him right after he got in the car.”
“Who could’ve set him up?” I ask.
“Maybe someone overheard a conversation. I’m on my way to the police station now.”
The cops won’t let her see Marco. Only a lawyer or a legal guardian will get past Dad and Tyson—and I know they’re involved. They call the shots in RATTF, which means my father arrested the guy I love, or he knew about it.
“Come get me.” I grab my backpack and head for the front door.
“Text me your address. But you shouldn’t go down there, Frankie. There’s nothing you can do.”
If only that were true.
*
Ava parks next to a fleet of Crown Vics and SUVs at the state police barracks. Cruz bites her nails as she eyes the uniformed state troopers walking in and out. I’m not ready to tell Cruz that my dad is one of them, especially not with her sister sitting next to her. If she comes inside, it won’t take her long to figure it out.
“Maybe I should go in alone.” It takes every ounce of strength to keep my tone casual. The thought of Marco in handcuffs or inside a cell tears me up.
Cruz gives me a strange look. “Why?”
Here goes. Either she’ll buy it or she won’t. “Marco is a minor. The only people who can see him are his lawyers or legal guardians. It’s in every cop movie.”
She rubs her eyes. “You’re right.”
“Then why would you go in?” Ava asks. Smart girl.
“We’re closer to the Heights than the Downs. Maybe they’ll give a nice rich girl from the Heights some information.”
Cruz shrugs. “It’s worth a try.” It kills me how easily she accepts the idea that they might treat me differently. I get out of the car and walk toward the barracks—that’s what the state police call their precincts.