Unraveling You Series: The Complete Set

by Jessica Sorensen

He starts stacking some papers. “Why? What happened?”

  I shrug, spinning around in the chair. “I’m not sure.”

  He pauses. “You’re not sure, or you don’t want to tell me?”

  “Both,” I say, and he looks at me funny.

  “Lyric, you need to go to those classes. With everything going on with Ayden and what happened with William,” his jaw tightens, “you need to know how to protect yourself.”

  “Technically, I did protect myself from William. I’m the one who got myself out of that room after kicking the crap out of his balls.”

  “I’d still feel better if you took the classes. Ayden needs to take them, too.”

  “I was planning on it—we both were—but . . . I think Ayden had a panic attack or something, and we had to come home.”

  “Really?” He doesn’t seem all that shocked.

  “Did you know he has them?”

  “No, but I’m not surprised with the stressful life he’s had.” He picks up the stack of papers and sets them in the desk drawer. “Your mother used to have them when she was younger.”

  I stop spinning in the chair. “Really? Why have I never heard about this?”

  He glides the drawer shut then moves to the trash bin to clean up the cans. “Because she hasn’t had them in a long time. And she doesn’t really like to talk about it too much.”

  “Is that why you guys worry about my mental stability?”

  He drops the can he’s holding. “Why do you think we worry about that?”

  I push up from the chair and scoop up the can he dropped. “Because I heard you guys talking about it once. That I was too happy.” I chuck the can in the trash bin. “You guys seemed pretty convinced that was a bad thing.”

  He collects another can from the floor and crunches the metal. “You misunderstood us.” He tosses the can into the trash. “Your mom . . . she just worries.”

  I start gathering the records on the floor. “Over what?”

  He sighs, scratching the side of his head. “You know about your grandmother, right? Your mom’s mom?”

  “I know she committed suicide, if that’s what you’re getting at. But only because Grandpa let it slip out in one of his stories, not because you two told me.”

  “Well, she was bipolar.”

  “And . . . ?”

  He sighs again then takes the records from me and stacks them on the shelf. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but sometimes, your grandmother would get in these moods. These really, upbeat, happy moods that almost seemed unnatural.”

  I study his uneasy demeanor and a theory develops. “Wait a minute. Do you guys think I’m bipolar?”

  “No,” he says quickly, tense and guilty. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”

  “Then why do you look so guilty?”

  His stiff posture loosens. “Lyric Scott, we don’t think you’re bipolar. Yes, we had to worry since it can be hereditary, but that’s it.”

  “Well, to stop your worry, I’ll just be blunt with you. I’m overly happy because I’ve had a super good life and I’m happy. That’s it.” I head for the door to leave. “And just so you know, I do get sad sometimes. I just choose not to be mopey for very long because life’s too short to waste my energy on being sad.”

  I exit the room, even though I haven’t discussed our band playing for his opening yet. But I’d wanted to cheer up, not sink farther into a bummer mood.

  I go up to my room and rock out on the violin for a while, seeking comfort from music. The soft tunes and channeled energy soothe my restless soul. By the time I put the bow down, I feel content enough to jot some lyrics down.

  I grab a pen and notebook then flop down on my bed.

  Look at the stars, staring upon the souls.

  Watching them wander. Little pieces of their own.

  Lost in a sea of others. Drowning in pain.

  But there are too many to hear all the silent cries.

  So we keep drifting, drifting, drifting

  As the stars keep shining, shining, shining.

  Watching, watching, watching us all fade away.

  I withdraw the pen from the paper. “Okay, I’m not sure if I love what I’m writing or am terrified of it.”

  I decide to give my hand a break from my head. I hide the pen and notebook under my pillow then sit up. Outside my window, the sunset paints the greying sky with hues of pink and golden orange. I still have a few hours until band practice. I could work on my homework, but I want to check up on Ayden first to make sure he’s okay.

  Grabbing my phone from my nightstand, I pad over to the window and send him a text.

  Me: How r u feeling?

  While I’m waiting for a response, the Gregory’s sedan backs out of the garage and down the driveway. I can’t tell who’s in there, but I wonder if Ayden is.

  Ayden: Yeah, I’m fine. Just resting now.

  Me: At your house?

  Ayden: Yeah.

  Me: By yourself?

  Ayden: I’m with Kale. Lila and Ethan just took Fiona and Everson to soccer practice.

  Me: Want some company? I’m super bored.

  Ayden: Lila actually told me I couldn’t have anyone over.

  Me: But I’m not just anyone. I’m your best friend.

  Ayden: Sorry.

  Sorry? What is that? A brush off or something?

  Before I can think about it too deeply, Ayden walks out of his house and hurries down the driveway toward the sidewalk. His hood is down, and he keeps peering around as if he’s nervous. When his eyes land on my window, I duck for cover and peer over the windowsill.

  He lied to me again, snuck out of the house again.

  “That little liar,” I mutter as he veers right toward the end of the block, the same direction he wandered up from the other night when he snuck out.

  Even though it might be wrong, I make the choice to tail him, worried he might be in trouble. Worried he’ll blackout again like he did earlier. More than that, I’m just generally worried about him.

  I snatch my leather jacket from my bedpost then run downstairs and out the door. I slip on my jacket as I jog across my lawn and turn right when I reach the sidewalk. I can’t see him anywhere, so I pick up the pace, sprinting to the end of the street. Glancing left then right, I finally spot him crossing the street in a hurry.

  Hunching down, I race after him, zigzagging behind trees and parked cars, trying to stay out of sight as much as I can. I check left and right before I dash across the street and hunker down behind a chain link fence near the park as Ayden slips through the gate.

  I count to five under my breath then stand up and peek over the fence, crossing my fingers, hoping he hasn’t spotted me.

  He’s striding across the grass toward the playground. No one is around, except a guy perched in the middle of the merry-go-round. As Ayden approaches him, the guy hops to the ground. They meet under an oak tree and start talking about something, their lips moving as they huddle together. Then Ayden sticks his hand into his pocket and retrieves a silver object out that looks like a knife.

  Something snaps inside me. Worry, fear, anger—perhaps a mixture of all three. Without any forethought, I leave my hiding spot, march through the gates and toward Ayden and his friend.

  The guy spots me first. He says something, and Ayden reels around. Shock crosses his face, and he quickly shoves the object back into his pocket.

  “Oh, don’t stop whatever you’re doing on my account,” I say to Ayden as I reach the two of them. Up close, I get a better look at the guy. Lanky and on the younger side, with squared framed glasses and a pen tucked in the front pocket of his plaid shirt, he looks kind of nerdy. “What’s going on?” My gaze travels back and forth between the two of them

  “That’s none of your damn business, little girl,” the scrawny guy states, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at me.

  “Little girl?” I mimic his move, folding my arms. Then I arch a brow and stare him down until he squirms. “L
ook, I think we both know I could kick your ass, so there’s no use trying to be all badass.” I turn to Ayden who’s all squirrely himself. “What’s going on?” The only thing keeping me calm is that maybe he has a good reason for lying to me. “Why are you sneaking off,” I nod my head at the other guy, “to meet him?”

  Ayden gulps. “Lyric, you need to go home. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Ouch. That stings.” I press my hand to my chest, noting that it actually does ache.

  “I’m sorry, but you do.” His eyes narrow. “Wait. How did you even find me?”

  “I followed you here when I saw you leaving the house after you texted me, telling me you had to stay in,” I say coldly, shocking both him and myself. I hardly ever get angry, but right now, frustration simmers under my skin. “I’m sorry for getting snippy, but I’m worried about you, and until I’m not worried about you, I’m not leaving.”

  “Look, I know this seems a little sketchy, but I’m keeping you out of the loop for a reason.” With a glance at the guy, his fingers circle my arm, and he steers me toward the gate. “You need to leave before you get into trouble.”

  I dig my heels into the ground. “Are you in some kind of trouble? Is that what this is about? Because I can help you if you are. But you have to tell me what’s going on or else I can’t do anything for you.”

  “I’m not in trouble.” He withdraws his hand from my arm then rakes his fingers through his hair. “I just don’t want you involved in this. If you knew what I was doing, you wouldn’t want to, either.”

  “Well, tell me and I’ll let you know if you’re right.”

  He blows out a breath, his hand falling to his side. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise that, as soon as I do, you’ll leave.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not going to promise that.”

  We silently stare at each other while the wind howls and kicks dead leaves across the dry grass and around our feet.

  “It’s about my sister,” he finally surrenders.

  My heart misses a beat. I wasn’t expecting that.

  “What about your sister? Is she in trouble?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” He peeks over at the guy, who is texting on his phone, and then leans in and lowers his voice. “Today at the police station, I saw a letter in one of the files that was from my sister. When I asked the detective about it, he told me it wasn’t any of my business.”

  “Did you tell Lila and Ethan?”

  “Yeah, and they pretty much gave me the same attitude.”

  “You think they know what it is?” I ask, astounded. “That they’re keeping stuff from you?”

  “I’m not sure. I mean, I’d like to think they don’t keep secrets from me, but there’s been a couple of times I’ve overheard them whispering about me, and I have to wonder if maybe they know more about my past, this case, and my sister.”

  “But how would they know?” The wind picks up and blows strands of my hair around my face. “And why would they keep it from you? It makes no sense.”

  I suddenly remember something I overheard the night the police broke the news to Ayden about his brother. A short conversation between Lila and Ethan when they thought I was out of hearing range.

  “Ayden, I think maybe I should tell you something I heard Aunt Lila and Uncle Ethan talking about, but after you take care of whatever you’re doing with that guy, because he’s staring at us right now and looks really, really creepy.”

  Ayden tracks my gaze to the guy then inches toward me protectively when the guy shoots me a nasty look.

  “Who is that guy, anyway?” I ask, plucking pieces of hair out of my mouth.

  “On the Internet, he calls himself Rebel Tonic,” Ayden says. “I don’t know what his real name is.”

  “Rebel Tonic?” I question with a really look.

  “He’s supposed to be really good with computers,” he tells me as if it explains everything. “Good at hacking, too.”

  I try piecing everything together. “Is that why you’re meeting him here, to have him hack for you? And is that what you were doing the other night, meeting him then, too?”

  He warily nods. “I want him to hack into social service’s records and track down my sister. I met him the other night and have been trying to figure out if I wanted to risk it and how the hell I was going to come up with the money.” He pauses, frustrated. “After seeing that letter, I have to do this, Lyric. I need to know she’s okay.” He looks at me, pleading for me to understand where he’s coming from.

  I’m glad I can’t understand, at least in the same context as him. I’ve had a really good life and will never fully comprehend what it’s like to go through what Ayden has. I remember how I used to envy him, because he’s experienced life. Now I’m grateful for what I have.

  “How much does it cost?”

  He stuffs his hands into his pockets and kicks the tip of his boot against the grass. “The fee is a thousand dollars.”

  “A thousand dollars!” My eyes widen. “Where the heck did you get that kind of money?”

  “I don’t have it all. I’ve saved up six hundred from the times I helped Lila with her catering events. The other four hundred I was going to pay off with . . .” He pats his pocket.

  I eye him suspiciously. “What’s in there?”

  “A knife that belonged to my brother. It’s rusty, but the brand is pretty high quality. I’m honestly not even sure where he got it from.”

  Tears instantly prick in my eyes. Here Ayden is, doing something highly illegal, risking getting into trouble, giving up something that belonged to his deceased brother, and he does it so simply, so matter-of-factly.

  “You need four hundred dollars, then?” I mentally count what I have stashed in my sock drawer. After my last record shopping spree, I’m guessing about four twenty-five, give or take ten bucks.

  “I’m not taking your money, Lyric.” He pushes me in the direction of the gate and points for me to go. “Just like I’m not letting you get involved in this.”

  “Tough shit for you, but I’m already involved.” I stand my ground. “You’re my best friend. I care about you. And I’d be a freaking jerk if I just bailed out now.”

  “You’ll still be my friend if you bail. You’ll always be my friend.”

  “No duh. That’s the most obvious statement ever. But I’m still going to go get you four hundred bucks so you can pay that asshole over there and keep your brother’s knife.”

  “Lyric, I—”

  I conceal his mouth with my hand. “Ayden, it’s just money. It means absolutely nothing compared to our friendship.” I remove my hand from his lips. “Now, go tell Mr. Rebel Tonic,” I roll my eyes, “that I’m running back to the house to get some cash and not to go anywhere.”

  I raise my pinkie to make him swear he’ll wait for me. Once he does, I start to jog toward the exit of the park but stop near the gates.

  “Ayden,” I call out, and he turns toward me. “We’ll find her, okay? You don’t need to do this alone.”

  He mashes his lips together, nods once, and then heads back for Rebel Tonic.

  I run like hell for my house before Ayden can back out on our pinkie promise.

  By the time I return to the park with a ball of money in my pocket, I’m sweaty and breathless. Relief washes through me when I spot Ayden and Rebel Tonic hanging out on the merry-go-round. He hasn’t left, which means Ayden didn’t break his promise.

  I approach them, reaching into my pocket for the money.

  Ayden quickly jumps to his feet and blocks me from Rebel Tonic’s view as I hand Ayden the cash.

  “I’m going to pay you back every penny,” he promises as he stares at the bills in his hand.

  I wave him off. “Let’s just get this guy paid and go home.” He turns toward Rebel Tonic, but I capture his sleeve. “Are you sure you can trust him?”

  He lifts his shoulders and shrugs. “I don’t know, but it’s the only idea I have.”

>   I free his sleeve and Ayden gives Rebel Tonic my wad of cash along with a crumpled stack of his own. Rebel Tonic counts it out, and then a greedy grin forms on his acne-covered face.

  “Fan-freaking-tastic,” he says, balling up the bills and stuffing them into his jacket. “Give me like a week, and I should have the information for you.”

  “How are you going to contact me?” Ayden asks as Rebel Tonic backs toward the gate.

  “By email,” he tells him, pushing his glasses up the brim of his nose. “And don’t try texting me on that phone number I gave you the other day. My mom took my phone away.”

  “His mom? How old is he?” I frown, doubtful that this ordeal is going to end well with Rebel Tonic. The only thing that stops me from chasing his skinny butt down and snatching the money back is the glimmer of hope in Ayden’s eyes.

  “I’m not sure,” Ayden mutters with his eyes still fixed on Rebel Tonic. “Maybe like fifteen?”

  “As old as Kale?” Yeah, I highly doubt this is going to end well.

  Ayden finally looks at me when Rebel Tonic disappears out the park gates. The sky has shifted to stardust, darkness blankets the land, and the streetlights have clicked on, highlighting the way home.

  “So, what were you going to tell me about Lila and Ethan?” he asks.

  I scuff my boot across the grass. “The night we heard the news about your brother, I overheard them talking about how they knew your brother getting . . . killed was a possibility, that the people were out there, and they could come for you guys or something like that.”

  He rubs his hand across his forehead. “I knew that, too. That it was a possibility.”

  “Oh,” I say at the same time he adds, “But . . .”

  “But what?” I press with interest.

  “But I don’t know. I’m starting to wonder if they know more about my sister, brother, and me than even I know.”

  Silence encases us.

  “What are you going to do?” I finally ask, zipping my jacket up all the way to my chin.

  “I don’t know.” He draws the zipper up his own jacket then glances up at the moon. “We should get going before Lila and Ethan get home and notice I’m gone.”

  “Were you supposed to leave the house?” I ask as we hike across the grass.