“Come on, Ivy.” Jason jumps into his car. “Pat, stay here and wait for the cops.”
Patrick nods, a sense of urgency crossing his face.
My sister doesn’t hesitate before jumping into the passenger side. “Gun it.”
IVY
Jason peels out of the parking lot, his tires screeching against the pavement. I click my seat belt. “Holy shit, dude. Let’s not die.”
“Do you want to lose him?”
“No, but I don’t want to make it wicked obvious that we’re stalking him, either.”
The green Toyota cruises to a stop at the light. Jason slams on the brakes, and I very nearly smack my head on his dashboard.
“Just FYI, when I get my license, you are officially losing your chauffeur privileges.” I nudge him in the side. “I’ll be the driver, and you shall be at my mercy, Jason Daly-Cruz.”
“Does that mean I won’t have to use all my gas money to shuttle you around? And I can put my feet on your dashboard?”
I scoff. “Okay, I did that once.”
“Coming home from the beach! I’m still finding sand from your dirty bare feet.”
“It’s a gift from me to you.”
“Well, when you get a shiny new car, I shall bestow the same gift.”
I kind of appreciate that he’s not acknowledging the obvious: I probably have a better chance of getting struck by lightning in the middle of a date with John Boyega than affording a new car. Or any car, really.
I point to the Toyota. “Do you think he has enough bumper stickers?” Colorful stickers advertising random stores, restaurants, and slogans cover the entire bumper.
“Imagine being so passionate about”—he squints at the stickers— “AL HAWKE FOR DELAWARE 2012 that you plaster his name on your car forever. What if that guy lost his race for governor or whatever? Then he’s still stuck with the sticker.”
“At least it’ll make the car easier to find in a crowd.”
The light turns green and Jason hits the gas—thankfully more gently this time. We follow the Toyota down Storrs Street and up onto Main. Luckily, it’s been a relatively straight shot so far, so it’s not super obvious we’re following him. If he’d taken a bunch of turns, we’d have been screwed.
Jason grins. “Okay, I bet you a bagel he’s going to Szechuan Gardens to get sesame noodles. I mean, if he has good taste.”
“If he’s getting noodles, I think it’s only fair we order our own, too. So he won’t get suspicious.”
“Oh, are you telling me you weren’t expecting this adventure to involve noodles? What kind of adventure would that be?”
I can’t help smiling. This is one of the things I love about Jason. I can say “Follow that car!” and he will literally jump in and help me follow that car, because he’s the best adventure buddy ever.
Okay, wait. I shouldn’t have said love. It’s something I like about him. Because I like him. As a friend.
“You know what this reminds me of?” Jason says. “The Domino’s car incident.”
I laugh. “Pretty sure Sophie’s still pissed about that.”
Over the summer, Sophie was driving all of us home from the movies in her mom’s minivan. We got bored and saw a Domino’s Pizza delivery car. Jase, Ahmed, and I insisted we follow it to see who was getting pizza. Sophie complained the entire time, pretty much hating all of us for being so excited about stalking a pizza car. Plot twist—it went straight back to Domino’s. We got a pizza, because of course we did. I know it sounds silly, but this is Concord, New Hampshire, and there’s nothing to do.
I shoot off a message to Sophie—omg, remember the Domino’s car? Jase and I found a new car to stalk, I thought you’d appreciate it.
She immediately writes back, So not bailing you guys out of jail.
I read it aloud to Jason and we snicker. Sometimes when he laughs that way, something inside me revs to life. I look away quickly, burying the feeling; there’s no point.
“This is, like, the weirdest adventure we’ve ever had,” Jase says.
“The weirdest? That’s a pretty high bar.” I kind of love how well he’s taking all of this. Jason has a personality that’s totally contagious—when he’s calm, my anxiety melts away. We’re having an adventure. And soon, everything will be totally fine and back to normal.
The green Toyota puts its blinker on. “Wait—he’s turning. He’s getting on the highway.”
“Shit.” Jason spins the wheel way too fast, and the centrifugal force thrusts me into the car door.
“Who’d you pay to give you that license again?”
“Hey, you can walk home.”
The Toyota takes a right and merges onto I-393. We follow, joining a flood of cars. Our target zips forward, weaving between vehicles. A Chevy with a super-old-looking man in the driver’s seat cruises past us. The Toyota gets smaller in the distance.
I tap Jason’s thigh. “Speed up, speed up! We’re losing him.”
“I don’t wanna get a ticket.”
“You’re not even going the speed limit.”
“Excuse me for not wanting to get us killed.”
If we lose this car because Grandma in the driver’s seat won’t hit the gas, I’m going to kill him. We coast down the highway, being passed by literally everyone.
“Okay, hang on.” I scan the cars around us, my heart racing. “Where is he?”
“I’m looking.” Jason clicks his blinker and changes lanes, jerking in front of the Chevy. “Is that him?” He points.
“That’s a Honda.”
“Okay, sorry, it’s green.”
My gaze bounces frantically between the white, gray, and red cars around us, but there’s no green Toyota.
Crap. “I don’t see him.” My fingers drum against my jeans. “What do we do now? We could take exit two and try to find him.”
“Or, we could also go back and get those noodles,” he suggests. “I mean, since we don’t know where he went. And we don’t know for a fact that he was actually doing anything wrong anyway, you know? He’s just some random guy who happened to be there.”
He’s got a point. “Yeah, but—”
My phone buzzes—Patrick.
Hey, your dad just pulled in and the cops are here and they’re all pretty mad that you’re not.
“Oh shit.”
I contemplate ignoring his text. The green Toyota couldn’t have gotten far, and there’s still a chance we could catch up to it. But I need to talk to the cops.
I tilt my screen toward Jase. He darts his eyes quickly toward it, then back to the road. “They’re all there and pissed at us.”
Jason’s brows lower with determination. “I’ll get us back in five.”
IVY
Jason wasn’t lying. At exactly 3:04 p.m., we careen back into the vacant lot. Two uniformed cops stand beside their crookedly parked cruiser, talking to my dad, whose blue Honda is parked next to Autumn’s. Patrick lingers to the side with his arms crossed, nervously watching everything. His face relaxes when he sees us. Everyone stops to watch as Jason’s SUV zooms in and screeches to a halt, straddling two parking spaces. Seriously, I’m half terrified the cops are going to give him a ticket for driving like a jackass, but they don’t.
I’m so relieved to see the cops, I can’t stop smiling. They came. Finally. I just have to tell them what I found and they’ll take it from here.
I nearly fall over myself rushing to get out of the car. “Hey, Dad.”
My dad hurries over. “Are you all right, sweetie? I was worried when the police called.”
“You should’ve read your texts! I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for hours.”
Dad pulls out his phone and frowns. “You should’ve called the shop. You know I can’t always check my phone at work. Half the time it doesn’t beep when you text anyway.”
<
br /> “I told you, like, eight thousand times—you have to keep your ringer on or it won’t beep.”
“You must be Ivy.” One of the cops, a twentysomething guy with stubble and very nice teeth, holds out a hand. I recognize him from somewhere, but I can’t place him. “I’m Officer Jensen. This is my partner, Officer O’Riley.”
“Oh man. I’m so glad you’re here.” I shake his hand.
The woman cop comes over, hands on her hips. “Hello there, Ivy. We’ve been waiting for you.”
I fight the urge to tell her that we’d been waiting for two hours for them to grace us with their presence, do they really have to bitch about waiting ten minutes? But I behave because they’re cops.
“Sorry. I had to pee, so we drove to Dunkin’.” I step back, dragging Jason to my side. “This is Jason.”
Jase nods, his hands buried in his pockets. I roll my eyes. He can barely keep his mouth shut 99 percent of the time, but the cops show up and suddenly he’s quiet.
“I’m gonna go wait with Patrick.” Before I can stop him, he slides away, right in my hour of need.
“We understand your sister’s been missing since yesterday, is that correct?” Officer O’Riley asks, while her partner pulls out a notepad and pen.
“Yes. She never came home from school. I found her car here this morning and the keys were in there.” I point at the building. “I also found her phone in the console.” I dig in my purse and produce Autumn’s iPhone. “Look. She had some texts saying she was meeting some guy here, and—”
Officer O’Riley sighs. “Ivy, I’m not sure if you knew this, but we met with Autumn yesterday at school.”
I blink at her. “You did?”
“We wanted to ask her some questions about a suspect in a local burglary case.” She gives me a sympathetic smile. “We’ve since apprehended the suspect and he confessed. He offered up his phone records in exchange for a possible plea bargain, and . . . well . . . he had texts with your sister that implicated her in the crime.”
I open my mouth, then close it. What the hell? Autumn robbed someone?
Dad pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t actually have proof she was there.”
“We have phone records showing he asked Autumn if she was interested in breaking into the corner store. They made a deal involving stolen pills, and she agreed to join him.”
“Okay, but whether she was involved or not, she’s still missing,” I say.
“She knew we were on to the suspect. It’s likely she left town and didn’t want anyone tracking her phone or license plate, so she left them behind.”
“She’s a teenager,” Dad says. “Not a fugitive.”
“Do you know anything about where she might have gone?” Officer Jensen asks, his pen at the ready. “Anyone who might try to help her out?”
Dad stares blankly at the policeman, that familiar deer-in-headlights look crossing his face. “I’m not sure. She has lots of friends; she’s very popular.”
“Any names you know offhand? Someone who might know her whereabouts?”
“Wait a second.” I narrow my eyes. “Are you trying to find her because she’s missing, or because you want to arrest her?”
“I’m going to stop you right there.” Officer O’Riley holds up her hand. “We have no reason to believe that your sister is in imminent danger. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.”
I probably look pretty dumbfounded right now, but I can’t hide it. What the actual hell? “She’s only eighteen. She could be seriously hurt or something!”
“She is a legal adult. We’ve taken a statement from your father, who admitted she’s been known to disappear for a night or two.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s okay.” I glare at Dad, then at the cops. “I thought you were supposed to protect people, and it’s like you’re not even trying.”
“Ivy.” Dad rubs his forehead. “Autumn’s been doing this for years. I . . . I can’t pretend I’m surprised.”
“But . . . Dad. This time seems different.”
“You said in your report you didn’t know the names of any of her friends. Is that true?” Officer Jensen stares at me, his brown eyes boring into my soul. Holy shit, suddenly I remember where I know him from.
Last year, Ahmed’s parents were driving me and Kevin home, and a cop car zipped out of a parking lot and pulled us over when we were stopped at a light. I was playing on my phone, and when I looked up, Ahmed’s dad was literally still as a statue in the front seat. His mom rushed to adjust her hijab in the rearview, her eyes wide, muttering under her breath.
“Why are your parents so freaked out?” I whispered. “They didn’t do anything wrong.”
Ahmed snorted. “Why do you think they pulled us over? They’re a couple of brown Pakistanis whose last name is Bashir.”
I squirmed in my seat the whole time. When the racist cop left, it was like everyone could breathe again. And now, when my memory kicks in, dread boils inside me. Of all the cops in Concord, they sent this asshole. I don’t trust him one bit.
“No,” I croak out. “I don’t know her friends.” I turn to the woman cop, my only hope. “Please. She’s in trouble. I wouldn’t have called if I didn’t really believe it. You have to find her.”
“We’re on the lookout,” Jensen says. “We’ll do everything we can to locate her, and we’ll notify you the second we do.” I don’t buy it for a second. He’s got it in his mind that she’s a criminal, and that’s all he wants to believe.
“But—”
Officer O’Riley smiles at me like she’s about to castigate a child. “I know it’s hard, because you love your sister. But we know what we’re doing. You have to trust us.”
“Trust you to do nothing?” My voice breaks. “She’d never leave her phone behind. She could’ve been kidnapped or something. There was a sketchy-looking guy here who was smoking pot in that building and he said something about not wanting to go to jail, and we followed him onto the highway, and . . . and . . .” I realize how ridiculous it sounds the moment I say it.
Officer O’Riley whispers something to Officer Jensen, who scribbles something on his notepad. My face gets hot.
“You know,” Officer O’Riley says, “sometimes when we’re desperate to believe something, especially about the people we love, our minds can twist events to make them seem connected and relevant.”
I shuffle my feet, kind of glad the guys are out of earshot. “Yeah . . .”
“Let us do our jobs.” Officer Jensen winks at me. “We’ve got this.”
I pretty much want to curl up on the ground and die. Everyone else knew I was overreacting—why didn’t I just listen? “Okay. Sorry.”
The cops go back to talking to my dad. I hear, “She should probably lie down and get some rest,” and that makes me want to disappear even more. I slip away, over to Jason and Patrick.
“What happened?” Pat asks. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head, not confident that I could start talking without breaking down. I wasted everyone’s afternoon, and now I have to admit to Jason and Pat that I was blowing this out of proportion all day.
“Hey.” Jason nudges me. “Alexa texted about getting ice cream tonight. What do you think?”
I know he’s saying it to change the subject, but it makes me feel worse. Like he knew it was pointless the whole time and just went along with everything to humor me. “Okay, maybe. Are you both going?”
“Nah.” Patrick frowns. “I’m supposed to spend Saturday nights at my dad’s place, and he just texted me. He’s picking me up here in ten.”
I try to mask my disappointment. Great. As if this day couldn’t get worse, now Patrick won’t hang out with us tonight, and I blew a chance at spending the day with him. Maybe this is just his excuse to get away from me. “Oh. That’s fun, though.”
“N
ot really. You remember my dad, right?”
“Kind of,” I lie. I do remember Patrick’s dad. He’s one of those guys who will purposely interrupt your “happy holidays” with “Merry Christmas,” just to stick it to the man or something. I once overheard him telling Patrick’s mom that the school board was mismanaged “because they put a bunch of women in charge.” I can’t make this stuff up. Given what I know of his dad, his mom, and Will, Patrick’s pretty lucky his gene pool was generous. He’s just Patrick. And right now, Just Patrick is what I need. “Maybe see you tomorrow, then?”
Jason rolls his eyes, and I ignore it.
“Yeah, sure!” Pat says. “I have youth group in the morning, but maybe at night?” Okay, his enthusiasm cheers me up a bit.
“Sounds good.”
“Hey.” Pat holds his arms out awkwardly, as if considering it, then opens them for a hug. I let myself get absorbed by his warmth. “It’s gonna be all right.”
I inhale deeply, savoring his scent. His fleece feels warm against my skin.
Jason clears his throat, and it makes me hug Patrick closer.
“Ivy,” my dad calls across the parking lot. I begrudgingly untangle myself from Patrick’s arms. “C’mon. It’s almost four. Let’s go home.”
“All right. I gotta go. See you tonight?”
Jason nods. “I’ll text you when I know what time.”
I follow my dad to his Honda.
As the police climb back into their cruiser, a soft breeze brushes my shoulder like a hand. I swear I hear the wind whispering through the trees, telling me not to give up.
* * *
—
Dad is silent for a good five minutes of driving. His Honda always has that brand-new-car smell, even though it’s at least seven years old and has suffered multiple food spills over the years. I go back and forth between fidgeting with my purse straps and playing with the radio. After flicking between eight thousand stations of commercials, I turn it off and say what I’ve been thinking this whole ride.
The Last Confession of Autumn Casterly Page 12