“My dad. When he was next in line to be CEO of Orphion Technologies, I picked up a few things from dinner table conversations and eavesdropping.”
“You’re the coolest girl I’ve ever hung out with,” he says, like Congress just made it a new law.
“Because I threw some business jargon at you, stuff you already know?”
“No. It’s because you’re smart, unpretentious, and gorgeous—a triple threat.”
“Is that how you make girls feel special? Lovely words gift-wrapped in your charisma?”
Someone should put a leash on my mouth. Sometimes I wish I were a regular girl. A regular girl would be inwardly thrilled and outwardly feign modesty. Me? I practically insulted the guy.
“That came out all wrong. I have trust issues. You make me nervous. Okay, I’m just going to leave now. That would be best.”
He cocks his head to one side. “I think I’ll add adorable and captivating to the list.”
I slump back in my seat. “You’re not mad that I said those things?”
“Why should I be? It’s what makes you Abbie. It’s why you’re awesome. Don’t change for anyone.”
“I never planned on it.”
We leave the pizzeria and head to my car. It’s dark out and much colder than when I first arrived. I pop the locks with the remote control, and he opens the driver side door for me. Once safe inside, I hit the power button to wind down the window. He pokes his head in and kisses me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Dinner is served: grilled steaks, vegetable salad, and mashed potatoes. A pitcher of sweet tea rests in the center of the table. Mom likes to infuse her cooking with southern classics, an ode to her Louisiana roots. I admit that I’m still stuffed from eating pizza, but she doesn’t mind. I intend to eat the salad anyway to balance out my junk food binge. Dad made it home just in time. Mahalia, the family golden retriever, is at Mile’s feet, her usual mealtime spot. She’s the only dog I know who hates dog food. She eats what we eat.
“How was the date?” Miles asks.
“What date?”
“Mom said you went out on a date.”
Miles is a thirty-year-old man in the body of a thirteen-year-old boy. He has no filter. His protruding ears catch everything, all sorts of conversations, whether they’re meant for his consumption or not. That’s when the uncomfortable questions start. He gets away with it because he’s so darn cute with those dimples.
I shoot Mom an accusing glance, and she looks away for a second or two.
“I never said it was a real date. Miles just assumed because you went out with a boy that it was a date,” she says, in her defense.
“So, it wasn’t a date?” Dad chimes in. He covers his mouth to hide his amusement.
“It was just pizza, people. Stop making a big deal out of it.”
“So, that means you like him, right?” Miles isn’t satisfied with my answer.
Mahalia puts her paw over her face. She’s used to Miles always in my business. Both my parents are staring at me, waiting for my response.
“Well, do you?” Dad asks.
“Mom, make them stop,” I say, and then I cram salad into my mouth.
She shrugs. I won’t get any help from her, so I put my fork down and swallow my food. It’s time to say it aloud.
“Yes, I like him. A lot. Are you happy now?”
“When do we get to meet him?” Dad asks.
“Dad, stop. We’re just getting to know each other.”
“If he wants to date my daughter, we have to meet him. Those are the rules,” he says.
“You’ll scare him off. I don’t even know if I’ll go out with him again.”
I really want to, but I’m not about to acknowledge that fact.
“Invite him over for dinner, a casual get-together. If you never go out with him again, no harm done.”
I’m sure that will go over well with Christian, the guy who’s used to girls chasing him.
“He can come over for Thanksgiving too,” Miles adds.
“That’s three weeks away, and I don’t know what will happen between now and then. Besides, Christian will go home to his family for Thanksgiving.”
I don’t know if that’s true or not.
“You’ll never know unless you ask, now will you?” he says, licking mashed potatoes off his fork.
Mom and Dad chuckle under their breath like this is the funniest thing they’ve heard all week. I just shake my head and tell them how wrong they are for making fun of me.
The dinner table banter is interrupted by a text message alert. My eyes dart to the island in the middle of the kitchen. Dad looks at me.
“Tell that boy to hold his horses,” he says with a half-grin. “There’s plenty of time for the two of you to get acquainted.”
I don’t respond right away because I need time to think. It’s not Christian, and it’s definitely not Frances or Callie. I know this because a dark, thick cloud just rolled in and decided it was going to hang with me for a while. I reach for the pitcher of sweet tea and pour myself a glass, downing it in one long gulp. I was texting Christian when I entered the kitchen earlier, and casually placed the phone on the island when I was done, without giving it a second thought.
I get up from the table and walk toward the island to retrieve my phone. I peer down at it without touching it.
BLOCKED NUMBER
Cheater! Soon everyone will know what you did.
Justice will be served. The Avenger
I wrap my arms around my mid-section and pretend those terrifying words aren’t carved into my brain. A million explanations are battling to be heard, but only one comes through loud and clear: Sidney knows.
“Abbie, what’s wrong?” my father asks.
I look up from the phone to see all eyes trained in my direction.
“Um…it’s nothing, Dad. I promised one of the juniors on the debate team I would help her with her rebuttal statement for the upcoming debate against Ravenwood Academy. I’ll head upstairs now to call her back, and then get started on homework.”
That explanation seemed to satisfy him, and everyone gets back to dinner. As I walk away from the kitchen, Mom’s statement stops me in my tracks.”
“A package came in the mail for you today. I forgot to mention it earlier. It doesn’t say who it’s from, though. Strange.”
That’s surprising news. I haven’t ordered anything lately. Ty warns me when he’s about to send me a package. He feeds my addiction to historical romance novels and old Harlequins from the 1980s, especially the ones that are out of print. He has a special talent for tracking them down at small independent bookstores and garage sales. I never know what fantastic gift he’ll think of next.
“Where is the package?” I ask Mom. “I’ll grab it on my way upstairs.”
I sit in the middle of my bed with a padded, manila envelope in hand. Nothing unusual about it, the same kind I’ve seen dozens of times. My name and address are typewritten on a white label. There’s no return address, but the post office stamp indicates it was mailed from Ridgefield, Connecticut. My Grandma Naomi lives in Ridgefield, but she would never send me something without her personalized return address label.
Fear stabs at me, ferocious and unrelenting. I have a sinking feeling that if I open this envelope, my life will never be the same.
Part Two
TRAPPED
CHAPTER 11
I stand rooted to the spot in front of my locker. It looks harmless, just a place to store my things, made of metal and red paint. I shouldn’t worry. Except, there’s a monster in my bag, an envelope I’m afraid to open. It all started with my locker. Then came the late night phone call and the threatening texts. There must be a connection.
A tap on the shoulder jolts me out of my daydreaming. I turn around to find a wide-eyed Christian gazing at me. “I didn’t mean to startle you. What’s wrong, babe?”
I swallow hard and calm myself. I’m happy to see him. He called me babe. I like it. H
owever, the only thought dominating my mind right now is the fact that he’s one more person I have to lie to until this whole situation is resolved.
“Nothing’s wrong. Sometimes I get carried away with my own thoughts, and I don’t even know what planet I’m on.”
He beams at me. “It happens to me too. When I’m painting.”
“Painting must take a lot of concentration. And tuning out the world,” I say, opening my locker. My stomach is in knots. If I see any strange notes, I’m going to pretend I don’t and come back for it later.
“Yes, but I’d much rather concentrate on you.”
I don’t see any mysterious pieces of paper lurking in the locker, waiting to get me. I pull out my AP biology textbook and then drop it in my backpack. “Oh. What do you mean?”
“Thinking about where we should go for our next date.”
“I didn’t know there was going to be a next date.” I look over my shoulder at him.
He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t mean to overstep. I thought we had a great time the other night and…”
I close my locker and feel the laughter bubbling up inside me, but I don’t want him to see that I’m about to burst out laughing. I sling my backpack over my shoulders.
He blinks at me, nonplussed, an adorable lost puppy.
I whisper in his ear before I take off, “I was just giving you a hard time. You’re invited to dinner at my house Thursday evening. My parents insist.”
I march toward my class, down the hall, and to the left, with quick strides.
“Abbie, wait up!” he yells.
I keep moving, chuckling to myself.
He catches up with me. “Is this another joke? Like before?”
“What do you think?”
“I believe you ‘re serious this time. What did you tell your parents about me?”
“Are you scared?”
“No. I mean, yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t do the meet the parents thing.”
“Don’t freak out. No one is going to handcuff you to me for the rest of your life. My dad has rules about how his only daughter should be treated. He has to meet any guy I spend time with, especially since my experience with dating and relationships is limited. He’s an overprotective father. That’s all.”
“Oh.” Then his eyes go big as if a wild idea just occurred to him. “Oh. You mean…”
“What?”
“So, it’s true?”
“Is what true?”
“The rumors.”
“What are you asking me?”
He whispers in my ear. “Your lack of experience. Is that real?”
I can’t help it. A perfect opportunity to tease him presents itself.
“What do you think?” I whisper back. “Did the rumor mill finally get something right, or is what you heard just another piece of lame gossip?”
I sit in the first row of the chapel, switching my cell phone from one hand to the other. Any minute now, Lance is going to walk through the door and show me the footage. Within seconds, as if we’re communicating via telepathy, he walks in, his expression unreadable. Adrenaline surges through me. My breathing is rapid and shallow.
“Did you find it?” I ask.
He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a flash drive, and then hands it to me. “See for yourself.”
Something about his tone sounds alarm bells in the back of my head, but I’m too busy pulling my laptop from my bag to give it much thought. Lance sits next to me while I boot up my computer. After it spurs to life and I enter my password, I stick the flash drive into the USB port and wait.
“I queued it to the afternoon before you got the note so you could see if anything happened during the night,” he says.
A black-and-white image of the bank of lockers appears on the screen. The hallway is empty. I fast forward until I see people scattered around the area, going about their business. They all pass near my locker without giving it a second glance. I perk up when I see a figure heading toward me, but my excitement turns to disappointment when I pause the image. It’s me. I go through the motions of opening the locker and exchanging books.
“There has to be something on here,” I complain.
Lance remains quiet. I don’t know how much time passes as I fast forward through the tape, what must be the overnight recording. Nothing. Zip. Zero. Empty halls. As exciting as watching grass grow. I fast forward to the next morning, the morning I discovered the note. Again, similar images: kids going about their daily routine. I pause when I come into the frame. I see Christian show up. I can tell his mouth is moving. I swap the books, and we leave my locker together.
I’m numb. I stare straight ahead, and the rapid, shallow breathing returns. I’m not crazy. I don’t care what the footage is missing. I may be paranoid, but that doesn’t mean the threat isn’t real.
“I don’t understand,” I say, turning to Lance. “How is it possible? How could someone open my locker and place something in there without being captured on camera?”
“Look, Mama, I don’t know anything about what you found in your locker, but I can tell you there is no way anybody could open any of these lockers without being seen. The cameras are set like that on purpose. You know security is no joke around here.”
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
“I only saw what’s on the tape.”
“What if someone knows the angle of the cameras and how to avoid them?”
“Doesn’t matter. They would still be recorded.”
I power down my laptop and thank Lance for helping me. He gets up to leave, and so do I. As we go our separate ways, he stops and turns to me. “If someone really put that note in your locker, they would need to have access to the security office, disable the cameras, drop the note, and turn the cameras back on when they were done. There are no gaps in the timer, no footage unaccounted for. I’m sorry. I did all I could.”
CHAPTER 12
My nerves are on edge as I enter the empty house. Miles has a football game, and Mom’s with him. Dad is in London on business. I head straight to my bedroom and slam the door shut. I toss my bag on the bed and remove my coat, letting it drop to the floor. The envelope may explain why there was nothing on the surveillance tape. I rummage through my bag until it’s found, then sit at the edge of my bed. I break the seal and push my hand inside, pulling up a piece of paper folded in half. There’s something inside because I can feel the thickness. When I unfold the paper and see a photo of a familiar face staring back at me, dizziness overtakes me.
The one horrible mistake I made my entire life has come back to haunt me. Someone captured it for eternity. I thought I buried it long ago but based on the photo, not deep enough. Someone dug it up. The image depicts me sitting in a chair, my eyes glazed and unfocused, a powdery substance on the table in front of me. A tiny, clear plastic bag sits next to the substance. My hands are wobbly as I replace the photo in the envelope and then pick up the note.
Thought you got away with it, didn’t you? Hypocrite.
Now that I have your attention, are you ready to play?
Justice will be served.
The Avenger
Yes, The Avenger has my attention. I know what will happen if I don’t play this game—a game in which I’m already handicapped. I don’t know the rules, but I know there will
be consequences to breaking them. I’d be expelled from Saint Matthews immediately, my transcript invalidated. No college in the country will accept me, let alone the Ivy League with an image like that floating around. My reputation, all the hard work I’ve put in, meaningless. My parents shamed. My friends humiliated and saddled with the same labels as me: cheater, addict, loser.
Only none of it is true. I made a mistake that lasted all of two weeks. I cracked under the pressure of my mother’s murder charge and what it was doing to our family. I was a naïve fifteen-year-old. I convinced myself it was a short-term solution, and that I would stop as soon as t
hings got back to normal at school. I couldn’t afford to let my grades tank. I hid it from everyone—or so I thought.
I made the decision to quit when my baby brother had to drag me out of bed one morning because I couldn’t get up for school on my own. One of the side effects was insomnia. With the increased heart rate, energy depletion, and crashes that came when the drugs wore off, the risks were too high. I stopped using that same day and never once looked back.
My cell phone rings, and I retrieve it from my bag. Blocked number, just like the text messages. My nightmare is only beginning. I answer the call but let her speak first.
“Did you get my package?”
“What do you want?”
“Be patient, Abbie. You’ll find out soon.”
“Who are you? Where did you get that picture?”
“Quit with the questions. It’s annoying. For now, you don’t need to know who I am. Only that I own you, and you’ll do exactly as I say.”
“How do I know the picture isn’t fake? Anyone can use Photoshop these days.”
“You know the picture is real, so let’s not kid each other. However, I’ll humor you this once. You’ll get another note in your locker. Study what’s in it. After that, it’s my move.”
“I’ll just request a new locker combination.”
Silence comes down the line. She never thought of that possibility.
“You do that, and I’ll expose you for the fraud that you are. Kellogg will not hesitate to kick you out of Saint Matthews if he were to accidentally come across that photo. Do not test me. You’ve been warned.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Stop whining. That annoys me too. Bye, Abbie.”
She hangs up. I gather the note and the photo and stuff them back into the envelope. I slide the envelope under the mattress. When I’m done, I assume the fetal position and fall into an abyss of numbness.
CHAPTER 13
My brain is about to short circuit. It can’t contain any more thoughts about the fallout if the photo were to be circulated or who this girl is and what she wants from me. School let out a half hour ago, and I’m on my bedroom floor, writhing in agony. Christian threatened to come over this morning when I told him I was skipping school because I was sick.
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