by Denise Jaden
“You want to find this stuff out?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Of course.”
She shrugs. “Easy.”
At four o’clock, Tessa and I are leaning against a post by the offices when Ms. Lamberton leaves for the day. Once she disappears through the main doors, I follow Tessa across the hall. Secretaries still mill about, so we duck all the way to the other end of the clear glass window. Ms. Lamberton’s office is the last one.
Of course the door is locked, which makes me think our big plan is done, over with, kaput. But then Tessa pulls out a Visa card.
Crazy. From Tessa’s wardrobe, I’d never have thought she has access to money. She wears the same loose-fitting black jacket, with a black turtleneck underneath, almost every day.
After instructing me to watch the hallway, she gets to work, fumbling and swearing several times before I hear the click of the door.
“Come on,” she says.
I’ve never done anything like this and my heart beats like the bass drum from our pep rallies. Probably just as loud, too.
“What’s this kid’s name again?”
“Monachie,” I tell her and spell it out the way I found it on the Internet, figuring that’s the only spelling I know to be an actual name.
She ruffles the papers on Ms. Lamberton’s desk, sliding and dropping books off to the side. I hold out my hand to quiet her, but don’t say anything. She knows what she’s doing a hell of a lot more than I do.
“There’s nothing here with the name ‘Monachie’ or even the word ‘homeschool’,” she says.
“Crap. Maybe it’s filed away somewhere.”
Tessa ignores me and boots up Ms. Lamberton’s computer. “What do you think Lamberton’s password would be?” I shrug, but Tessa rattles off words. “Guidance, friend, caring, listening, kids … dog.”
“Dog?” I ask.
“Yeah, who’s the dog in this picture? Have you ever asked her?”
I think back. I had commented on the picture the first time I was in her office. “Appy?” I say.
She plugs in “Appy,” and sure enough, it works.
“Right on the desktop,” she says, after only a few seconds. “Homeschool Exams.” She clicks on it and scrolls through the list.
A sound in the hallway makes me freeze in place. I slowly put my ear to the door, hearing Principal Voth. His voice grows louder. I can’t make out much of what he says, but I do hear the name “Hilary,” which I remember is Ms. Lamberton’s first name.
“We gotta go!” I whisper to Tessa, but she’s absorbed. “Tessa! We gotta go now. Shut that thing down.”
Principal Voth’s voice pauses a few feet away. I’m praying he ducks into the main office. When I feel Tessa behind me, I crack the door. With one eye, I see Mr. Voth standing outside the large Plexiglas window to the main office, leaning through the opening to talk to someone.
I give Tessa a nod and tiptoe out of the office. There’s no sound behind me and I wonder if she held back for some reason. But then her hand lands on my shoulder, turning me around. She grabs my arm, and we walk straight for Mr. Voth.
Then straight past him. “Hey, Mr. Voth,” Tessa calls out over her shoulder. She’s just as casual as I’ve ever heard her.
“Hi, Tessa,” he says back.
I feel like I haven’t breathed in days.
“So what did you find out?” I ask when we reach our lockers.
“Phone: 555-0175,” she spouts. “Address: 3459 Maple Court.” She smiles. Like, really beams.
“Holy crap! You memorized all that?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty good with numbers.”
“No doubt. Can you do that again? I gotta write this down.”
She rattles off the address while she pulls a paperback book out of her messy locker, then shuts the door before the rest of her books fall out. When she goes to repeat the phone number, she stumbles and gets mixed up on the last part. I write down the two versions she comes up with, but decide the address will probably be a better bet.
“And what’s the guy’s name?” I ask.
Her eyes snap away from me. “I gotta go.” She clicks her lock on.
“No, wait.” I run after her when she practically races down the hall.
“Look, haven’t I given you enough?” Her tone is defensive.
When I get beside her, I can see that her unusually happy face has turned back to a scowl, and all at once I understand. She can’t remember, and doesn’t want to admit it.
“No worries,” I say, even though I really, really want to know his first name. “I have more information than I even thought possible.”
She barrels out the door and lets it slam behind her.
At home, I plug the location into the computer, and sure enough, it is an actual address. Over three miles away, mind you, but it does exist. After printing out a map, I look it up on Google Earth, so there’ll be no mistaking it.
Mom and Dad turn in shortly after nine these days. I wait until their light goes out, and then tiptoe down the stairs. In my backpack, I have the address, bus route, and five bucks in change. I’m still not sure of my plan. Knocking on a stranger’s door at ten p.m. doesn’t exactly sound like the ultimate in safety. But I need to see where he lives. And maybe I’ll leave him a note right at his house in case it’s a while before he comes back in to see Ms. Lamberton.
The bus is nearly empty for the ride over, except for the wino in the back. I don’t know if he’s eyeing my backpack for money, or if he’s just doing the pre–pass-out seven-mile stare.
At almost ten o’clock, I exit the bus, walk two blocks, and arrive outside the address on my notepaper. It’s a two-story place, spelling out suburban middle class. A garage and a pathway on either side of the house leading to the backyard complete the picture. The porch light, along with one light on the upper floor, are the only signs of life. I sidle up beside a tree across the street.
Now that I’m here, I want to do something. But should I go up to the house and ask for their son, whoever he is? I really wish Tessa had remembered the name, and I search my imagination for what name would suit him. But I can’t think of any. He doesn’t look like any other guy I’ve known.
Before I make a move, a car pulls into the front drive and a second later the upstairs light snuffs out.
The old white Honda’s brakes make a crunching sound as it stops. A tall girl with light brown hair gets out of the car and for a second I think I recognize her profile, but then she turns away.
She grabs some grocery bags out of her trunk and puts them down briefly to fix her pant leg. That’s when I get a glimpse of those wide eyes. It’s Reena M. Black. From Facebook. Probably from Faith’s home group, and now from the house of the cute guy who was visiting my sister’s grave. I guess that explains how he knew Faith. But why is her last name Black and his Monachie? Unless that’s what the M stands for.
Reena heads for the house, but stops and checks their mailbox on the way. I figure she must be expecting a delivery because she slides her hand in twice and double checks that it’s empty. I march across the street to talk to her, but the front door thuds shut before I even get halfway. The porch light goes out a second later and the house appears totally black. I check my watch and it’s almost ten thirty. Not an acceptable time to knock on a stranger’s front door.
Peering down the side path, I see a garden swing in the backyard. A beat-up red bike leans against the wall near the corner. It has the old-fashioned straight handlebars and a seat that looks off center and really uncomfortable. Faith’s voice is noticeable in my head again, but I’m glad. It’s been so long since I’ve really noticed it and it drowns out the thumping of my heart.
I scan the house again, and a curtain shifts in an upstairs window. Standing under a streetlight, I suddenly feel very exposed. I inch into a shadow and grab for the zipper on my backpack. I rip off a piece of notepaper and crouch in the driveway to write, “Call me. Please,” followed by my home and cell numbers. As mu
ch as I want to talk to the guy, I’d be almost as happy if his sister called. She knew Faith. I’m pretty sure she knew her well.
After pinning my note under the windshield wiper of the Honda, I take one more glance up at the window and the curtain moves again. It’s a creepy feeling like I’m being watched, and now I just want to get out of here.
I pick up my backpack and run all the way to the bus stop.
chapter SEVENTEEN
when I get home, it’s after eleven thirty.
I tiptoe in. My mind’s been racing with all sorts of possibilities that someone’s following me since I saw the curtain move in that upper floor window at the Monachie house.
I place my keys on the hall table right beside the phone when it rings. I snap it out of its cradle in half a nanosecond. No one ever calls this late. Except possibly Dustin—drunk. Or Amy—broken-up. But if they ever did call me again, it would be on my cell. Maybe it’s a wrong number.
“Hello,” I whisper.
“Stay … away … from … my … house.” The voice sounds stern, but young. Male.
“Who is this?” I cup my hand above my mouth to shield my volume.
“You know exactly who this is. Just leave us alone.”
“Leave you alone?” I whisper, suddenly defensive. I think back to the moment we shared in the hallway and wonder if I read him wrong. The thought brings a flush of embarrassment to my cheeks. “What’s with my sister’s grave? What’s with you running away every time I see you? It seems like you’re the one—”
“I mean it. Just let it go. You don’t know what you’re sticking your fingers into.” He softens slightly; I hear it in his voice. The sternness is a definite act and I don’t think I did misread him.
“Okay, okay. I’ll do what you want, but please, meet with me once. Just once. Then I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”
Silence. For a long time. Did he hear me? Should I ask him again?
“Fine. Tomorrow, three o’clock. Grant Park.” And he hangs up.
When I set the phone down, I hear a noise and look up the stairs. Dad stares down from above. I’ve already gotten my shoes off, thankfully, but I’m so close to the front door and so far from the kitchen where I might have been getting a drink of milk or something. I wonder if he suspects I’ve been out.
“You okay?” He grumbles, still half-asleep.
“Yeah, fine. Dad, I—”
He holds up a hand. “Get some sleep, honey.” He skulks back to his room without another word.
The next morning, Dad stops me on my way out the door.
“Who called?” he asks.
“Huh?”
“On the phone last night. Just before midnight. Who called?”
“Oh, uh, no one. Wrong number.”
He nods. “There were a couple of hang ups before that. Did they wake you?”
Huh? “Oh, yeah, they did.” I’d accidentally left my cell on silent, but there were three missed calls on there, too. I try to come up with something to make my lies sound a little more believable, but when I look up, Dad’s eyes are scanning this morning’s newspaper and he walks for the kitchen, the conversation already forgotten.
When I get to school, Tessa waits at our lockers, looking anxious to talk to me. Tessa Lockbaum. Anxious. Unreal.
“So did you go there, or what?”
I feed my books into my cavern of uncompleted assignments. “Yeah, I went there, but calm down. Nothing really happened.”
“You chickened out, didn’t you?” She huffs and rolls her eyes before I even have a chance to answer.
“Kind of. But I did leave a phone number.”
She glances up.
“And he did call.”
Tessa Lockbaum turns downright eager on me. “What did he say? Tell me.”
Of course if it was about a normal crush, it would never garner this reaction from her. Something’s weird, haunting, mysterious. That’s what’s hooking her. I gloss over the details and can tell she’s hinting for me to tell her which park I’m meeting him at, but I don’t. This guy runs away from me enough as it is. And Tessa’s wearing her dog collar today.
chapter EIGHTEEN
Plan S: Find out why this guy is bent on staying away from me.
He’s standing at the fountain when I get there. At least he chose a park close enough to the school that I could walk. He looks pretty nonthreatening—a little on the skinny side, wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, earphones tucked into his ears, and his red-checkered Mack jacket. Not exactly stylish, but this doesn’t surprise me. He is homeschooled, after all.
His hands rest on the cement ledge of the fountain. He has strong-looking hands. Faith’s humming grows louder in my ears, or in my head, or wherever it emanates from, when I approach.
“Hey.” I edge up beside him at the fountain, but don’t look directly at him when I say it. This whole meeting feels very covert.
He reaches down and switches off his MP3 player. “What do you want from me?”
He gets straight to the point, doesn’t he? I want him to look at me so we can share a connection again, but he keeps his eyes straight ahead. “Well, your name for one. I found out your last name. Should I just call you Mr. Monachie?” I snicker, but he doesn’t even crack a smile.
“Alice,” he says.
“Huh?” falls out of my mouth, loud and rude. I snap it shut.
“Alice,” he says again. “That’s my name.”
Alice for a boy. Okaaaay. “Like Alice in Wonderland?” I force a deliberate laugh. The tension is killing me. Lighten up already!
He shakes his head. “No, my full name is Alistair. I hate it. A-L-I-S.” He spells it for me, very slowly and methodically, like I’m in first grade.
“I’m Brie,” I say, in my same chipper tone.
“Like Brianna?” he asks after a pause, and I realize that we are having an actual conversation. Just not the kind I’m used to. Even before Dustin, I knew how to flirt. I cracked jokes or giggled at the ones boys told me, and there was just an understanding that I liked the guy. My methods didn’t seem to be working here. At all.
“No,” I say, trying harder. “More like as in Camembert. You know, the cheese?” I feel like a flailing stand-up comic.
A hint of a smile breaks at the side of his mouth.
“Brie,” I say again. “That’s all I ever got. My sister got the holy, religious name. I guess my parents knew she’d be her and I’d be the cheesy one.” I’m about to leave it at that, like I usually do, but something compels me to tell him the truth. “Actually, I have an Aunt Brie. She’s battled with a list of different cancers. More than once, the doctors told her she wouldn’t live.”
“And she did?” Now he looks at me, but I can’t meet his eyes. Not on this subject.
“Yeah, still is. So, really, I guess the name has kind of a connotation.”
When I tilt my head to finally look at him, he’s turned away again. I stare at the side of his face. His skin isn’t acne-covered like most guys my age. In fact, it appears completely unmarred. Baby soft. I want to reach out and touch it, run my hand along his perfect cheekbone.
“Listen,” I say after way too long of a silence. “I’m sorry if I make you uncomfortable. I just noticed you knew my sister. I’m trying to learn more about her and thought you could tell me what you know. Then I’ll leave you alone,” I add, testing him to see if he still wants that. Hoping he doesn’t.
He mulls it over for a few seconds. “Well, I don’t know much about your sister. Actually, I never met her.”
I study him to see if there’s a joke or some hidden meaning in his words. “Right,” I pronounce in a stern tone. “So you hang out at graves of people you’ve never met.” I nod. “Makes sense.”
“It’s not that … you don’t … Look, I was there because I felt bad. I don’t know, my sister knew her.” His pinched face shows the same kind of confusion I feel.
“Can you tell me anything?” I feel like this is another lost cause and r
esignation tinges my voice. Maybe no one really knew Faith, not even Celeste. Alis and I both stare at the water.
“My sister Reena was friends with Faith.”
I already knew this, but I let him go on.
“They were meeting most nights with a group of girls and one guy in my sister’s room for a few months, you know, before.”
I look up in surprise. Home group. Maybe there is something to learn here. “So if they were at your house almost every night, how could you have not met Faith?”
His face tenses again. “My sister, she’s, um, pretty secretive.” He picks at the edge of his jacket. “I didn’t answer the door or anything.”
“And what went on in her room?”
He scratches his fingers along the cement barrier to the fountain. “There was always lots of singing. Worship singing. Shouts of hallelujah, yelling things to God, stuff like that. At first they went to different churches, but then Reena came home one night saying she couldn’t hang out with those ‘lukewarm Christians’ for another second. She didn’t want their habits rubbing off on her. I thought that meant she’d just stop going, but next thing I know, our house is worship central.”
So definitely home group. With something finally making sense, I suppress a smile. “And your parents didn’t care about the noise or anything?”
The question makes him flinch, and suddenly I remember the article about Annie Monachie, found dead in a car.
Could that be his mom? I divert my eyes for a second to think about this, but Alis turns away from me and takes a few steps toward the trees. I glance down and see what looks like the end of a pocketknife sticking out of his back jeans pocket. For a second it makes me catch my breath. But no, he doesn’t seem dangerous.
“Sorry.” I say, trying to rein him back. “Let’s stick to the subject of Faith. You said you never met her, but you must have seen her, right? I mean, she was over there so much.” I can sense that he knows more. I just need to pull it out of him.
“Sure, I saw her. But when they started taking over the living room, I stayed out of the house during meetings. Reena liked it that way.” He reaches near the cement wall for his backpack. “That’s all I know.”