by Lisa Nowak
Chapter 5
Piper
Since Bailey’s parents are out of town, she commits to spending another night at the White Eagle. But first she abandons me to play soccer.
“I’m sorry,” she says, giving me a hug. “But I can’t let my team down.”
She comes back late that afternoon bearing fast food, coffee, spray paint, and her old tablet, loaded with books.
After dark, we black out all the glass in the doors and windows, which makes me feel more secure. It’s not until morning, when Bailey swings the side door open and sunlight peeks inside, that I realize we’ve turned the already-gloomy tavern into a tomb. It’s the first nice weather we’ve had in days, and I ache to go out and soak up the sun like a lizard, but I can’t force myself within ten feet of the doorway. Bailey tries to convince me I’ll be perfectly safe in the outdoor seating area—the bushes and vines are so overgrown it would be impossible for anyone to see me—but I can’t risk it. I was too scared to even sneak up the back staircase last night to take a shower.
“You’re being paranoid,” Bailey says.
I know. But I can’t help it. It feels like bad guys are hiding everywhere, waiting to snatch me. Even the trucks rumbling by on Russell make me jump.
At noon, Bailey takes off again. She’s got another soccer game, plus she needs to finish cleaning up the mess from the party before her parents get home. I’m on my own all day. That’s when I find the nerve to look myself up on the Net, using Bailey’s tablet, just in case I’m wrong about them not being able to track me on my laptop. I hate that I’ve waited this long, that I didn’t have the guts to face up to things yesterday. But since Friday night, I’ve been trapped in a soul-sucking fog that’s barely left me enough energy to eat and breathe.
The news is as bad as I expected. They interviewed kids in the JSA program, and none of them have anything nice to say.
“Piper was always a little strange,” comments one guy I barely recognize. “She never talked much.”
“It doesn’t surprise me she’d pull a gun on someone,” says another girl. “She was kinda creepy, y’know?”
A doctor I’ve never met claims I held him up and threatened his life, demanding oxycodone. I keep reading, my whole body tense, dreading what Dr. Alvarez might’ve said, but there’s no word from her.
The story goes on to report that my phone was found on the SuperMAX south of Eugene, and that I’m armed and dangerous, just like Bailey said. If anyone sees me, they’re supposed to contact authorities immediately. Right. Because if they try to apprehend me themselves, I might blab the truth about the kidnappings.
The only thing I learn on the other news sites is that my family supposedly moved to southern California on short notice when my mom got a job offer, and I stayed behind to finish my junior year. Pretty much what the police said about everyone else who’s been reported missing.
It’s only ten-thirty when I finish reading. I’ve still got the whole day to kill. And the one after that. And the one after that. A thick, dark gloom settles over me. Am I going to be stuck in this hellhole forever? Bailey said she just needs time to figure things out, and so far she’s been right about pretty much everything. But what if she can’t come up with a plan? What if this is all I can expect from the rest of my life?
Longing wells up inside me. A deep need to plunge into the refuge I always seek when things get bad. My future in medicine might be over, but right now, the only thing that’ll make me feel better is to lose myself in that world.
I can’t risk logging into the Amazon cloud to read my medical books, so I settle for surfing the Net, steering clear of OHSU’s student training database. Even if the code Dr. Alvarez gave me still works, using it might be the tip-off that’ll get me busted. There are a lot of other good websites, though. I spend hours watching surgery videos on YouTube and trying not to think of my family. But the memories sneak in.
I picture Grandpa, who alternately drives me nuts with his conspiracy theories and cracks me up with his raunchy humor. I think of Nick, who’s always living adventures in his head when he’s not acting as Grandpa’s legs so he won’t have to give up on pruning shrubs and planting pansies. I remember Mom, who spends her days teaching kindergarten then wears herself out waitressing at night so we won’t lose our house. She insisted on me signing up for a summer shift in the JSA program, even though I could’ve spent the twenty hours a week flipping burgers to bring in extra cash.
I have to find my family. Failing isn’t an option. The idea of never seeing them again snatches the breath right out of my chest.
It’s almost eight o’clock when Bailey comes back, bringing a coffee maker, a bag of groceries, and a mocha shake from the new gourmet ice cream shop on Mississippi. She sets everything on the table of the booth I’ve staked out in the corner opposite the stage. The scent of fresh spring air clings to her. It seems like a year since I’ve been outside.
“You doing okay?” she asks, flopping on my bed and narrowly missing a bag of potato chips.
I suck on my milkshake, welcoming the merciful rush of sugar and caffeine. “I guess. How was your game?” I’m desperate to talk about something—anything—other than the mess I’m in.
“Good. We smoked ’em, 4-0.” Bailey fishes a chip from the bag and pops it into her mouth. Kicking off her shoes, she stretches out on my bed and rests her feet on the brick wall above my pillow.
As she makes her way through my chips, we talk about her soccer club, and that leads to a discussion of how the Timbers, Portland’s major league team, are kicking butt this year. I don’t give a rat’s right foot about this stuff, but it’s a distraction.
“They’re playing New Seattle next Friday,” Bailey says.
Even I know this is a major event, since the Sounders—or “Flounders,” as Bailey refers to them—are Portland’s biggest rival. “You going?”
“Hell no. I heard Jefferson’s supposed to be there.” Bailey never calls him Cooper, or even the president. With her, he’s always just Jefferson, like they’re buddies or something. “Not that I wouldn’t mind sharing a private suite with him, but it’s always a pain in the ass when the Secret Service shows up.”
“Just imagine if Sarto went too.” Before he was vice president, Sarto used to be the mayor of New Seattle, and he’s still a huge Sounders fan. The rivalry between the two cities and their soccer teams keeps him and President Cooper constantly ribbing each other.
“They won’t let that happen,” Bailey says. “Those two never go to games together. All it would take is one well-placed bomb, and boom, there goes the Cascadian government …. Plus we’d lose the Timbers.”
“Yeah,” I say with a straight face. “That would be just as tragic.”
She picks up my pillow and flings it at my head. “It would be!”
I toss it back, and for a few seconds we’re engaged in battle, like two normal teenagers on any ordinary day. It feels good to laugh, but Bailey gives up way too soon, letting the pillow lie where it falls.
“I need to get going. My parents just got home, and they’re being all clingy.” She bites her lip, giving me a look like she’s dipping her toe in a lake, debating about whether or not to plunge in. “You gonna be okay?”
Even though there’s no difference between night and day with the windows blacked out, the idea of being here by myself after dark feels lonely. “Sure,” I say with a shrug. “I better get used to it, right?”
Bailey gives up the lip chewing and moves on to twisting her long, dark hair around a finger. “Why don’t you let me talk to my dad about this? Maybe he—”
“No!” As bad as today was, I’m not ready to trust anyone other than her. Just the idea of it sends fear slicing through me.
“Piper …”
“I can’t risk it. Anyway, aren’t those guys still watching your house?”
“Well … yeah,” she admits.
“They’ve probably got your phone tapped, too. Maybe they’ve even got the place bugged.”
Bailey studies me, her eyes a little sad, and finally nods. “Okay. I’ll keep it to myself.”