Mrs. Lollipolous has a second kitchen where she bakes both gluten-free and peanut-free cookies and cakes. Mom must have ordered these as a surprise and forgot to hide them. Which means Amanda really shouldn’t eat one.
Amanda counts the cookies. There are seventeen. One too many for a sweet sixteen party. Someone counted wrong. Well, she’ll just fix that.
She snags a cookie, closes the lid, slides the box back into the corner, and peeks down the hall to make sure Mom is upstairs. Yep. The shower is running. And since her mother takes epic showers, Amanda has time to enjoy every bite. Then she’ll call Bryan. Because it’s the right thing to do. And besides, despite the acne, he is kind of cute and really nice.
After two bites she knows.
Her throat tightens. The cookie drops to the floor as she starts to cough. Eyes watering, Amanda stumbles to the counter and fumbles to pulls out the drawer where her mother keeps the EpiPen.
Where is it? It has to be here.
She tries to call out to her mother but nothing comes out. Her throat is too tight. She can’t breathe.
There. Her fingers curl around the pen.
Everything gets fuzzy as she unbuttons her pants so she can give herself a shot. She puts the pen on her thigh, but loses her balance before she can push the injector.
She barely notices when she hits her head on the corner of the drawer. The world has already gone black.
NETWORK MEMBERS—657
NEEDS PENDING—652
NEEDS FULFILLED—109
Kaylee
“HEY.” MY DOOR OPENS and Nate pokes his head inside. “What gives around here? When your mom let me in, you would’ve thought I was here for a funeral instead of movie night. Where’s DJ?”
Ugh. I forgot about movie night. Not a surprise, considering how bad today has been.
I put aside The Grapes of Wrath, which I haven’t been able to concentrate on anyway, and swing my legs over the side of my bed. “DJ’s locked himself in his room.” My mother has been trying to coax him into opening the door for most of the day. After the third time, I told her to take the door off the hinges, but she insists DJ needs his space and will come out when he’s ready. While I’m worried about my brother, I can’t help but be glad he’s kept the door locked. Now Mom knows what it feels like.
“What happened?” Nate asks. “Did they get into a fight? I thought that was more your thing.”
I scowl. “It’s been a rough day. There was an ‘incident’ this morning.” Incident. The mild-mannered word the cops are using to describe what basically amounts to someone wishing DJ would drop dead.
“What kind of incident?”
I pick up my phone, pull up the photograph I took this morning, and hold it out to show Nate. “Someone dug a grave in the snow and left a message essentially telling DJ it was for him.”
“Are you kidding?” Nate grabs my phone and stares at the photograph. “Who the hell would do something like that?”
I shrug. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it. We’ve gotten so many calls my mom finally decided to take the phone off the hook.”
The police paid a visit to Richard Ward at the drugstore and word spread. Fast. I’m spreading rumors. I’m blaming someone without evidence. I’m causing drama. Again.
I called Nate not long after the police came back to talk to DJ, but didn’t leave a message. He always calls back when he sees he missed one of my calls. When he didn’t this time, I figured it was his way of saying he’d had enough of my problems. I was hurt, but I didn’t blame him. Much.
Nate shakes his head, still staring at the image of the grave beneath the tree. “Today was Obligatory Holiday Visit to Obscure Relatives Day. Dad’s still pissed about Jack’s new iPhone, so we all had to leave our phones behind. I was going to call when I got back, but I got distracted by the whole thing with Amanda.”
“What about Amanda?” Now I’m the one who’s confused.
“You haven’t heard?” He glances up. “Amanda’s in the hospital. Her sweet sixteen party was supposed to be tonight, so people were sending texts to let everyone who had been invited know.”
Which explains why I haven’t heard. I wasn’t invited. And, of course, Nate was.
“What happened to her?” I ask, telling myself it doesn’t matter that Amanda didn’t invite me. Just because she actually cared enough to ask me how my brother was doing and promised to get tested as a donor doesn’t make us best friends or anything.
“Between the rumors that she was poisoned by her mother and that someone came in and beat her up, it’s hard to say. I’m putting my money on whatever explanation is behind door number three.” Nate looks back down at my phone and frowns. “Although after seeing this picture, I’m thinking maybe those theories aren’t that crazy.”
“Amanda’s mother wouldn’t poison her, and there’s no way someone would break into her house and beat her up.”
“Yesterday, I would have said there was no way someone would dig a hole in your yard and put a threatening note for DJ in it.” Nate hands my phone back to me.
Fair point. Still . . . “Instead of jumping to conclusions, why don’t you check with your network of informants and see if anyone knows how Amanda is doing.” I’ve seen DJ hooked up to beeping machines far too many times to wish that on anyone, let alone Amanda. “Everyone is probably exaggerating how bad it is, but it would be nice to know for sure.”
“If you insist.” Nate pulls out his own phone and starts dialing. After the first three calls, I tell Nate I’m going downstairs to get us something to drink. It’s one thing to know my best friend is more popular than me; it’s another thing to hear him talking about parties and ski trips I haven’t been asked to be a part of.
Not that I want to go. After all the sideways glances, unkind comments, and horrible messages I’ve received, I’d rather spend my time alone than with most of the people who attend my school. Not that I really have a choice. No one invites me to group events anymore. But Nate is always invited. Most days, I can pretend that Nate will always choose me over those offers. But I know the truth. Nothing lasts forever. I survived my dad’s abandonment. When Nate goes too, I’m not sure what I’ll do.
I reach the bottom of the stairs and hear the sound of one of Mom’s cooking shows coming from the family room. Careful not to step on the creaky middle floorboard, I go to the kitchen, grab two sodas, and hurry back up to my room. Bullet dodged.
Nate’s finishing a call when I walk in. “Amanda is definitely in the hospital. She had an allergic reaction to peanuts, went into some kind of shock, and hit her head when she passed out and fell. Her mother found her unconscious in the kitchen and called the paramedics.”
That sounds bad. “But she’s going to be okay, right?”
Nate shrugs. “The last Megan heard, Amanda is still unconscious, but it sounds like the doctors are optimistic. She promised to keep me posted.” After putting his phone away, Nate slips his arm through mine and says, “While we wait for news, why don’t I get DJ to come out of his room so we can start movie night.” He picks up his drink and flashes a smile that makes the dark cloud over this day fade. “You didn’t think I was going to let you off the zombie and slasher hook that easy, did you? Let’s get this party started.”
Ethan
FINALLY. CONFIRMATION that Ethan has fulfilled his part of the bargain with NEED. His computer will be delivered tomorrow. All Ethan has to do now is make sure the shed out back is unlocked. Which is perfect, since he can wait until his parents go out before retrieving the box. The fewer questions his mom and dad ask, the better. And by this time tomorrow, he’ll be dodging assassins and taking out targets in high def. It’s too bad the computer isn’t going to arrive tonight. Because his current one has already crashed twice. And right in the middle of a level. Which blows wide.
Normally, he’d be really pissed at having to start the level over. Today, he doesn’t mind so much. The new computer is part of it. But for the first time, l
ighting up enemy targets and knifing people in the back aren’t that exciting. Because they aren’t real. This morning—digging the hole, running to avoid being caught, and sneaking back inside his house without making a sound—he had a chance to be like the characters he loves. He’d been given a mission and he had carried it out.
Just thinking about it gives him a massive rush. Was he scared when Kaylee yelled and started to chase him? Hell, yeah. But that’s okay. Being scared is part of the deal. The mercenary trainer says that those with no fear are the ones who get sloppy. Sloppy means you get dead or get caught. He was neither, which means he won the level. The thrill of success gave him a buzz that lasted most of the day. When his friend Logan Shepens called and told him his father had to go out early because of a vandalism report, it was hard to separate fear from excitement. What an awesome high. He didn’t know a person could feel that alive.
Only now, the high is gone and the game he’s playing online doesn’t seem that interesting. Not when he knows how much more exciting it is to perform missions for real.
Ethan tries to concentrate on the target on his screen, but gives up, shuts down the game mid-level, and logs on to NEED. When he gets to the request page, he rereads the prompt and frowns. What should he ask for this time? He could request computer software or maybe a new iPod, but that isn’t what he really wants. No. Those things are ordinary. Boring. And he is done with boring. He’s been boring all his life. People expect him to be boring. Hell, he expects himself to be dull and uninteresting. But he doesn’t want to be. He wants the rush he felt today. He wants the excitement of being a real-life Mercenary of War. He wants to be interesting and different, just like his characters. No . . . he doesn’t just want it. He needs it. But what the hell can he ask for that will give him that?
He turns the problem over in his head for several minutes. Then he types: I need another mission. The more dangerous the better.
Honesty is always the best policy.
He pictures himself racing down icy streets, leaving explosions and chaos behind him. Then he presses Enter.
YOUR REQUEST IS BEING PROCESSED.
He smiles.
NETWORK MEMBERS—690
NEEDS PENDING—686
NEEDS FULFILLED—122
Kaylee
MOVIE NIGHT IS a hit with DJ. Less so with me, since I seem to jump and squeal more than usual with each scary sequence. The man in our yard and Amanda’s ‘accident’ have put me on edge.
But I’m glad that when DJ goes to bed, he is smiling and laughing and leaves his door unlocked. Nate’s magic works again. Mom, having assured herself that DJ doesn’t have a fever or isn’t huddled in tears, has long since turned in, so Nate helps me turn off the lights and straighten up.
“DJ seems like he’s doing okay, all things considered,” Nate says, as he puts the empty popcorn bowl in the sink.
I nod. “He’s gotten good at getting back up after being knocked down.” A skill I could learn from him, because the shock and upset I felt earlier that day have segued into a white-hot rage. At whoever did this. At my father, who could have stayed and prevented it. And at myself. Because if Richard Ward is behind the hole in the yard, I, too, am to blame. “Nate.” I jam my hands into my back pockets. “Do you think it was my emails about my father that caused this?”
“What? No.”
His denial is emphatic, but the guilt I’ve been holding at bay breaks free and threatens to overwhelm me. “If I had listened to my mom and trusted her to handle finding a donor—”
“Kaylee, this isn’t your fault.” Nate grabs my hand and squeezes so tight that it hurts. “No matter what you’ve done, there’s nothing wrong with trying to save your brother’s life. Anyone who says different is lying. Trust me, you’re one of the best people I know.”
“Right. You don’t need to lie to make me feel better.”
“I’m not.” Nate loosens his grip but doesn’t let go of my hand. “You’ve always put other people’s needs in front of your own. You never even stopped to consider if the surgery would hurt or what it would mean for you to live your entire life without one of your kidneys. The minute you heard DJ needed a transplant, you volunteered. No questions asked.”
“He’s my brother.”
“If it had been me or someone else in this town, you would have still volunteered. Remember Kristen Rothchild’s ninth birthday party?”
“Vaguely.” It happened over seven years ago.
“Well, I remember that more kids showed up than were supposed to and Kristen’s mom was short a cupcake. You realized the problem before she did and said you didn’t want one.”
“I must have been full.”
He shakes his head. “You didn’t want one of the other kids to be upset, so you fixed it. That was the day I decided I wanted to be your best friend, and I bribed you with half of my chocolate cupcake.”
“I remember now. It was vanilla.”
“If it had been vanilla, I would have given you the entire thing. Who needs vanilla cake?” Nate grins, but his eyes are dead serious when they meet mine. “My point is, the only person to blame for what happened in your yard is the jerk who dug the hole. Not the person who sold him the shovel. Not your father for having such crappy taste in friends. Not you for trying to help your brother. The person who, for whatever reason, made a choice and dug that hole. He’ll have to live with the consequences. And who knows. Maybe it’ll turn out to be a good thing.”
I flinch and yank free of Nate’s grasp. “I can’t imagine how.”
“Think about it.” Nate folds his arms across his chest. “This kind of story gets people fired up. People are going to talk. They’ll be angry at someone picking on a sick kid, especially a kid like DJ who gets good grades, is nice to everyone, and has never gotten into trouble. This is the kind of story that people share on social media and that makes everyone want to help. If we play our cards right, DJ’s story could go viral.”
“That would be great, but I kind of doubt it.”
“Don’t be so pessimistic. It’s not a good look for you.” Nate holds up a hand before I can make a comeback. “Don’t take my word for it. Look at how fast NEED spread. A few people were invited on to the site. They were asked to invite five more, who then invited six. Four days ago, no one we know had ever heard of NEED. Today, everyone we go to school with is talking about it. This story with DJ is going to spread in the same way. And if one person gets tested for every twenty who hear about it, we’ll have a great chance of finding a donor before things get really bad.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I say, swallowing down my fear. “But I don’t think I’ll give up looking for my father.”
“I didn’t say you should. How about I come over on Sunday and help you make phone calls? We can borrow my mom’s car and drive to the condo complex that the Christmas card was sent from. We’ll flash your dad’s picture around like one of those black-and-white-movie PIs. Maybe someone will remember something.”
“I don’t have my driver’s license yet, and you’re busy that day. Remember? You told Megan you’d see her on Sunday.”
“You should know by now that I never go to the stuff I say yes to. You’d think people would stop asking me, but for some reason they never do.”
Nate’s grin disappears and his expression turns solemn. “As far as I can tell, you’re the only one who can count on me to do most of what I say. You’re the only one who has ever mattered enough for me to bother to be a nice guy. Why do you think that is?”
I feel hot and cold and nervous as Nate looks at me. It’s as if everything depends on the answer I give. But I’m not sure what answer he wants or if I have the courage to give it. So I take the easy way out and shrug, as if this is just another one of his crazy ideas. “I don’t know.”
My heart pounds faster.
Nate stares at me. Then he nods and steps away. “I know you don’t. Sometimes I don’t either. I guess it must have something to do with that chocolate cup
cake. I have a few things I have to do tomorrow, but I’ll be here bright and early on Sunday to help you search for your dad. If you need anything before then, let me know.” He grabs his jacket off the back of the kitchen chair and slips into it as I follow him to the front door. Hand on the knob, he turns. “Kaylee . . .”
I wrap my arms tight around myself as his eyes study my face. Shifting my feet, I try not to worry as he looks as if he’s trying to decide how to say what it is he wants to say. When several seconds pass and he still hasn’t said anything, I ask, “Yes?”
He opens his mouth but then shakes his head. “Nothing. Just . . . after what happened this morning and what happened to Amanda, I want you to promise me that you’ll be careful. Okay?”
“Sure.” It’s not like we live in a war zone, as creepy as this morning’s incident was. “I promise.”
“Good.” Nate flips his scarf around his neck with a flourish. “Because while I make an excellent sidekick, I’d be a terrible hero. And we all know how much I hate being bad at things.”
And with that parting salvo, he opens the door and is gone, leaving me feeling jittery and unsettled. Which is why, when I go up to my room, I slide into my desk chair and fire up my computer instead of going to bed. No one has replied to the emails I sent yesterday. Either they’ve been too busy to check their inboxes or they just don’t care.
I log on to Facebook and search for news of Amanda. There are lots of posts on her page. People praying that she gets well. Requests for updates on her condition. Stuff Nate told me about and more. Much more. About ten posts down I see a message from Amanda’s aunt asking that everyone pray for her niece, followed by lots of comments sending hugs and prayers, along with a few people saying they never knew Amanda had such a bad allergy. Me neither, and I have to wonder how someone with such a severe allergy ate a cookie containing nuts in her own home. Unless her mother just missed reading a label, like some of the comments suggest.
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