Need

by Joelle Charbonneau

  “Well, that was pointless. Again.” Nate sets his phone down on the carpet next to him. “I’m not going to answer him anymore. I promise.”

  “Jack?”

  “I don’t know what his deal is or why he cares if I’m going over to Lynn’s house for the “Remembering Amanda” thing or why he needs me to go back there so he can show up and pay his respects without feeling awkward. He barely even knew she existed.”

  “Maybe that’s why he needs you there,” I say. “So no one wonders why he’s suddenly showing signs of being human.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, he’s wasting his time. No one is going to be fooled by the caring Jack act. Everyone in this town knows him too well.” Nate’s phone dings again. This time he ignores it and says, “Back to our regularly scheduled program. You should call your father again and you should do it now.”

  “I will,” I say, because while I am desperate to find my father, I have to find out if Nate has crossed a line. Making the call seems like the best way to find out. “Just give me a minute. Okay?”

  “Sure.” He grins. “So what should we do in the meantime? Watch TV? Eat more pizza? Flirt relentlessly?”

  I glance up at the ceiling and then down at the floor. Anywhere but at Nate while trying not to look as awkward as I feel. Because . . . Well, because.

  “I was kidding, Kaylee.” Nate climbs to his feet. “Okay, not entirely, but mostly. Things are really intense with NEED and you may finally have the chance to talk to your dad and maybe convince him to help DJ. I’m not going to choose this time to push you into any deep, meaningful discussions about us.”

  Us.

  Everything in me tenses as he walks toward me. Is he the same boy I have always counted on?

  “You haven’t eaten anything in forever,” he says. “Since the pizza isn’t cutting it, why don’t I make you a grilled cheese while I’m giving you space?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nate’s phone sitting on the floor where he left it. Now I just need him to leave it there. “A grilled cheese sounds great.” I reach out and take his hand and hold it tight. I want to believe in him. In what we have been. In what he says we could become. I want to have faith that this one thing in my life is still genuine and dependable. That one person still thinks I’m worthwhile. But I need to be sure.

  “Nate,” I say, wanting to ask him about the horrible feeling I have that he is hiding something. But the only word that comes out is, “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me until you taste the grilled cheese,” he jokes. Then his expression turns serious, and we stand there staring at each other. My heart pounds. I wonder if he will kiss me again. Despite everything that I don’t understand, I want us to have another chance at that moment.

  But Nate doesn’t lean forward, and I’m too scared to initiate the contact. So I let go of his hand and walk him toward the door.

  “I’ll cook slow. That way you’ll have plenty of time to call your dad.” With that, he leaves the room.

  I hear him go down the stairs. Still, I do not move. Only when I hear the clanging of pans do I stand up and walk slowly across the carpet. Nate’s phone is lying face-down on the floor, so all I can see is the dark blue case.

  All the reasons why breaking into Nate’s phone is wrong run through my head as I pick up the phone. Our lifelong friendship. His willingness to stand by me. The worry that I will break if one more person betrays me. Still, I touch my finger to the screen.

  An unread message alert appears on the display. The message is from Jack. Where the hell is your lying ass? Mom is going to . . . The rest is hidden. To see all of it, I need to enter Nate’s password. Taking a deep breath, I think back to Nate punching in his password and I start to type.

  One number.

  Then the second.

  On the third the phone vibrates. I jump and almost drop the thing as the screen resets. The number I pushed was incorrect. So I try again. The first number. Second. I type in a different third number and the phone vibrates and resets again.

  Now what? How many wrong entries do I get before the screen locks? Three? Four? If I punch in the password wrong again, the phone might not let anyone else operate it. Nate will know what I’m doing. He’ll ask me why. I can stop now and avoid that. I can accept Nate as the friend he’s always been. Pretend there are no secrets hiding in his eyes.

  But I’m tired of secrets. I want to try once more.

  My finger touches the first two numbers. I wait for the buzz on the third, but it never comes and when I punch the fourth the screen changes. I’m in. Now I need to find what I’m looking for without knowing what that is. I can’t read Nate’s unread message or open his text message inbox without him knowing. So I open up his phone log.

  Wow. Nate must have spent half his day on the phone with people from our class. Lynn called him twice. Probably about the meeting at her house tonight. Cassandra Clarke is on the list. Rachel Briggs. Emily Yorgen. Josh Martinez. Nick Wright. All kids we’ve grown up with. All friends of Amanda’s. Nothing suspicious about any of them as far as I can tell.

  Two other numbers have no names attached. By their area codes I can tell they are local, but I have no time to sit at my desk and look them up on my laptop. I move on to Nate’s email.

  The screen is loading as I hear more banging of pans in the kitchen, followed by the sound of running water. Nate must be cleaning up. He’ll be back in minutes. I look at the door and then back at the screen. Come on. Load. Load.

  Nate’s inbox appears. For a second I just stare at it, wanting to see everything and knowing I only get to look at one or two messages. I quickly read the From column. The sender and time stamp of one email look familiar. I received the same message from NEED, saying the website was up and active. But it’s the message above it that catches my attention. The sender is administrator@nhsproject.gov. The subject line reads: “Request fulfillment.” The same terminology NEED uses.

  “I hope you’re ready for the best grilled cheese you’ve ever eaten in your life,” Nate yells from downstairs.

  I glance again at the doorway and back at Nate’s cell. My hand is unsteady as I select the email and wait for it to load. Hurry. Hurry. I hold my breath and listen for Nate. I don’t hear him. Then suddenly I do. As Nate reaches the bottom steps, there’s a creak from the board that Dad always said he was going to fix.

  The email appears.

  “Room service,” Nate calls. He has reached the top of the stairway and is coming down the hall.

  No, I’m not ready. I reread the message and struggle to understand.

  THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIMELY WARNING ABOUT KAYLEE DUNHAM CONTACTING THE NOTTAWA POLICE DEPARTMENT. WITH YOUR ASSISTANCE, OUR PROJECT HAS BEEN ABLE TO REMAIN UNDETECTED AND OPERATIONAL. AS PROMISED, WE HAVE OBTAINED THE PHONE NUMBER YOU REQUESTED. IT IS LISTED BELOW. WE CONSIDER THIS TRANSACTION NOW CLOSED.

  “Are you ready to eat?”

  I turn toward the door. Nate’s smile dissolves as he spots the phone in my hand.

  “Kaylee, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “That’s what I want to know,” I say. There is a pounding at the base of my skull as I shift the phone so he can see the screen.

  I doubt he can read the words from that distance, but his face goes pale. “I can explain.”

  “Fine. Explain to me,” I say. “Explain why you’re helping NEED.”

  Ethan

  THE CHARACTERS IN Mercenary of War always wear gloves when they’re on a mission. Criminals in TV shows wear gloves to make sure they don’t leave fingerprints behind. Hell, even the cops in movies and on television wear gloves to avoid corrupting a crime scene. So why in all the movies or video games or or TV shows don’t they say that while gloves keep fingerprints off things, they totally suck to work in.

  He checks the time. A little behind schedule but not too bad. He’ll still be home by curfew if he hurries. The last thing Ethan wants is for his mother to call Miguel’s house looking for him. That wo
uld lead to all sorts of questions that Ethan isn’t about to answer. NEED requires secrecy. It’s his job to adhere to that rule.

  Ethan grabs the duffle bag he brought with him and kneels next to the lamp so he can see better. He fishes out the plastic bags and the rubber bands. It takes him several tries, but after a few minutes he’s satisfied with the coverings he’s created over his boots. He takes a couple of steps. The bags crinkle but they hold and the rubber bands are just about cutting off circulation in his legs, which is perfect. Nothing in. Nothing out.

  “Ethan?”

  He stops and turns toward the faint sound of his name. Hannah must have gotten some of the tape off her mouth. Well, she can call for help all she wants. No one else is around to hear her. And really, he isn’t going to be here all that much longer.

  “Ethan, are you there? Please. Someone? Please. Help.”

  He picks up a metal jug and walks toward the office. The plastic coverings on his feet crackle with every step and his footsteps echo in the empty halls. He swallows hard and straightens his shoulders because there is nothing to be afraid of. At least not for him.

  “Ethan.” The sound is colored by tears. “Please. Please, Ethan.” Desperate, hopeless crying that he doesn’t want to listen to. So he starts to hum, which does wonders to block out the sound. Whistle while you work, he thinks as he picks up a can of gasoline and gets down to business.

  Kaylee

  “I’M NOT WORKING with NEED.”

  Nate’s face and voice are filled with such conviction that I might believe him had I not read the email. Had I not seen the secrets lurking in his eyes.

  “If you aren’t helping them, why are they sending you emails thanking you for your assistance?”

  He puts the plate on my bed, runs a hand through his shaggy blond hair, and shoots a nervous look at the phone. “I don’t know how much you read, but it’s not how it seems, Kaylee.”

  How much I read? Oh God. How much more is there?

  I blink back tears because I won’t cry. Not again. Never again. I’m done being everyone’s victim, including Nate’s. “It looks like you betrayed a friend and made things even worse for her family in order to screw with this town. It looks like you aren’t the person I thought you were. Get out of my house. Now.”

  “Let me explain.” Nate holds out his hand and I step back. No way I’m going to let him touch me. Or maybe he is just reaching for the phone that I still have in my grasp. Well, he isn’t getting it.

  “Kaylee,” he says, before I can order him out again. “Just listen. A few months ago, I got an email from someone claiming to be the director of some sort of government grant program that was looking to get information about Nottawa High School directly from the students. It asked if I’d be willing to take a detailed survey about the students and the town. I figured what the hell. Sounded interesting. So I did.”

  “Just like that? No questions asked? Without telling anyone?” Without telling me?

  Nate sighs. “No. Not just like that. I looked up the grant program online and found the website. There were links to each school that had been nominated for grants. Nottawa was on the list.”

  I turn toward my laptop and he says, “The site isn’t there anymore. I’ve checked.”

  “That’s convenient.” On the other hand, it sounds familiar.

  “It’s true. I saw the website, was feeling bored, and decided what the hell.”

  No. He’s lying. The website disappearing is probably true. But there’s more here. I can see it in Nate’s expression. “There’s a reason you didn’t tell me about the survey. There’s a reason you decided to participate. What’s the reason?”

  “It’s not that important.”

  “Tell the truth or get out. I’m done.” The phone in my hand dings, but Nate never glances at it. His eyes stay firmly on my face. Considering. Weighing.

  “Okay.” Nate closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I got the email like I told you and I deleted it. I figured it was some kind of phishing scam. The next day I got another email strongly encouraging me to reconsider my hasty dismissal of their request. They wanted information and they wanted me to give it to them. In exchange, they offered to help me get something I wanted.”

  “What did you ask for? A perfect score on a math test?”

  “No. I wanted them to find a kidney donor for DJ. I asked them to help you.”

  “Help?” I stare at him, trying to understand what could possibly be helpful about a grave being dug in our front yard and DJ’s pretend coffin thrown in it.

  “Kaylee, you have to understand.” Nate takes a step toward me. “I saw how sick DJ gets when he relapses and how hard you were working to keep him alive and to find your father. Hell, I was trying to track your dad down too. They knew that. The people behind that email knew we were friends before I ever told them. When I deleted that first survey, they threatened me by saying they’d hurt you. They knew how desperate I was to help your family, and they offered me a way. I thought I could help you fix things.”

  “You thought you were making things better?” The pressure in my chest grows stronger. “By lying to me? By making my brother a target?”

  “I didn’t know that was going to happen!” Nate yells. “I didn’t know any of this was going to happen. They said they wanted information in exchange for their assistance. They said they had contacts who could find your father or, if that failed, could hook DJ up with a new kidney. I took them up on their offer because I love you.”

  The phone drops from my hand. Everything inside me squeezes until it feels like it’s going to burst.

  “Did you hear what I said, Kaylee?” Nate asks, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He’s off balance. Scared. So am I. “I love you.”

  I step back.

  “I’ve loved you for forever. Since that day at the party with the cupcake when you didn’t care about who my brother was or how good he is at sports or how much my parents worship him.”

  I can barely breathe.

  And Nate’s words don’t stop. “Loving you is the only really good thing about me. I hated what was happening to you. First DJ, then your dad, and then your mom and all of her issues. None of it was fair. You deserve to be happy.”

  “Love?” I yell, ignoring the small, vulnerable ache in my chest. “You don’t know anything about love. All you care about is getting attention and being important because you’re jealous of your brother. You’re selfish. You always have been. If you aren’t in the center, you—” I stop the flood of words as I hear what I’m saying. All the nasty insults that have been hurled at me, the accusations that created wounds that still haven’t healed, I’m now throwing at Nate. The shield of anger cracks and shame floods through. “I’m sorry, Nate. No matter what you’ve done, you don’t deserve me saying those things.”

  “You’re wrong.” He thrusts his hands into his front pockets. “I deserve worse. And you’re right about me being selfish. I win in that department. I even have Gina Ferguson beat, which takes effort. Gotta give me points for doing something all the way, right?”

  “You’re not selfish.” Guilt smears across my rage. “You’re the only one who stood by me through everything. You were there when my dad left. You got yourself tested as a donor without me ever asking. And—”

  “Don’t.” Nate shakes his head, walks to my bedroom window, and stares into the distance. “Don’t give me credit. You always do that. You see the best in me and I let you, because it would suck large if you saw the real me. I suspected that there was something really off with NEED after we looked at it, but you said you weren’t going to ask for anything. And I’m such a nice guy that I didn’t really care if someone at NEED started blackmailing other people we knew as long as the people behind it would follow through on their guarantee to help me track down your father. So when I found a hyperlink buried in the Terms and Conditions that had the same email address that the survey used, I decided to send an email reminding them that they hadn�
�t yet fulfilled their promise and since they hadn’t, I’d like them to consider using NEED to help DJ.”

  He shrugs. “I figured, what was the harm? After all, they were going to start raising the stakes for need request fulfillments. Why not have them make one of the requirements be that users take a simple medical test? When they said they found my suggestion worthy of consideration, I knew I couldn’t let you shut them down. Not without seeing if they would really follow through. I didn’t know they were going to threaten you. Turns out, they decided against having students volunteer to be tested and gave me your father’s phone number to thank me for my help. And yeah—I got myself tested to be a donor. Do you know why?” He turns to face me.

  “Because you want DJ to live.”

  “That’s the brave answer. That’s the one I wanted you to believe because I needed you to.” Nate squares his shoulders and sets his jaw. “I got tested because I didn’t believe there was a chance in hell that I’d turn up as a match. No risk, all reward. How heroic is that?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say, trying to decide if I believe my own words. “You got tested. You did what most people in this town never considered doing. It doesn’t matter why or that you’re not a match.”

  “That’s what you think.” He takes another step forward and searches my face. After several long seconds he says, “Whoever sent me the survey knew I wanted to help you, but they also found out that I had a secret. A secret I’d do almost anything to keep. That’s why they picked me. If I gave them the information they requested, I’d be rewarded. They’d work to find a donor for DJ. But if I refused, they threatened to send the information they found to you.”

  I don’t understand. “Me? Why me?”