cancer, I’m fairly certain he’s not a good guy .
“Pretty much. I’ll try talking some sense into her at practice. Are you going straight home?”
“Yeah, I’ll catch a ride with Rollins.”
“Oh,” Mattie says, her eyes getting all big like she knows something that I don’t.
“What is it?”
“I just saw him walking out to the parking lot with Anna. I assumed you weren’t riding with him.”
My heart falls. I’d really been hoping for a chance to tell Rollins about what happened last night. I’m still not sure I did the right thing by calling the cops anonymously. I wanted to get his perspective because clearly Samantha isn’t going to be a moral compass in this matter. And Mattie’s too invested. She doesn’t want to see me get in trouble.
I slam my locker door shut. “Great. I guess I’ll walk. Again.”
Mattie grabs my hand. “I’ll see you when I get home.” She lets go and hurries down the hallway, her ponytail bouncing.
I hoist my backpack onto my shoulders and somehow summon the energy to walk home. The sun is warm on my face, and it would be an enjoyable hike if it weren’t for the morbid thoughts circling in my head. I keep wondering what’s happening at Lookout Point. Did the paramedics, realizing that Scotch was nonresponsive, zip him into a body bag and load him onto a gurney? Are the police searching the woods for any evidence of foul play? Do Scotch’s parents know yet?
When I turn onto my street, Lydia’s yellow car in my driveway almost makes me want to turn around and run the other way. She’s the last person I want to see right now, but I don’t really have anywhere else to go. I turn the knob slowly and push open the front door. Inside, I hear nothing. After setting my backpack down and hanging up my jacket, I scope out the kitchen and living room. No one’s there. I check out the upstairs. All the bedrooms are empty, and the bathroom door is wide open. No one is inside.
It appears that Lydia went out for the day. This piques my curiosity. Where would she go without her car?
I stand in the doorway to Mattie’s room. The shades are drawn, painting the walls in darkness. I’m tempted to open them or turn on a light, but Mattie’s window faces the driveway, and I don’t want Lydia to realize someone is in here if she comes home early. I can make out a suitcase on the floor next to the closet, though, and I kneel down beside it.
My heart hammers in my chest. I grab the zipper and pull it open, exposing a bunch of wadded-up clothes. One thing is for sure: my aunt isn’t the neatest person in the world. I recognize the outfit she wore when she showed up at the front door. It’s damp and shoved into a corner of the suitcase. Poking through the clothes doesn’t reveal more than my aunt’s preference for black silk underwear, unfortunately.
I push the clothes back into the suitcase and zip it up, noticing a pocket on the front that I hadn’t seen before. From the bulge, I’m able to tell there’s definitely something inside. Excited, I yank open the zipper and thrust my hand in. My fingers close around a leather wallet. Bingo. I pull it out so I can examine it properly.
Inside, I find a wad of receipts from places in San Francisco. A few credit cards. And her driver’s license. All of these items have the same name on them, but they’re not my aunt’s name. They say “Lila Harrington.”
Who is Lila Harrington?
That’s when I hear the front door open.
Crap crap crap crap crap.
My dad’s at work, and Mattie’s at cheerleading practice, meaning there’s only one other person who’d be walking into our house.
Lydia.
My panic makes me uncoordinated, and I struggle with stuffing the wallet back into the suitcase pocket. It takes me several tries to zip it up. I scramble to my feet and am poised to race out the door when something on the bureau catches my eye.
It is the picture of my mother in a sombrero.
The one I thought I lost last Thursday,
“Pretty much. I’ll try talking some sense into her at practice. Are you going straight home?”
“Yeah, I’ll catch a ride with Rollins.”
“Oh,” Mattie says, her eyes getting all big like she knows something that I don’t.
“What is it?”
“I just saw him walking out to the parking lot with Anna. I assumed you weren’t riding with him.”
My heart falls. I’d really been hoping for a chance to tell Rollins about what happened last night. I’m still not sure I did the right thing by calling the cops anonymously. I wanted to get his perspective because clearly Samantha isn’t going to be a moral compass in this matter. And Mattie’s too invested. She doesn’t want to see me get in trouble.
I slam my locker door shut. “Great. I guess I’ll walk. Again.”
Mattie grabs my hand. “I’ll see you when I get home.” She lets go and hurries down the hallway, her ponytail bouncing.
I hoist my backpack onto my shoulders and somehow summon the energy to walk home. The sun is warm on my face, and it would be an enjoyable hike if it weren’t for the morbid thoughts circling in my head. I keep wondering what’s happening at Lookout Point. Did the paramedics, realizing that Scotch was nonresponsive, zip him into a body bag and load him onto a gurney? Are the police searching the woods for any evidence of foul play? Do Scotch’s parents know yet?
When I turn onto my street, Lydia’s yellow car in my driveway almost makes me want to turn around and run the other way. She’s the last person I want to see right now, but I don’t really have anywhere else to go. I turn the knob slowly and push open the front door. Inside, I hear nothing. After setting my backpack down and hanging up my jacket, I scope out the kitchen and living room. No one’s there. I check out the upstairs. All the bedrooms are empty, and the bathroom door is wide open. No one is inside.
It appears that Lydia went out for the day. This piques my curiosity. Where would she go without her car?
I stand in the doorway to Mattie’s room. The shades are drawn, painting the walls in darkness. I’m tempted to open them or turn on a light, but Mattie’s window faces the driveway, and I don’t want Lydia to realize someone is in here if she comes home early. I can make out a suitcase on the floor next to the closet, though, and I kneel down beside it.
My heart hammers in my chest. I grab the zipper and pull it open, exposing a bunch of wadded-up clothes. One thing is for sure: my aunt isn’t the neatest person in the world. I recognize the outfit she wore when she showed up at the front door. It’s damp and shoved into a corner of the suitcase. Poking through the clothes doesn’t reveal more than my aunt’s preference for black silk underwear, unfortunately.
I push the clothes back into the suitcase and zip it up, noticing a pocket on the front that I hadn’t seen before. From the bulge, I’m able to tell there’s definitely something inside. Excited, I yank open the zipper and thrust my hand in. My fingers close around a leather wallet. Bingo. I pull it out so I can examine it properly.
Inside, I find a wad of receipts from places in San Francisco. A few credit cards. And her driver’s license. All of these items have the same name on them, but they’re not my aunt’s name. They say “Lila Harrington.”
Who is Lila Harrington?
That’s when I hear the front door open.
Crap crap crap crap crap.
My dad’s at work, and Mattie’s at cheerleading practice, meaning there’s only one other person who’d be walking into our house.
Lydia.
My panic makes me uncoordinated, and I struggle with stuffing the wallet back into the suitcase pocket. It takes me several tries to zip it up. I scramble to my feet and am poised to race out the door when something on the bureau catches my eye.
It is the picture of my mother in a sombrero.
The one I thought I lost last Thursday,
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