Night Sky by Suzanne Brockmann Page B

stronger need to call someone for help.
    But who? 9-1-1 was unreliable these days. And even if I got through, when I frantically claimed that a mysterious sewage smell was in my front yard, the operator would probably respond the way Calvin had. She’d laugh in my face.
    Besides, when I accessed my phone, I immediately got the standard “Service is currently unavailable” message. Which meant I couldn’t call anyone. I could only text.
    I thought for a nanosecond about texting my mom, but rejected that instantly. She’d never leave me home alone again. Her imaginary fears were restricting enough without mine being added to the list.
    Despite knowing that Cal would laugh at me, I’d just decided to text him, cryptically telling him to come over right now and then quickly turning off my phone, when someone banged on the door three times.
    Boom boom boom!
    And I screamed.
    â€œSkylar?” The male voice was muffled through the closed door.
    I scrambled to my feet to look through the door’s small stained-glass panel.
    Garrett Hathaway?
    I flung the door open, as glad as I’d ever been to see him.
    â€œHey!” he said, looking confused. No doubt he’d heard my horror-movie-worthy scream of terror. “Are you all right?”
    â€œI’m fine!” I said, forcing a smile and willing my heartbeat to return to normal. I gave him the age-old excuse. “Giant spider.”
    I took a tiny whiff of the air outside. No more sewage smell. Garrett’s car was in the driveway—a little cream-colored roadster. Calvin and I had joked about those kinds of convertibles, calling them the universal midlife-crisis car . I wondered if this one belonged to Garrett’s dad, or if Garrett was already in crisis at the tender age of eighteen.
    Garrett, meanwhile, was looking at me. “Wow. You look hot!”
    Oh, please. I didn’t share the fact that the nasty-ass sewage smell had made me throw up a little in my mouth, and that if he kept up the BS, I might do it again—and this time not be able to keep it contained.
    He must’ve sensed my disbelief because he added, “I’m serious. I’ve never seen you in anything besides jeans and a T-shirt. There is a lot of bare skin going on right now, and I am totally okay with that.”
    Ew.
    â€œI’m about to go for a run,” I explained, then asked, “What are you doing here?”
    â€œI was in the neighborhood,” he said, “and I thought you might want some help, looking for Tasha.”
    â€œSasha,” I corrected him.
    â€œRight,” he said, and gave me another of those meant-to-dazzle smiles. “So, can I give you a ride?”
    He was seriously exhausting. I pointed to myself. “Going for a run ?”
    â€œWell, you’re going to run on the beach,” he said. “Right? I mean, how could you not run on the beach?”
    You could totally not run on the beach if your crazy mother didn’t let you get your driver’s license and you didn’t have an ultra-rich daddy to provide you with his midlife-crisis car. I stepped back inside to grab my keys off the table.
    â€œWe could look for Sasha while we’re there.” Garrett gave me another smile. “Let me help. I could also be your running buddy. Coach you, give you some tips. You know, I’d run cross-country if I wasn’t the MVP of the football team.”
    I liked the idea of searching for Sasha down at the beach. Calvin and I hadn’t done much more than drive by. Soft sand and wheelchairs didn’t exactly mix.
    Still, I couldn’t help but think about what Calvin had said, warning me about Garrett’s douche-tastic-ness .
    Douche he might have been, but Garrett was a douche who was asking to help find Sasha.
    I used my key to lock the door. “Okay. Thanks.”
    â€”
    â€œI hope you’re ready for some track lessons,” Garrett said. “I’ve been