The Rules for Disappearing by Unknown

jar of pickled pig feet sitting on the counter. And people buy them. To eat. And part of the info they gave me at the safe house was how to identify poisonous snakes. I mean, we live near downtown for God’s sake. Why would I need to identify a snake?
    On the next block I find a coffeehouse. It’s fairly empty, so I choose a table in the back.
    “What can I get you?” A young waitress walks up to the table—
    late teens or early twenties—and she has a piercing in her lip, nose, and eyebrow. We have almost the same haircut but I must admit, hers is cuter.
    “Small chai latte.”
    “You want anything else? Scone, beignet, muffin?’
    “No, thanks.”
    This place is like old meets new. The building itself is old brick walls and scuffed wood floors but everything in here is state-of-the-art. On the back wall, flat-screen monitors and wireless keyboards line a long table, huge TVs fill every corner, and there’s a sign offering free Wi-Fi. I’ve been terrified of the Internet but I’m tempted now to take a peek. The problem is I don’t know enough about it to know who can see what. If I search back issues of my hometown newspaper—will that throw up a flag to someone watching?
    I’m torn. My need for information is equal to my fear of being picked up by the suits.
    The waitress brings my latte.
    —S
    “You okay?”
    —N
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    Not trusting my voice to speak, I nod.
    She shrugs and walks off. Once she’s behind the counter, she
    glances over several times. Maybe she’s afraid I’m going lose it and go nuts in here. Maybe I should wear a sign, “Caution: contents may explode under pressure.”
    Taking small sips of my latte and staring at the computers, I try to decide which website will be the safest to log onto.
    “Don’t even think about it.”
    I jump out of my seat, spilling the latte all over the table and nearly turning my chair over. It’s one of the suits. The waitress runs over with a rag. She glances between the two of us and I resist the urge to hide behind her. My body vibrates with tension.
    This suit is young, no way he’s over thirty. Military haircut, nice body, black jacket. I’ve seen him before but I can’t remember his name.
    He pulls out the seat across from me. “Sorry about the mess.
    Will you bring her another cup? I’ll take coffee, black.”
    The waitress throws me a look. I think she’d kick his ass if I wanted her to.
    “It’s fine,” I mumble and sit back down.
    The suit calls out to her as she makes her way back to the bar,
    “Bring us an order of beignets, too.”
    I wait until she disappears into the kitchen before I ask, “Are we moving again?”
    He shakes his head. “No.”
    “How did you know I was here?”
    S—
    “You left school. We’re one of your contacts. Apparently, your N—
    mom was unable to be reached.”
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    I’m sure she was. I hide my hands under the table so he can’t see them shake.
    “But how did you know I was here ?” There is something familiar about him but I can’t figure it out.
    “Lucky guess. You don’t have a car so I figured you’d be on foot.
    Started looking through the windows once I hit Front Street.”
    I’m not sure if I buy that answer. The waitress comes back with the order and he pushes a beignet in front of me.
    “Am I in trouble at school?”
    The suit stirs his coffee slowly. “No, I covered for you. Told them you had a doctor’s appointment, and I forgot to call the school to let them know.
    “Am I in trouble with you guys?” I pinch off a piece of beignet and pop it in my mouth. My fingers are dusted with powdered sugar and the sweet fried pastry is delicious.
    The suit lets out a quick laugh. “No. No more ditching though.
    I may not be on duty next time.”
    The second I saw him, I thought we were gone. And while
    it wouldn’t hurt