Книга - The Disappearance Of Sloane Sullivan

The Disappearance Of Sloane Sullivan
Gia Cribbs


There are worse things than disappearing.No one wants me to tell you about Sloane Sullivan.Not the lawyers or the cops.Not her friends or family.Not even the boy who loved her.But most of all, not the United States Marshals Service. You know, the people who run the witness protection program or, as it’s officially called, the Witness Security Program? Yeah, the WITSEC folks definitely don’t want me talking to you.But I have to tell someone.If I don’t, you’ll never know how when it really comes down to it, you can’t trust anyone. How you never know when the person sitting next to you isn’t who they claim to be…







No one wants me to tell you about the disappearance of Sloane Sullivan.

Not the lawyers or the cops. Not her friends or family. Not even the boy who loved her more than anyone. And most certainly not the United States Marshals Service. You know, the people who run the witness protection program or, as it’s officially called, the Witness Security Program? Yeah, the WITSEC folks definitely don’t want me talking to you.

But I don’t care. I have to tell someone.

If I don’t, you’ll never know how completely wrong things can go. How a single decision can change everything. How, when it really comes down to it, you can’t trust anyone Not even yourself. You have to understand, so it won’t happen to you next. Because you never know when the person sitting next to you isn’t who they claim to be...and because there are worse things than disappearing.


The Disappearance of Sloane Sullivan

Gia Cribbs







Copyright (#u359ae647-a7c0-5bd9-9480-ee94fb4801d6)






An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Gia Cribbs 2018

Gia Cribbs asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © June 2018 ISBN: 9781474084031


For my daughters. Never stop chasing your dreams.


Contents

Cover (#u2f6f1405-f3b4-5621-9d68-890a45bde9ee)

Back Cover Text (#uf2faa4a1-e9c2-5686-91c2-e108fa8ff3c5)

Title Page (#u71c091bb-b543-5317-97b0-635ba8555159)

Copyright (#ude361acd-6fe0-589c-ab7e-bcec814aa76d)

Dedication (#u18af31de-4a72-5ca0-8273-835ebc039343)

Prologue (#uc9fd99ab-1580-5b04-8ce7-5942e8c0664f)

One (#u5ce67e0e-a18d-5f09-8272-8bcb458a2230)

Two (#u1a8072f7-08fe-5b5b-b50e-3fac05105037)

Three (#u4641d51f-4ce0-55e7-9104-bff5aefefdd1)

Four (#u98ba1ffe-6989-5772-b490-0985e32419b1)

Five (#u2b9cecab-a516-596b-a0ca-73e23b4fa6ab)

Six (#u84957f2c-3a0c-50d4-bb67-fa7a3ee68902)

Seven (#u32cabd69-e98c-59a9-b69a-d7217746dbd7)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)

Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#u359ae647-a7c0-5bd9-9480-ee94fb4801d6)

I couldn’t shake the feeling of someone watching me.

Dropping the blindfold, I kicked away the ropes by my feet that, a few seconds earlier, had been wrapped a little too loosely around my wrists to keep me bound.

I couldn’t see a thing.

Thunder crashed, making something metallic sounding rattle to my right. I held my breath and waited for a flash of lightning to illuminate the pitch-black room, anything to give me a clue about where I was. But when I heard more thunder a minute later, my heart sank. There are no windows in this room.

My pulse raced. I had to get out and I didn’t have much time.

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to concentrate, to ignore what I was feeling, and picture every windowless room in the school. The clean, slightly antiseptic edge to the air didn’t smell like the gym locker room. The kitchen? I inched toward the metallic rattling, arms braced in front of me. Even through my gloves, the metal shelves felt cool when my fingers brushed against them, feeling the buckets and sponges and spray bottles lined up along their edges. The supply closet.

I followed the shelving around the room until I came to the door. Without a sound, I eased it open slightly. After a few seconds of blinking furiously at the light that came pouring in, I could see well enough to tell the hallway was empty.

I glanced at the rooms directly across from me. Almost all the classrooms had windows, but most were too high and too small for me to fit through. There were side doors at the end of the hall to the left, a good two hundred feet away. Those doors were the closest exit, but making a run for it down the bright hall, even if the lights were dimmed at night, seemed too risky. I needed to stick to the shadows. Which left the only other way out of this part of the school: the gym.

I inched the supply closet door open farther and slid out, stepping over the rags that had been stuffed under the door to block the light. In only three steps I was in the chemistry lab, the one with doors to two different hallways. I dashed across the dark lab, careful not to bump into anything, and was about to step into the hall that led to the gym when everything went completely dark.

I was out of time.

I raced into the hall, willing my outstretched hands to find the gym entrance. Just as one hand skimmed the smooth metal gym door, something behind me squeaked. It was a quick, barely there sound. But it was also immediately identifiable: a sneaker skidding against the floor.

I froze.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, but I could feel him closing in.

I shoved my hand into my pocket and pulled out a handful of pebbles—the only thing I’d been able to grab outside—and threw them down the hall. At the tiny plink of stone meeting linoleum, I crept in the opposite direction.

My fingers trailed along the wall, telling me where to turn. As I rounded the corner, an explosive flash of lightning lit up the entire hall. I peeked over my shoulder and saw him kneeling, picking a pebble off the floor. His head was just turning in my direction when the hall went dark again and thunder rattled the windowpanes.

I ran.

A full-on sprint around another corner to the side doors I’d seen earlier. I couldn’t hear whether he was chasing me over the sound of my feet pounding against the floor and my heartbeat thumping in my ears. Where are the damn doors—

I burst through the double doors with such force they slammed against the brick wall of the school before swinging shut. I took in everything: the trees straight ahead, dense and good for hiding; the sound of a car passing on a nearby street; the lights from a house off in the distance, blurry from the rain. I allowed myself a single second to smile before I reached down and clicked the stopwatch hanging from my neck.

When Mark finally pushed through the doors thirty seconds later, his brown hair escaping from under his black hat and his hazel eyes searching franticly, I was leaning against the brick wall, using the roof’s overhang to keep dry. I cocked an eyebrow when his surprised gaze landed on me.

He sighed and nodded at my stopwatch. “What was your time?”

“Three minutes, sixteen seconds. A new record.” I fought hard to keep a grin off my face.

“Hmph.”

“Don’t be a poor sport.” There was something about his hat that made him look older, more his age and less the college student he was sometimes mistaken for. I yanked it off in one swift move, leaving his hair wild with static. “You’ve caught me more times than I’ve gotten out. Remember Nebraska? You trapped me in the band room in a minute flat.”

The corners of Mark’s mouth twitched. “Yeah, but that was when you were young and easy to trick. Now you’re almost too good. I mean, pebbles? That was a nice touch.”

“If it makes you feel better, you almost got me with the blackout. How’d you manage that one?”

His smile grew wider. “Light switches in the front office.”

I shook my head. “Did you have to use all of them?”

Mark’s eyes locked on mine, more serious than they’d been a second before. “Lesson number one.”

My smile faltered. It was easy to joke around, to pretend it was only a game, especially this time. But we both knew it wasn’t.

It was a test. A way to see how well I knew the school, how fast I could get out if someone was chasing me.

I held Mark’s gaze. “Remember how to escape.”

When I entered witness protection, it was the first lesson I learned for a reason. Escaping wasn’t just about crawling through a window or shimmying down a vent. It was mental. Knowing how to push past the fear and stay calm and think was the most important part. Maybe breaking and entering wasn’t the best way to start off in a new town, but it was our routine, our way of preparing for every possibility.

Plus, a little extra practice disabling a security system never hurt a girl.

I took a few steps back, letting the rain, which had lightened considerably, mist over me. Everything smelled fresh as I examined the school, shadowy in the moonless night.

Mark moved to my side, his shoulder brushing against mine. “New school, new you,” he said, as soft as the rain.

I nodded.

“I’m going to make sure everything’s back the way we found it. You coming?”

“In a sec,” I whispered as he disappeared back into the school.

I stared at the brick wall in front of me, darker in spots from the rain. The breaking in, the chase, the cleaning up after ourselves—it was all familiar. Yet the more I studied the rough bricks, the more my stomach twisted.

Thunder rumbled low in the distance. For a second, I thought I saw a flash of blue against the faded red of the bricks. But when I blinked, it was gone.

A tight knot settled in my chest.

It was just another wall of just another school. It was all familiar, except for the tiny voice inside my head that warned, This time’s going to be different.


One (#u359ae647-a7c0-5bd9-9480-ee94fb4801d6)

Out of all the names I’d had in the last five years, I liked this one the best: Sloane Sullivan. It looked right, printed there at the top of my new class schedule. Good thing too, since it was the last one I was ever going to have.

“There’s just one more thing I have for you and you’re all set,” the secretary said. She was a little hard to hear over the buzz of voices coming from the hall on the other side of the glass wall behind me and the incessant ringing of phones inside the front office.

I glanced up from my schedule to find the secretary smiling. Her short, curly white hair and deep crow’s feet screamed helpful grandmother. She actually looked a little like our neighbor eight towns back who was a grandmother of eleven. I didn’t trust her for a second.

“I figured it must be hard to transfer so late in your senior year,” the secretary continued, “so I marked up a map of the school with the location of your classes. That way, at least you won’t get lost on your first day.”

Okay, I thought. That’s actually kind of sweet. I peeked at the nameplate sitting on the side of the tall counter separating me from the rest of the office. “Thanks, Mrs. Zalinsky. That’s really thoughtful of you.”

Little did Mrs. Zalinsky know that, thanks to my adventure with Mark last night, I already knew where every classroom was located. We didn’t use our more nefarious skills, like lock picking and camera tampering, just to practice escaping. I’d realized pretty quickly that having to ask for directions or stumbling into classes late didn’t help with blending in. And that was always the goal: to blend in. Blend in, follow the rules and don’t let anyone get too close. That’s what I’d learned after almost six years on the run.

Besides, if we got caught snooping around, Mark could just flash his badge and we’d get off scot-free. Of course, then we’d probably have to move again.

Mrs. Zalinsky grinned, pleased to be appreciated. “You’re welcome, Sloane.”

The little thrill that always shot through me when I heard someone say my new name for the first time danced in my chest. Sloane. I liked the way it sounded too.

“Let me grab the map for you.” Mrs. Zalinsky headed for an immaculately clean desk on the other side of the office.

I gazed at my name again, still surprised Mark had agreed to it. I’d thrown Sloane out on a whim and he didn’t even blink. He just nodded in that slow way of his, which made his thick hair, which was dark brown at the time, fall into his eyes, and said, “Sure.” I knew he would’ve preferred Sara or Samantha or something more mainstream for my nineteenth identity. He’d totally vetoed some of my more unusual suggestions—being Leia like the princess from Star Wars would’ve rocked—but he let Sloane slide by. Maybe it was because we were both counting on this being the last time we had to switch names.

I rubbed my thumb over my name. God, nineteen different people in almost six years. Well, twenty if you count my real name. But I don’t remember who that girl was anymore.

“Here you go,” Mrs. Zalinsky said, interrupting my thoughts. She handed me a map. “I circled your classrooms in order based on the colors of the rainbow. You know, Roy G. Biv? Red for first period, orange for second, and so forth. Except since we only have four periods, I stopped at green.”

I let out a low whistle. “That’s some serious organization. I’m impressed.” And I was. It sounded like something Mark would do, and I didn’t think anyone was as anal as he was.

“It takes a lot of organization to keep a school of more than 1,800 kids running smoothly,” Mrs. Zalinsky explained as she straightened an already perfectly aligned stack of papers.

I grinned. 1,800 kids. It was going to be so easy to be invisible in a school this size. All I had to do was coast through these last nine weeks of my senior year without any complications and I was free. In more ways than one. I’d be Sloane Sullivan forever. There was no going back to the person I was for the first twelve years of my life. I’d asked, but the Marshals felt dropping me back into my old life so soon after the confession was too risky, even with a plausible cover story. But honestly, I didn’t care. If being Sloane was what it took to get out of witness protection, I’d do it.

Out of WITSEC. I never thought it was possible.

“I’m not sure you’re going to need the map, pretty girl like you.” Mrs. Zalinsky nodded in my direction. “You’ll have the boys lining up to escort you to class if you smile at them like that.”

I took a moment to let the compliment sink in. Usually, I ignored anything people said about my appearance because it was never about me. Not the real me anyway. It was about a person with dyed hair or colored contacts or—after one horrendous experience with a hairdresser who had to have forgotten her glasses that day—a frizzy black wig that felt like a steel wool scouring pad. But this was the closest I’d looked to my true self in almost six years.

I was wearing contacts that turned my green eyes dark brown, but my hair was its natural pale blond. “The color of real lemonade,” my mom always said when I was a kid. Mark had never agreed to my natural color before. He’d deemed it “too light and distinctive,” and I hadn’t seen it since we left New Jersey. But since this was the person I was going to be for the rest of my life, I’d begged to go back to my roots. Washing my hair seventeen times in a single shower to get out the temporary auburn color I’d had as Ruby had been totally worth it.

I shook the piece of paper in my hand. “Thanks, but I don’t need any boys. I’ve got a color-coded map!”

“You’re welcome, dear. And if you ever have any trouble, just come to me. I marked the office with a bee.” Mrs. Zalinsky pointed at her nameplate on the counter. Two bumblebees were drawn hovering around the Z in her name.

I examined the map. Sure enough, there was a little black-and-yellow bee floating next to the office. “I’ll bee sure to do that,” I joked.

Mrs. Zalinsky chuckled as she reached for a ringing phone.

I waved over my shoulder and opened the office door. The volume level rose considerably as I entered the bustling hallway. I glanced at the map just in case Mrs. Zalinsky was watching—I’d been well trained to keep up appearances—and turned left toward physics, my first class of the day.

Despite the fact that I’d arrived early, people were everywhere: crowding the hall, cramming books into lockers, making out in front of classrooms. They were just like the students at the six other high schools I’d attended, except here there were more of them. I loved it.

A sudden burst of sound to my left caught my attention. A group of about twelve guys, standing in a slightly curved line and wearing matching navy blazers, had started singing. An a cappella group? That’s new. A crowd surrounded them, snapping and nodding along to something I recognized after a few seconds: “The Longest Time” by Billy Joel. A song I hadn’t heard in years wasn’t exactly what I expected from high school boys. Homesickness pricked my chest as I tried to figure out where I’d last heard it.

I slowed, watching the tallest guy singing lead in the center of the group as I passed. He had light brown skin and short dark brown hair, but even seeing the words come out of his mouth couldn’t make the memory hovering at the edge of my brain come into focus. When his eyes met mine, I ducked my head. I hadn’t even been watching him for a full minute, but it was all the time I needed to see it: the way the other boys took their cues from him; the slightly larger amount of space around him than any of the other guys, like his all-around awesomeness needed room to breathe; how every eye in the crowd followed him. He was popular. Charismatic. Not one to blend in. Therefore, not someone I wanted to know.

I kept my head down and studied my feet—lack of eye contact makes you more forgettable—as I turned the corner to the hall that would take me to physics. Which is why I didn’t see the person barreling toward me until right before we collided.

I had just enough time to spread my feet and bend my knees slightly. I felt the crash in my whole body, muscles tensing, air rushing out of me in a muffled umph, but a tiny step back was all I needed to absorb the impact. The other person hit the floor with a loud thud, knocking everything I was holding in my hands across the hall. Before I could even cringe at the lack of blending in, a prickly sensation crept up my neck at the feeling of eyes on my back.

My chest tightened as the velvety a cappella voices, the mass of students, the entire hall disappeared. Fragmented images flashed in my mind: feet pounding on concrete, a hand tight on my arm, a broken piece of wood. Then, as fast as the images had come, they were gone, replaced with the hum of conversations and a person sprawled on the ground in front of me and too many students gathered around us. I swallowed hard. They’re not watching you, they’re just curious. No one here knows you.

I took a deep breath, trying to loosen the knot in my chest. “Walk much?” I mumbled, quiet enough I knew the guy who’d run into me wouldn’t be able to hear. And I was certain it was a guy. The level of solidness I felt before he bounced off wasn’t something a girl could achieve unless she was a professional bodybuilder from Russia.

“I’m so sorry,” a deep voice said. “I shouldn’t have been running. Are you okay?”

I didn’t glance at him or any of the people now whispering about us as I bent down to gather my stuff. “I’m fine,” I replied without any malice. I wasn’t really annoyed at him, I was annoyed at myself. That’s what you get for letting some stupid Billy Joel song distract you. Remembering never helps anything.

“Here.” The guy shifted on the floor and collected the map from where it had landed a few feet away. He smoothed it out, even though it didn’t have a mark on it, reached around the legs of a few nosy onlookers and held it out to me.

I grabbed it and shoved it into my bag. All I wanted was to get to physics and disappear into a seat in the back.

“Sloane Sullivan?”

My heart skipped a beat at hearing my name from some random guy. I flexed my hands, my always-on-alert muscles ready to put my self-defense skills to use. Then his hand came into my field of vision. He was holding my schedule, his thumb resting next to my name, and I almost laughed at how jumpy I was being. Get a grip. It’s not like you haven’t done this first day thing before.

“Cool,” the boy said. “My grandfather’s first name was Sullivan.”

My eyes locked on the scuffed floor as my breath caught in my throat.

“Everyone should have two first names.”

Every inch of my body froze as a completely different image popped into my head: black hair sticking up in all directions, deep blue eyes bright with amusement, mouth quirked into the same goofy grin it always wore when he said those words, words he’d said so many times before.

My pulse took off as the guy crouched in front of me, making it all but impossible to stand without facing him. “Let me help you up. It’s the least I can do for a fellow double-first-namer.”

The whole world slowed to a crawl as I forced myself to look up.

Right into the unmistakable deep blue eyes of Jason Thomas.


Two (#u359ae647-a7c0-5bd9-9480-ee94fb4801d6)

I studied the wide eyes staring back at me from only a foot away. It was impossible they belonged to Jason. But the pools of almost green around his pupils that melted into a deep ocean blue set against an even darker blue ring around the edges were exactly like I remembered. Exactly like I’d stared into a million times before.

This is bad. Very, very bad.

It had happened once before. Three and a half years ago, when we were living in Flagstaff. I thought I’d seen Ms. Jenkins, the elderly widow who lived across the street from me in New Jersey, come out of a gift shop one Thursday afternoon. I’d been inside a bookstore next door and was certain Ms. Jenkins hadn’t seen me, but I still took the long way home and told Mark. Three hours later, we were in the car on the way to our next lives.

And I hadn’t known Ms. Jenkins nearly as well as I knew Jason.

A crease appeared in between his eyebrows. He opened his mouth slightly then closed it, all while searching my face.

The contacts! I prayed the brown would be enough to throw him off. But when his gaze dropped to the left side of my neck, I knew I was in trouble. Mark’s voice sounded in my head, as clear as if he was standing right next to me: Lesson number six: take control of the situation.

I shifted my hair to cover the faint pink scar on the side of my neck—the only proof I’d once had a large dark brown mole there—and stood. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” I grabbed my schedule with one hand and took hold of Jason’s outstretched hand with the other, helping him up. “I’m Sloane, but you already know that.” I nodded at my schedule.

The crease in between his eyebrows deepened. “Jason,” he replied, still holding my hand.

I wanted to laugh at the deepness of his voice as I took in the rest of him. What happened to the scrawny twelve-year-old I left behind? Sure, his eyes were the same. And his black hair was still disheveled, only now it was tousled in a bed-head kind of way that could only be described as sexy. Which pretty much described the rest of him too. He’d filled out and grown super tall and it made my stomach flip as all the ways I’d changed from my twelve-year-old self ran through my head.

A husky voice interrupted the silence hanging between us. “Well, hel-lo.”

I yanked my hand out of Jason’s. A tall, slender guy with deep red hair was leaning against the lockers right next to me, holding a football. He inclined his head toward me and smiled. “Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”

I glanced from the boy to Jason and back again. “Um...”

A petite girl with olive skin materialized in between the boys. “Ignore him,” she told me, shaking her head at Mr. Love-at-First-Sight. “He tries his lines out on every female he sees.” She had shoulder-length, wavy dark brown hair with long bangs that swept across her forehead, partially covering one of her brown eyes. She turned to Jason and whacked him on the chest. “Babe! You practically mowed this poor girl down. How many times have I told you two playing football in the halls was going to end in bodily injury?”

Babe?

The girl turned back to me. “I’m Livie.” She paused, peeking at the guys on either side of her, then sighed. “And if these two Neanderthals haven’t properly introduced themselves yet, this is Sawyer—” she pointed to the pale redhead “—and this is my boyfriend, Jason.” She wrapped her hands around Jason’s arm.

The movement seemed to snap Jason out of his daze. “Oh, sorry, guys. This is Sloane.” He gestured toward me.

I gave them the look of self-deprecation I’d perfected from constantly being the new girl. “You know, I expected to embarrass myself on my first day but I had no idea it was going to happen so quickly.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Livie insisted. “It’s these two who should be embarrassed.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of blue against a red background. Something twisted in my chest as I remembered the flash I thought I’d seen the night before outside the school. I turned my head, half expecting to see another brick wall.

Sawyer was on one knee in front of the row of red lockers, his blue shirt still fluttering from his sudden movement. I shook my head. Of course there isn’t a brick wall.

Sawyer gazed up at me, batting his eyelashes. “I, dear Sloane, offer my humblest of apologizes for causing you embarrassment by using my considerable strength to throw this football farther than Jason expected, making him run to catch it and crash into you. I promise to find a way to make up for my superhero-like muscles.”

I glanced around. Most of the crowd that had stopped to watch the aftermath of my collision with Jason had moved on, but several girls were still hovering, giggling at Sawyer’s spectacle. I tugged on his arm. “You can start by getting up,” I hissed.

Livie helped pull Sawyer to his feet. “She’s trying not to draw more attention to herself, genius.”

Sawyer grinned at me, totally not sorry for making a scene, then leaned toward Jason. “Bet you can’t top that apology.”

Jason didn’t respond. He was still studying me, head tilted to one side.

My eyes locked on Jason’s and my pulse raced, pounding a rhythm in my head that sounded suspiciously like it’s not working. I knew what I had to do.

I peered around Jason at the door to the girls’ bathroom, barely visible down the hall. Thanks to my recon mission the night before (and lesson number two: notice every possible exit), I knew that bathroom had a window large enough to climb out of. I’d simply politely extract myself from the conversation, go into the bathroom and vanish without a trace. I’d be a new person in a new state by morning.

It wasn’t a choice, it was a rule. And for good reason. Even though I couldn’t remember what I saw the day I entered WITSEC—a little online research at a public library one day when no one else was around told me I’d probably repressed the memories—I’d always known being discovered wouldn’t be a good thing. The creepy flashes I got whenever it felt like someone was watching me. The way my dad and Mark had always refused to discuss what happened in front of me, whispering about my dad’s testimony in hushed tones. How Mark once told me he never wanted me to remember. Disappearing was the safest thing to do.

I inched away from Jason, eyes on the bathroom, preparing to make my escape.

“Wait!” Livie blurted, pulling my attention back to the group. She dug in her bag, pulled out a wrinkled sheet of paper, and glanced at it before grinning at me. “You’re Sloane Sullivan.”

What is it with everyone here knowing my name?

Livie bounced a little on her toes. “I’m your First Day Buddy.”

“My what?”

“You know, someone who shows you around on your first day, makes sure you don’t eat the fish sandwich in the cafeteria, answers any questions that pop up. You have physics first period, right?”

No. No, no, no. I nod.

“Mrs. Zalinsky came into class yesterday and asked for a volunteer—” Livie looked pointedly at Sawyer “—which some people rolled their eyes at.”

“If I had known it was going to be a cute girl, I would’ve volunteered first,” he grumbled. “Superheroes make great First Day Buddies.”

Livie turned to me and lowered her voice. “Then it’s lucky you got me.”

I knew I shouldn’t have trusted Mrs. Zalinsky. “You don’t really have to do anything. I have a map. I’ll be fine. And I’ll totally tell everyone you did a great job.”

“You might not need me, but I need you,” Livie insisted. “Mr. Pruitt offered extra credit for volunteering, and I need all the help I can get in that class. And he always knows when someone’s cheating, right, Jason?”

Jason nodded, his eyes slow to leave me and find Livie.

“Hey,” Livie said, focusing on him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Jason said with a slight chuckle. “I was momentarily horrified imagining Sawyer in a superhero costume.”

“Shut up,” Sawyer muttered, his cheeks turning pink.

Jason smirked and my breath caught in my throat.

The girl I’d been before WITSEC had faded from my memory quickly, buried beneath new girl after new girl. But Jason’s smirk—that same irritatingly cute little smile he’d worn when we were kids—was like magic, breaking through the layers and shaking off the dirt on a hundred different memories at once. On all the times I’d been the one to sneak out and come up with ridiculous adventures for us, and he’d try to shoot them down even though he was just as excited as I was. A tiny piece of the girl I used to be, the girl who made up her own rules, sparked to life somewhere deep inside me and the craziest question popped into my head: Could I stay?

Livie grabbed my hand and pulled me closer, as if protecting me from Sawyer. “Don’t worry,” she fake whispered. “There are plenty of cute guys in this school to help erase the mental image of Sawyer in superhero spandex.”

I gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. Superhero Sawyer has a nice ring to it.”

Sawyer grinned and Jason rolled his eyes and my mind kicked into overdrive.

Everything was riding on making it through this placement without a hitch. The alternative, not lasting only nine weeks in such a large school, hadn’t seemed possible before today. I’d taken the SAT and filled out college applications as Sloane Sullivan months ago, before I even became Sloane Sullivan. I’d used a fake transcript painstakingly created from classes I’d actually taken, with grades I’d actually received, because I was tired of working hard for good grades that became pointless every time I became someone new. I was determined to get into college on my merit, like a normal person would. Well, as normally as I possibly could anyway.

And if we left North Carolina now, all my planning would be for nothing. Because Sloane Sullivan wouldn’t exist anymore. I’d have to reapply as the girl I became next, and all the application deadlines had passed. Which meant I’d have to wait another year to apply to college. Another year to get out of WITSEC. Another year to start my life.

I couldn’t wait another year.

Besides, disappearing had been the safest thing to do when there was no end in sight. When the threat of someone coming after me was more real. Now things were different. Thanks to the confession, the threat was basically nonexistent. And I was just a few weeks shy of getting out anyway. All I had to do was turn eighteen, graduate and have college lined up and ready to go. Those were Mark’s conditions, and I was so close. Too close to let it all slip away by following the rules this time.

Livie groaned and released my hand to shove Sawyer gently into the bank of lockers. “There is no such thing as a ‘superhuman ability to attract hotties.’”

Jason glanced at me, one eyebrow raised and eyes sparkling. Even though I knew it was only his amusement at Sawyer’s made-up superpower, it looked almost like a challenge. And just like that, my mind was made up. I was going to stay. I was going to convince Jason I wasn’t the girl who used to live next door. I was going to get out of WITSEC on time.

No matter what.


Three (#u359ae647-a7c0-5bd9-9480-ee94fb4801d6)

I surveyed the cafeteria. Hundreds of voices floated through the air, wrapping around me like a cocoon. This was normally the part of my first day where I’d hang back and observe so I could find the perfect group to join: the one not too big and not too small; not overly popular, but not outsiders; not so involved in school activities as to draw attention to themselves, yet not so anti-school they stood out. Then I’d emerge from my cocoon as the girl I was going to be. The type of girl that, no matter who she was, would steer clear of anyone who looked at her with even the tiniest hint of familiarity. But this time was different.

This time I had a First Day Buddy who swore eating lunch together was a nonnegotiable part of the First Day Buddy contract. Which meant this time I’d be sitting with the only person in almost six years who knew the real me.

I eyed the table of artsy-looking kids across the room and sighed. They were laughing and teasing each other, saying hello to people walking by yet ignoring the attempts of the table of guys beside them to engage in some sort of food fight. I’d been artsy before, I could do it again. And sitting with them—acting like I not only didn’t know Jason, but had no desire to get to know him—was the safest way to convince him I wasn’t the girl he possibly remembered, the girl he’d grown up with. Instead, I was about to have lunch with him.

I took a deep breath. It was just one lunch, just one first day to get through, then I could get back to my plan of lying low. You can do this. But first, I needed something to eat.

I grabbed a tray and followed the familiar scent of cafeteria food to the open area at the back of the room where lunch ladies with hairnets were serving the day’s options. The pizza looked surprisingly good, but it had a line at least fifty people deep. My stomach rumbled, protesting the wait. I went to the other end of the counter and thanked the lunch lady for a plate of what appeared to be roasted chicken, salad and a glop of orange mush. I wrinkled my nose.

Someone chuckled. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Startled, I turned to find the tall a cappella guy standing next to me. I stared for a second, mesmerized by his piercing green eyes. Then I quickly peered back at the orange goop. “What is it?”

“Mashed sweet potatoes.”

I wrinkled my nose again.

He laughed, flashing two dimples. “I’m glad I came over. Now I have something else to call you.”

I tilted my head in confusion.

“I’ve been referring to you as New Girl in my head all morning,” he clarified. “But now I can add Hater of Sweet Potatoes to the list.”

“Ah.” I took a step closer to him to avoid the line forming for the chicken, glancing around at the same time. No one seemed to be paying any attention to us. “And what should I call you?” I pointed at his empty hands. “Disrespecter of Lunch Trays?”

He grinned. “I already bought my lunch. I came over just to talk to you.”

A wave of apprehension flowed through me. This better not be some kind of prank on the new girl.

“I saw your collision this morning and just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said with a shrug. “I thought maybe you could use a friend who isn’t trying to body slam you.”

Okay, not what I was expecting at all. “You saw that, huh?”

“You know, maybe I should call you Receiver of a Completely Uncalled-For Hallway Football Smackdown. Believe it or not, that’s not the way most of us welcome a new student.”

A tiny smile formed on my lips. “Maybe I should be Creator of the Full-Contact First-Day Meet and Greet. Guaranteed to get you up close and personal with your new classmates.”

He bit back his own smile. “Actually, I was hoping you’d be Needer of a Place to Sit?” He nodded at a table over his shoulder that was surprisingly empty.

My reply was interrupted by a husky voice shouting, “There you are!” over the cafeteria chatter. I turned and saw Sawyer rushing over.

Sawyer placed his hands on my shoulders. “Livie was afraid you got lost. Come on, you can pay over here and then I’ll show you to our table.” He nodded at the a cappella guy and muttered, “Hey, man,” before steering me away.

I peeked back over my shoulder.

“Watch out for flying sports equipment!” the guy called after me.

I grinned until I spotted a girl with a short black pixie haircut glaring at me from a nearby table full of girls now watching me. I knew what that glare meant: Mr. Welcoming Committee probably once belonged at that table and according to its current occupants, he was off-limits. The smile disappeared from my face.

“What do you want to drink?” Sawyer asked, drawing my attention back to him. “Water, juice, milk?”

“Water.” I pressed my lips together, annoyed at myself for forgetting I was in ground zero of high school social cliques. I already had Jason to deal with. I didn’t need any other complications.

Sawyer placed a bottle of water on my tray and took the tray out of my hands. “Let me pay for this.”

“What? Sawyer, no.” I tried unsuccessfully to pry the tray away from him.

He pulled a card out of his pocket and held it against a scanner by the cashier. “Already done.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” I protested as I followed him across the cafeteria.

“I was the one who convinced Jason to play football this morning. This is my way of apologizing.” He shrugged, but his expression showed he considered it something more than an apology.

I hoped he wasn’t considering it a date.

Sawyer led me to the end of a table where Jason and Livie were already sitting next to each other. Livie slipped her hand out of Jason’s and waved when she saw us.

“So.” Sawyer settled into the seat next to me, across from Jason and Livie, and slid my tray over. “Are you from Tennessee?”

My heart skipped a beat. I had lived in Tennessee. Granted, it had only been for two months, but it hadn’t even been a year since we’d left. Please don’t tell me I have to worry about someone in addition to Jason recognizing me.

“Because you’re the only ten I see,” Sawyer continued without giving me the chance to reply.

I let out a shaky laugh. I could’ve hugged the person who created such a corny joke right then.

Livie groaned. “At least let her eat before you pile on the pickup lines. They’re hard to take on an empty stomach.”

Sawyer reached over and snatched a piece of pepperoni off Livie’s pizza. “You’re just jealous I found someone new to pick up. Plus, I think Sloane likes them.”

“I think you’re delusional,” Livie fired back. “And I’m actually thrilled you’ve found someone else to practice on.”

Jason leaned across the table toward me, a half smile playing on his lips. “They argue like this all the time. You’ll get used to it.”

It was a look I remembered now too, like the smirk. The one that always made it seem like he was letting me in on a secret.

Jason popped a tomato from his salad into his mouth. “So where are you really from?”

I hesitated, instinct warning me to tell him as little as possible. But this was why Mark created fictional backstories every time we moved.

“Pierre, South Dakota,” I lied.

“Wow,” Livie said. “What’s it like there?”

I bit back a grin. “Cold.” I’d never actually been to South Dakota, but I had lived in four of the six states that bordered it and that much I knew well. I peeked at Jason. “I lived there my whole life though, so I got used to it.”

“You probably didn’t get to see much water,” Sawyer guessed.

I furrowed my eyebrows. “It’s on the Missouri River. And there’s a large lake nearby.” Thank you, internet research.

Sawyer’s light brown eyes brightened. “But have you seen the ocean yet? The beach is so close. Maybe I can show you.”

I glanced down at my plate. I grew up in the Atlantic Ocean, like all the other kids who lived in my beach town on the Jersey Shore. But I hadn’t seen it since I left; I hadn’t even been back to the East Coast since I left. And I wasn’t ready to see it again. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Are you a senior?” Livie asked.

I nodded.

She frowned. “It must’ve been really hard to move this close to graduation. I moved here at the beginning of the school year and it sucked starting my senior year someplace new, even with the First Day Buddy I got.”

“It’s not that bad. My dad got a new job and he had to start right away.”

“But what about your mom?” Livie continued. “I mean, couldn’t you two have stayed in South Dakota for a few more weeks until you graduated and then met your dad out here?”

“I don’t have a mom,” I said.

Sawyer and Livie wore matching shocked expressions but Jason’s eyes were a bit narrowed, more curious than surprised. I pretended not to notice.

“I mean, I have one. I just don’t know where she is.” I stabbed a piece of chicken with my fork. “My parents were only sixteen when they had me. My mom stuck around until I was three but she wanted freedom and parties, not a toddler. So she took off and it’s been just my dad and me ever since.” It was a variation of the story we used every time Mark pretended to be my father.

Livie sat straighter. “Your dad’s been taking care of you by himself since he was nineteen? That’s so sweet.” She fiddled with the edge of Jason’s shirt around his bicep. “We should set him up with your mom.”

I put my fork down. “What?”

“Jason’s parents are divorced and his mom’s the best. She totally needs a sweetheart to sweep her off her feet.”

Disbelief coursed through me. I never would’ve thought it was possible for Jason’s parents to be anything other than fairy-tale happily-ever-after in love. What happened?

Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “You know she doesn’t like blind dates.”

“So we’ll have a welcome party for Sloane and her dad,” Livie said. She wrapped her hands around Jason’s arm and scooted closer to him. “I can help your mom cook and she can get to know Sloane’s dad before they go out. Then it won’t be a blind date.”

Even if Mark would’ve gone for that, Jason looked uncomfortable with the idea. And there was no way I was putting the two of them in the same room together. “My dad’s really busy with his new job. It might be a while before he has any free time.”

Livie’s shoulders fell. “Oh.”

Jason gave me a grateful smile. “I think you came at the perfect time. All the senior stuff is about to start.”

“That’s right,” Sawyer agreed. He bumped my shoulder with his own. “Tomorrow’s the senior scavenger hunt. Every team has to get pictures of different things around school and the team that completes their list the fastest gets to pick the music that plays when we march out of graduation.”

I inched my chair away from his. “Really? You can pick any song?”

Jason nodded. “As long as it doesn’t have curse words, anything goes.” He turned to Sawyer. “Remember last year was that continuous loop of the theme song to Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood?”

“If we win we should pick ‘Fight for Your Right’ by the Beastie Boys,” Sawyer declared.

Jason pointed his fork at Sawyer. “Can’t go wrong with a classic.”

“Come on!” Livie whined. “Don’t Sloane and I get a say?”

I choked on a bite of chicken. “You want me on your team?” I’d already been plotting ways to avoid the whole thing.

“It’s part of your First Day Buddy experience. Mrs. Zalinsky was adamant about me including you on my team.”

Damn Mrs. Zalinsky and her thoughtfulness. “You really don’t have to—”

“Nope,” Sawyer interrupted. “There’s no getting out of it. You have to be on our team.” He patted my arm like he was comforting a confused senior citizen. “You’re part of the club.”

I opened my mouth then closed it, trying to figure out where he was going with this. “What club?”

Sawyer widened his ever-present grin. “You are Sloane Sullivan, right?”

My heart stuttered, but I plastered on a teasing smile. “Who else would I be?”

Jason’s eyes lit up as he held my gaze. “Two first names,” he explained.

I tore my eyes away from Jason to study Sawyer and Livie. “Wait. Do all of you have two first names?”

Livie pointed as she identified each of them. “Jason Thomas, Sawyer James, and Liv Dawson.”

Leave it to Jason to find a whole club. “Okay, but does Sullivan really count as a first name?”

Jason nodded. “It was my grandpa’s first name, remember?”

Memories I hadn’t thought of in years danced in my head: Jason’s grandpa dressed like Santa every Christmas, the way he’d pull quarters from behind my ear, going to his funeral when we were nine. My pulse raced. Is he asking if I remember all that?

“I said that when I saw your schedule this morning,” Jason continued.

I blew out a silent breath.

“There’s that cute actor from the FBI show with the tattoos. His first name is Sullivan,” Livie added, unaware of my momentary panic. “Oh, and the singer for some punk band I’ve never heard of before. Some girls were talking about him in class the other day.”

“Plus,” Jason said, “your first and last name start with the same sound. That cancels out the fact you think it doesn’t count.”

When Jason smiled, I couldn’t help but smile back. An obsession with both Superman and Spider-Man when we were little made him believe that anyone with first and last names that started with the same sound could really be a superhero in disguise.

Livie made a dismissive noise. “Of course they’ll count Sullivan. My last name’s Dawson and they let me in.”

“Dawson’s a first name,” Sawyer insisted. “What about Dawson’s Creek?”

“It’s a fictional first name,” Livie said. “Have you ever met a real person named Dawson?”

Sawyer laughed. “Some of us like having a first name based on a fictional character, right, Sloane?”

I turned to Sawyer. “How’d you know my name is based on a fictional character?”

He shrugged. “The only Sloane I’ve heard of before is from that movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.”

My skin tingled as the very first time I had to pick a name—the time I’d accidentally started naming myself after fictional characters—popped into my head.

My dad spun in a circle, his eyes bouncing around the room without ever landing on anything, like he was in a daze. “What else?” He wrung his hands together. “Underwear. Did you pack underwear?”

My gaze darted to two burly guys in suits huddled between my twin bed and the desk Jason helped paint blue and purple. They were mumbling to each other, oblivious to the underwear comment. I studied the tiny duffel bag on top of my flower bedspread. “Yes.”

“We really need to get going,” one man insisted, examining his watch.

Dad nodded. He leaned toward me, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. “Pick the thing you want to bring as your personal item, okay? I’m going to go pack a few things for Mom.” He rushed out of the room, leaving me with strangers.

The two guys by the desk glanced at each other, then followed Dad into the hall.

“What do you want your name to be?”

I jumped. I hadn’t heard the third guy, who’d been keeping watch by my window, sneak up on me. He smelled sweaty and I swallowed hard, trying not to throw up again.

“Well?” he prompted in his thick Jersey accent.

I balled my shaking hands into fists and blinked uncomprehendingly in his direction. Over his shoulder, I spotted Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland sitting on my bookshelf. “Alice,” I muttered. Because that was how I felt: like I was falling down a rabbit hole.

It was easier the second time, even though I was still terrified.

Mark turned off the TV and knelt in front of me. Something about his cologne calmed my pounding heart. I took a deep breath. The spicy scent was so much better than the stale-smelling lumpy couch I was lying on.

“I know it’s only been three weeks, but we need to move again,” he said in a soothing voice. “So you’re going to have to pick a new name.”

I gazed over his shoulder at Dad, who was leaning against the cramped motel room wall. His dyed brown hair was matted to his head and his brown eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but he gave me a slight nod of encouragement.

I closed my eyes and imagined who I wanted to be. Because anyone had to be better than the broken girl Alice was.

“Beth,” I whispered. I’d just started reading Little Women and Beth’s character was described as living in a happy world of her own. That’s just what I needed.

“Hmm.” Mark rubbed his chin. “You picked Alice from the Wonderland book, right?”

I nodded, surprised he knew that. He hadn’t been in my room that day.

“Did you know Lewis Carroll based that character on a real girl named Alice Liddell?”

I sat up. “No.”

“What if we use Beth Liddell?” He stood. “It’ll be our little secret, the connection between your names.”

A hint of a smile formed on my lips. “Okay.”

And even though I soon found out Beth ended up dying in Little Women, that was how the tradition was born. I picked the first name and Mark picked the last. I went alphabetically, because it helped me remember what letter my name started with every time we moved, and he chose something related to my prior first name. Which was simple, given it always came from a book or movie or song. It gave me an easy answer when someone asked about my name. Because, like Sawyer, someone always asked. It was the one constant I found everywhere we went: people were curious.

I’d been Charlotte from Charlotte’s Web, Elise from The Cure’s “A Letter to Elise,” and Jenny from Forrest Gump. And now Sloane from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Hey, it was on TV when I was picking. And who wouldn’t want to be the girl having a fun ditch day with her boyfriend?

I nodded at Sawyer. “You guessed it—I’m named after Ferris Bueller’s girlfriend. And you—” I tapped a finger against my lip “—must be named after Tom Sawyer.”

Sawyer’s mouth dropped open in offense. “No. I’m named after Sawyer from the TV show Lost.”

I snickered. “That show wasn’t on TV yet when we were born.”

Jason chuckled.

“Busted,” Livie sang.

Sawyer blushed. “Okay, fine. I thought it would go over better with the ladies if I was named after a sensitive bad boy rather than some kid in a boring old book.”

I placed a hand over my heart. “I happen to like that boring old book. And if your ladies can’t figure out how to Google when a TV show first aired, maybe you need to find some smarter ones.”

Sawyer gave me a lazy smile as his eyes roamed up and down my body. “Maybe I should.”

Livie’s eyes danced. “It’s going to be so entertaining to watch you crash and burn again.”

Sawyer glared at her.

Dial it back, Sloane. Blend in. Be forgettable. Start asking them the questions. “So,” I said, “what other senior stuff is coming up?”

Sawyer wiggled his eyebrows at me. “Prom.”

“Career day,” Livie added.

“The senior trip,” Jason said.

Livie gasped and released Jason’s arm to point at me. “You and I can room together! This is perfect!”

Good God, how far is she going to take this First Day Buddy thing? “What’s the senior trip?”

Jason straightened a stack of napkins on his tray. “It’s a school tradition that all seniors take an overnight field trip to Charleston the last weekend in April. Everyone goes. We visit Fort Sumter and tour the city and eat good food.”

“And people smuggle alcohol along and party in their hotel rooms,” Sawyer said.

Jason shot him a pointed look. “But not too much alcohol, right?”

“What?” Sawyer’s voice was a little too innocent.

“Last time you drank, you got pissed someone beat you at cards and punched a hole in the drywall in your basement.” Livie shook her head. “I know you haven’t forgotten being grounded for a month.”

“Whatever,” Sawyer muttered. A blush crept up his neck.

Livie turned back to me. “So what do you think?”

School traditions and parties and alcohol were all things I tended to stay away from. Plus, I wasn’t sure how Mark would react to an overnight field trip. But a tiny flutter of excitement ran through me. Because traveling, actually going to a new place just to sightsee and hang out and not have to change names to do it, sounded amazing. “Is it too late for me to sign up?”

“Not at all. The forms are due in two days. You have to room with someone of the same sex and I’ve been having trouble finding someone.”

She must seriously be in need of some female friends.

“But the roommates don’t really matter,” Livie continued, “because I heard the chaperones go to bed early and everyone sneaks out and hooks up.” She peeked sideways at Jason.

Jason’s shoulders tensed. He picked up a napkin, scrunched it into a ball and held it out to Sawyer. “Bet you can’t get this into that trash can.” His eyes brightened as he pointed at an open, industrial-sized, round plastic trash can sitting about twelve feet away.

Livie rolled her eyes and pulled her phone out of her pocket.

I suppressed a smile as more memories came flooding back. When Jason and I were little, we made bets about everything, like who could run around his house three times the fastest or who had the longest french fry in their Happy Meal or who could knock the most action figures off the deck railing with a Nerf gun. Making goofy bets was one of the things about the old me that had disappeared the fastest.

Sawyer cocked an eyebrow. “Loser has to make all the shirts for the scavenger hunt?”

“You’re on,” Jason replied.

Sawyer took the napkin from Jason.

My hands itched to snatch it from him and shoot it myself. The girl Jason knew had been a horrible basketball player who never could’ve made the shot they were talking about. But I’d just left Lexington, Kentucky, home of the University of Kentucky, where basketball is king. Mark and I had really gotten into the Wildcats’ season, and had even gotten a basketball hoop at our house. We’d spent hours playing each other. I tucked my fingers under my legs so I couldn’t grab a napkin and turn it into a ball.

The boys each made their first shots and missed their second, Sawyer’s by a good two feet. At the start of round three, Sawyer got a lucky bounce, his ball ricocheting off the rim and disappearing inside. But as soon as Jason lined up for his shot, I could tell his trajectory was off. The napkin hit the side of the trash can and landed on the floor.

“Yes!” Sawyer raised his hands in triumph.

I so could’ve beaten them both.

“Your gloating is childish,” Livie said without glancing up from her phone. For a second I thought she was talking to me.

Jason turned to Sawyer. “Looks like I’ll be decorating T-shirts.”

“T-shirts?” I asked.

“Every scavenger hunt team wears matching shirts,” Sawyer explained. “It’s not a rule or anything, but people take it pretty seriously.”

“We’re going to my house after school to make them,” Jason said. “You should come since you’ll need one too.”

No way. Jason’s house meant Jason’s mom and that was just...no. I couldn’t risk being seen by anyone else who knew me. I opened my mouth to give them an excuse.

“No excuses,” Livie said, pointing at me. “You say no to everything, but we want you to come.”

The boys nodded their agreement.

“Let me guess, it’s a required part of the First Day Buddy contract?”

Livie grinned. “You catch on quick.”

Sawyer peeked at me. “We could do it at my house instead. I can give you a ride if you need one, Sloane.”

I internally winced. I couldn’t go to Jason’s house, yet I didn’t want to encourage Sawyer by taking him up on his offer.

“We can’t do it at your house,” Jason said. “You said your mom was hosting some book club thing.”

“Crap. I forgot about that.”

“Besides,” Jason continued, “my mom will be at work. We’ll have the place to ourselves.” He gave me a half smile. “Want to come over and help us decide what to put on the shirts?”

His mom wasn’t going to be there. That changed things. I wanted to see where he lived and what his room looked like and maybe find out what happened to his parents. “I can come for a little while.”

“Great!” Sawyer exclaimed with such enthusiasm you would’ve thought I’d just agreed to go to the prom with him. “I can still give you a ride if you want.” He grabbed his phone out of his bag. “Or I can text you directions to J’s.” He frowned at the phone for a moment. “There’s something wrong with my phone.” Then he looked up and gave me a lopsided grin. “It doesn’t have your number in it.”

I snorted. “I can’t fix that.”

Livie shot Sawyer a smug look. “Crash and burn.”

“No,” I insisted, “I meant I don’t have a phone.” Under the table, I ran a hand over the pocket where my phone was hiding. My secret only-use-to-keep-in-touch-with-Mark-and-never-share-the-number-under-strict-penalty-of-death phone.

All three stared at me like I’d just sprouted wings.

“I had one,” I mumbled. “I got really addicted to it a few years ago and gave it up cold turkey. No social media accounts either. You should try it. I have so much more free time now.”

Livie’s mouth dropped open. “I could never live without my phone.” From the seriousness of her voice, she clearly ranked phone on her list of necessities right next to food and oxygen.

I reached into my backpack, pulled out a piece of paper and a pen and slid them over to Jason. “You can be old-school and write your address down. I’ll find my way there.”

He scribbled something, folded the paper, and slid it back to me just as a middle-aged woman wearing a suit and stiletto heels approached us. “Gentlemen, I expect you to clean up the remnants of your little basketball game.” She rapped a knuckle on our table as she walked by.

“Yes, Principal Thompson,” Jason and Sawyer replied in unison.

They both jumped up to collect the trash. As soon as they were out of earshot, Livie leaned across the table, her voice low so the boys wouldn’t hear. “How’d you get Oliver Clarke to talk to you?”

“Who?”

She made an impatient sound. “Oliver Clarke? Voice so smooth you just want to eat him up? Eyes so green they make everyone else’s jealous?”

Um, okay. I’d admired his voice earlier, but eating him hadn’t popped into my head. “Oh, him.”

“Yes, him.” Livie sighed. “He broke up with his girlfriend about a week ago. Or maybe she broke up with him. No one knows exactly what happened, but the rumors are flying. He basically hasn’t been talking to anyone since. They’d been dating forever, even though she’s probably the worst person in this school, so it was kind of a big deal.”

“Let me guess. His ex-girlfriend has short black hair?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“She didn’t seem to like it when I talked to him.”

Livie slapped a hand on the table. “I knew it! He must’ve dumped her.”

“What’s her deal?”

Livie watched Oliver’s ex for a few seconds, eyes serious. “She knows everyone’s secrets and likes to share.”

I peered over my shoulder at Oliver, reading quietly at his deserted table. He’s in some kind of self-imposed social exile because of a gossip-inducing breakup with the secret-sharing “worst person” in the school? There are so many reasons to stay away from him.

“Nobody in their right mind would break up with Oliver,” Livie said. “I mean, there are definitely hotter guys here.” Her gaze darted around the cafeteria, presumably landing on all the boys she thought were better looking, but she never once glanced in Jason’s direction. “But that voice.” She looked at me. “I would do absolutely anything he asked if he sang it to me.”

Hold up. Did she just imply Oliver was a better catch than her boyfriend? He was kind of cute. And apparently single, not that I would’ve done anything about it. I’d learned the hard way not to get attached to anyone because I never knew when I’d have to leave at the worst possible time. But Oliver didn’t have anything on Jason.

Livie launched into a story about some elaborate revenge Oliver’s ex got on the last girl to hit on him, but I wasn’t listening. I unfolded the piece of paper in my hands. Under his address, Jason had written two sentences: Bet you Sawyer uses at least five inappropriate pickup lines on you while you’re at my house. Loser has to teach him the meaning of moderation?

I smiled. Oliver definitely didn’t have anything on Jason.


Four (#u359ae647-a7c0-5bd9-9480-ee94fb4801d6)

The back screen door slammed shut behind me. “Mark?”

“In here, Kid.”

I smiled at the nickname and followed his voice to the family room of our rental house. It was smaller and a little more run-down than some of the other places we’d lived in, but it had the beachy feel of home. Mark was sprawled on the blue couch, legs propped up on the square glass coffee table next to a pile of mail.

“Did you hear about this one?” he asked, shaking his head at his laptop. “Nineteen-year-old broke into a condo, stole a bunch of electronics, including a cell phone, and left his own phone sitting on the condo’s kitchen table.”

I snorted.

“Wait! There’s more. When he realized what he did about an hour later, he called his phone. The condo’s owner, who had since come home and realized she’d been burglarized, answered and he gave her his name and asked if he could have his phone back.” Mark grinned widely. “The cops arrested him half an hour later.”

I plopped on the couch next to him. “Amateur.”

“Seriously. What’s happening to criminals these days?”

I watched Mark laugh as he set his laptop aside. I’d always been amazed at how much older or younger he could look with a few little changes. When he let his hair grow longer and was clean-shaven, he could easily pass as someone in his early twenties. But when he looked like he did now, with a shorter haircut and a few days’ worth of facial hair, he seemed fifteen years older. It was a skill that let him pose as a wide variety of men in my life, from father to uncle to older brother. Which was funny, because he’d never felt like an actual father or uncle or older brother, not even when I was younger. He’d always been more like the older brother’s best friend you see in the movies, the one who’s always around, teasing and annoying you, but who’ll beat up the guy who’s mean to you at school without blinking an eye. The one you choose to count as family. That’s Mark.

“What?” he asked, realizing I was staring.

“Just admiring my old man.” I ruffled his hair, which was its natural medium brown color. The only thing about him that wasn’t natural were the contacts that turned his brown eyes hazel. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you look so distinguished.”

“Shut up,” he muttered with a laugh as he smoothed out his hair. “So how was the first day?”

I studied my feet resting next to his on the coffee table. “The usual. Nothing exciting.” Guilt flared red hot in my chest.

I’d only ever lied to him once before, and even that was more of an omission of a detail than a full-blown lie. The desire to tell him about Jason was stronger than I’d been expecting. Mark was my person, the one I could tell anything to, the only one who’d always been there for me. Lying to him sucked.

Then I remembered why I wasn’t telling him the truth. No one had ever been officially released from WITSEC before. Once you’re in, you’re in for life. But I was special. A “one-of-a-kind situation,” Mark had said when we started planning Sloane and Mark Sullivan. But if the Marshals knew I’d been seen by someone from my past? Who knows how long it would be before they thought it was safe enough again to let me out.

Mark bumped my shoulder, trying to get my attention. “Any stalkers?”

My heart fluttered as I smiled. It sounded like a joke, but he was serious. I hadn’t been smart about someone once before, and I’d promised to never make that mistake again. “No. I did get forced into a group of overly friendly people though.”

He pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “I’m so proud of my little girl, making friends on her first day.”

I whacked him on the arm. “I’m actually about to head over to one of their houses in a few minutes.”

His smile faltered. “Going to someone’s house already? Is that a good idea?”

“They gave me a First Day Buddy.”

“Oh.” It came out like a laugh, like he knew how much it would annoy me.

“Exactly. There’s this senior scavenger hunt thing tomorrow, and I’m on her team and I have to help with something for it. But don’t worry, I won’t stay long. Wouldn’t want to come home late and disturb your beauty sleep, not with the new job starting tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes. The rigorous demands of a college maintenance man require much rest.”

“Don’t make fun of your fake profession. It’s served us well.”

“That’s true,” he agreed, stretching his arms above his head. “Who knew there were so many colleges and universities across this great land of ours? Plus, I never feel guilty when we skip out without giving notice.” He stood, scattering a few pieces of junk mail to the floor.

I crumpled an ad into a ball and threw it into the middle of the small trash can across the room. “Ha!”

Mark chuckled. “Are you going to be back for dinner? I’m making fettuccine alfredo.”

I followed him into the kitchen, groaning with pleasure the whole way. “I would never miss your fettuccine. It’s one of your best dishes.”

“Well, at least not having any friends has paid off. I don’t have to answer their nosey questions, and I’ve had all this free time to master my cooking skills.”

I frowned. I knew he’d given up everything for me. I wondered, not for the first time, whether he regretted it. “We have each other for a friend. Who needs anyone else?”

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly as he studied me. Something I didn’t recognize flashed in his eyes.

I pursed my lips. “You know I appreciate everything you do for me, right? Including making fabulous food.”

Mark dropped his eyes. “I know.” He was quiet for a moment. “I like doing things for you.” He patted his ridiculously toned stomach. “I certainly don’t need the extra calories.”

“Please,” I scoffed. “Like you have an inch of fat on you.”

“I do!” He looked up, eyes bright. “We’ve been slacking on lesson number eleven lately.”

I placed my hands flat against the small kitchen island and glared at him. “We have not been slacking on our long distance running! And I’ve played many a basketball game with you shirtless recently, and you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

He flashed a grin, the one where the right side of his mouth rose more than the left. It was the grin he used when he was giving me a hard time, and guilt spread through my chest again.

I intertwined my fingers and examined the lines across one of my palms, tracing them with my thumb. “So apparently there’s a senior trip coming up.”

Mark had his head buried in the refrigerator. “Like a beach trip after graduation? Do seniors still do that?”

“No, like a chaperoned overnight field trip to Charleston the last weekend in April. It sounds like all the seniors go. It’s a school tradition.”

The sounds of his rummaging stopped. “I don’t know.” There was a long pause before he spoke again. “What if something goes wrong? What about your eyes?”

“I can keep my contacts in. It’s just one night.” I continued to study my palm, afraid of looking at him when I said what I’d been rehearsing all afternoon in my head. “Plus, I was kind of thinking this placement could be like a test. Once I’m out, I’m going to have to deal with things myself. It might be good to get some practice making my own decisions while you’re still around to back me up. And I think I want to go.”

The silence made my heart race until I finally glanced up, unable to take it any longer. Mark was leaning against the speckled laminate countertop, nodding his head slowly. “You’re right.” His eyes locked on mine. “You’re prepared, but you need to be confident you can handle yourself. And I want you to make your own decisions. So if you want to go, go.”

I was surprised at how much lighter I felt. He may not have known about Jason or that I’d already begun making my own decisions, but it felt like he was telling me I’d done the right thing. And I trusted his judgment without question.

* * *

I walked up the path to the small blue house with a bounce in my step. I felt empowered by Mark’s approval to go on the trip, and the sight of Jason’s house, with flowerpots scattered across the front porch and lace curtains in the windows, reminded me of New Jersey. I rang the doorbell.

Sawyer answered the door with his usual lazy grin. He stepped aside and swept an arm toward the inside of Jason’s house. “Sloane Sullivan, come on down. You’re the next contestant in the Sawyer James game of love.”

Jason stood behind Sawyer. He flashed me a half smile and mouthed, One.

The excited buzz of being in on a secret Jason bet shot through me as I stepped inside. Jason’s half smile wasn’t the only familiar thing I saw. Walking through his house was like taking a trip back in time. The overstuffed yellow chair in the living room was the same one we used to build forts around. The large round wooden table in the kitchen was the same one I’d eaten at a thousand times. And the brown couch I saw as I followed the guys into the rec room in the basement still had the tear on the edge of the right cushion I’d made with a pair of scissors during a bet to see who could make the most paper snowflakes in five minutes.

I peeked around the rec room. Besides the comfy brown couch, there was a coffee table, a couple of beanbag chairs facing a flat-screen TV, a bar with a mini refrigerator in one corner of the room and a Ping-Pong table that dominated the back half. A DVD collection spilled out of the entertainment center onto the floor and two different video game consoles competed for space on the entertainment center’s shelves. I could see why they hung out here.

“Hey, Sloane!” Livie called from a fuzzy beanbag chair.

“Hey,” I replied as I noticed the movie on TV. I raised an eyebrow at Jason. “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?”

“Sawyer brought it over. He’s got a thing for ’80s movies. We put it on in your honor, but Livie’s been skipping around to her favorite parts.”

It was on one of my favorite parts too: where Ferris leaves Sloane at the end to make his mad dash through people’s backyards in order to beat his parents home. As movie Sloane watches him go, she says, “He’s gonna marry me.” That scene was the real reason I’d picked the name Sloane, because I’d been jealous of that Sloane’s certainty about the future, or at least her ability to even plan for the future. That’s what I wanted as Sloane.

Livie sighed and glanced up at me. “I forgot how good this movie is.”

I studied her as she turned back to the TV. Mark actually said yes to the senior trip. I had the chance to go somewhere by myself for two glorious days and all I needed was a roommate. I knew it wasn’t the smartest idea, but neither was standing in the middle of Jason’s house and nothing bad had happened yet. “I talked to my dad and I’m in for the senior trip.”

Livie squealed and jumped up, spinning me around in a giant hug.

“You’re making my dizzy!”

Livie pulled back and clapped. “We’re going to have so much fun!”

My plastered-on grin mirrored her own. I was definitely not used to this much girl time. Two days of freedom better be worth this. I stepped away from Livie and nodded at the plain white T-shirts and permanent markers scattered across the coffee table. “So what’s the plan for the shirts?”

Sawyer fell into the couch with a sigh. “We have no idea. We’ve been trying to come up with something related to our double first names for weeks, but we can’t think of anything good.”

“Just do whatever,” Livie said as she reclaimed her spot in the beanbag chair and pulled out her phone. “It’s not that big a deal.”

As I walked behind her on my way to the couch, I caught sight of a photo Livie had open on her phone: sunset over the brightest blue water I’d ever seen. The sun was a fiery ball at the edge of the sky, turning the clouds around it amazing shades of orange and pink and purple. “That picture’s beautiful.”

Livie glanced up. “Oh, thanks.”

“Where is it?”

“Um, nowhere, really. Not like this.” She tapped the screen and frowned. “I’ve been editing it, trying to make the colors really pop, but I can’t get it right.” Her eyes narrowed at something I couldn’t see. “I like to get creative with reality.”

I sat next to Sawyer on the couch and smoothed out a T-shirt. If Livie could be creative, so could I. “What if we do something that’s not related to first names?”

Jason pulled a beanbag chair to the edge of the coffee table and sat. “Like what?”

I eyed Sawyer. “Superheroes.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Superheroes?”

“Yeah. I mean, I got run into in the hall today because someone here supposedly has superhero muscles.”

Livie snorted.

Sawyer flexed his arm, which was surprisingly muscular for such a skinny guy. “There’s no supposedly about it.” He leaned closer to me. “Wanna touch it?”

I pushed his arm away with one finger. “Why don’t you use that muscle to draw a superhero symbol?”

Jason tapped a marker on the coffee table. His eyes locked on mine and that half smile appeared.

Livie plopped onto the couch next to me, her phone nowhere in sight for once. “I’m totally being Black Widow.”

“Are Superman and Supergirl a thing?” Sawyer shifted so his leg was pressed against mine. “Because that’s who we should be.”

I leaned in and whispered in his ear, “I’m pretty sure Superman and Supergirl are cousins.”

He chuckled. “Ooh, naughty.”

Livie gave me an amused smile, one eyebrow slightly raised in question. My cheeks grew hot. I hadn’t been trying to flirt—just to give a smartass answer like I’d give to Mark at home—but maybe that’s how it looked. “Um, where’s the bathroom?”

Livie pointed over her shoulder. “Down that hall, first door on your right.”

“Don’t try the door on the left,” Sawyer warned. “It’s like the Room of Requirement or platform nine and three-quarters or something else that requires magical blood to enter.”

I paused at the entrance to the hall, a slight smile on my lips. “Should I have brought my wand?”

Sawyer grinned. “Nope. The Door That Must Not Be Opened is wand-proof.”

“What if I had the special platform nine and three-quarters ticket? Could I walk through it?”

“Even that wouldn’t work.” Sawyer snatched a marker out of Livie’s hand. “It’s J’s room, which is strictly off-limits to anyone but him.”

I opened my mouth but Livie spoke first. “Don’t ask. Neither of us has ever been inside. It’s a weird Jason thing, like the bets.”

I peeked at Jason, who was studying a blank T-shirt and biting the inside of his cheek. It’s not weird, it’s sweet.

“But if you come back over here,” Sawyer drawled, “I’ll show you something that’s nine and three-quarters.”

“Gross!” Livie smacked him on the back of his head. “That’s no way to talk to someone you just met. And physically impossible.”

“Fine,” he grunted. “Would it be better if I said, ‘Come back over, I need help whomping my willow.’”

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed. “You did not just turn Harry Potter into something dirty!”

“Oh, come on!” Sawyer responded. “You can come back. I promise I’ll be gentle when I Slytherin.”

My eyes grew wide.

“My name may not be Luna, but I sure can Lovegood.”

I clamped my hands over my ears. “Stop! You’re ruining one of my favorite book series!”

I looked at Jason. His eyes were gleaming. Two, three, four, five, he mouthed in quick succession. I win.

I groaned, but couldn’t help laughing as I turned into the hall. My smile grew even larger when I realized it was lined with framed photographs.

There were some I didn’t recognize, but many more I did. Five-year-old Jason on Christmas morning straddling a bike that matched the one I’d found under my tree. Seven-year-old Jason with a wide front-teeth-missing smile and a dripping ice cream cone. Ten-year-old Jason sitting in the lifeguard chair at sunset, laughing that giant childhood laugh of his I hadn’t seen here yet. I’d been there for all of them—I’d even taken the lifeguard picture myself. So when I came to a closed door on the left side of the hall that had to be Jason’s room, I didn’t care that I couldn’t see what it looked like. I knew Jason. I didn’t need to see inside to find out who he was now. I grinned and whirled around to find the bathroom.

Instead, I found myself staring at a photo of two women at the beach. And not just any beach. Home. Jason’s mom’s long brown hair was blowing in the breeze and she had her arm around a beautiful woman with dirty-blond chin-length hair, a million freckles and a thin scar through her left eyebrow. They were sitting on colorful beach towels, wearing the matching purple bathing suits their kids had given them for Mother’s Day the month before. The sides of their heads were resting together and their smiles were as bright as the sun shining down on them. I reached up and touched the blonde’s face with a fingertip as tears welled in my eyes. I hadn’t seen my mom in almost six years.

I couldn’t stop my leg from bouncing as I glanced at the man sitting next to me in the too-cold room. He wore jeans and a navy T-shirt, not a suit like the guy who’d just taken my dad into the motel hallway, but I knew he was one of them. His shaggy brown hair and big brown eyes made him look younger than the rest of the suits I’d seen that day, but he was too serious to be anything other than an agent.

He rubbed the back of his neck and took a deep breath. I decided I liked him, even though he hadn’t really said much to me. He was the only one who looked like I felt: sad and exhausted and totally freaked out.

“No...no!”

I flinched at the cries that rang through the paper-thin motel walls. My dad’s cries.

I jumped up, heart pounding, desperate to help him, but the man grabbed my arm. I stared at him through tears I couldn’t blink away. He silently shook his head.

I hadn’t known I’d been asking a question with that stare until he answered, but now I wanted him to take the answer back. “What’s your name?” I whispered, my voice cracking.

He held my gaze for a long moment. “Agent Markham. But everyone calls me Mark.”

“You’re wrong, Mark.” I tried to say it as forcefully as I could, but that didn’t make it true.

When we’d left home that afternoon, the agents said they were sending someone to get my mom from work to speed things up, and that we’d all meet at this motel. We’d been waiting for hours. She hadn’t shown up.

Mark swallowed hard. “They got to her first.”

The words were like ice in my veins.

“She left work before we got there. Her boss had given her the afternoon off and she was coming home to surprise you and we didn’t know. We tried but...they got to her before we did.”

“No.” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep the truth out. “No. She’s just late, that’s all. She’s coming.”

“I’m sorry.”

It was the softness of Mark’s voice, barely above a whisper, that made me look at him. And his eyes did me in. They were so full of sorrow and anger and guilt that I couldn’t pretend he was lying.

My whole body started to shake as tears streamed down my face.

Mark knelt in front of me and held me tight and even though I’d just met him, I didn’t want him to let go. I forced the words out between shaky breaths: “Are they going to find us too?”

This time when he spoke, Mark’s voice wasn’t gentle. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”

I wiped away my tears so I could see the photo more clearly. I hadn’t been allowed to take any pictures with me when we left, but it hadn’t mattered because my mom was supposed to be with us. Now I tried to soak up her smile and memorize her face. Because I’d forgotten exactly what she looked like.

“You’re going down!”

Sawyer’s shout from the rec room made me jump. I hurried into the bathroom, flushed the toilet—appearances—and splashed cold water on my face to get rid of the blotchiness the tears had caused. I walked back to the rec room as casually as I could and found Sawyer and Livie in the middle of an intense video-game battle that involved both of them yelling at the TV. I walked over to Jason, who was sitting on the couch, just starting to draw a yellow line on a T-shirt. “Hey, I need to get going.”

He frowned. “Already?”

“Yeah. I...I totally forgot the cable guy is supposed to come hook everything up today. I promised my dad I’d be there. Sorry about not helping with the shirts.” I started to back away.

“It’s okay. Do you want me to walk you out?”

“No. I don’t want to interrupt the fun.” I gestured to the TV. “I’ll show myself out. Tell everyone I said bye, okay? Thanks for having me over.” I rushed up the steps before he could stop me.

Because I didn’t own a car and Jason’s house was only a few blocks from mine, I’d walked there. But as I closed Jason’s front door behind me, I cursed my inability to make a quick getaway. I eyed the cars parked along the street, wishing I could start one up and escape faster. Instead, I hustled down the block and kept crossing streets and ducking through people’s backyards, checking over my shoulder as I went, until I ended up several blocks away in the opposite direction of my place. If anyone had tried to follow me, I was pretty sure I’d lost them.

I sat on a bench and buried my face in my hands. The picture of my mom burned bright behind my eyelids. Even though I wasn’t near the beach, I could hear the crash of the waves, feel the hot sand on my feet, smell the way my mom’s perfume and suntan lotion mixed to create the flower-coconut scent I’d loved. Silent tears ran down my cheeks and I shook my head at my own stupidity for breaking down in the middle of the hall where anyone could’ve seen.

You’re not her. Just because things felt familiar back there does not mean you’re that girl anymore. You can never be her again. Too much has happened. Jason doesn’t know you and you don’t know him. You’re Sloane, and he needs to believe you’re Sloane.

I took a deep breath and wiped away my tears. Blend in, follow the rules from here on out and don’t let anyone get too close. Especially not your former best friend.


Five (#u359ae647-a7c0-5bd9-9480-ee94fb4801d6)

“Shh.”

The whispered hush sounded loud in the cramped space where I was crouching. My knees scraped against something rough as I covered my nose and mouth with my hands. I was breathing too loud and too fast. I had to be quiet.

Something solid blocked my front and something sharp and jagged was poking my back. I needed to see what was going on, but there was only darkness. Even though it was nearly impossible, I tried to move. A hand clamped down on my arm and it hurt.

Pop! Pop, pop!

The explosions were so loud, so close, that my hands flew to my ears. My dad’s face appeared out of the darkness, right in front of me. His nose was practically touching mine and his eyes were wild with fear. He whispered a single word: “Run.”

I began to shake. I tried to jerk away from the person holding me down because I had to run. Even though I had no idea where I was, my dad had told me to run.

“Hey,” a gentle voice said. “Kid, wake up.”

My eyes flew open.

Mark was sitting on the side of my twin bed, studying my face. He squeezed my shoulders. “You’re okay.”

I shrugged out of his grip and sat up.

“Did you have the nightmare again?”

I nodded and took a deep breath, willing my heart to slow down.

He pursed his lips. “Anything new?”

“No.” I ran my fingers through my hair, loosening the sweaty strands stuck to my neck. “Exactly the same as always.”

He exhaled and ran his hands along his jeans. “It’s been a while since you’ve had it.”

“Yeah.”

“I wonder why it happened now.”

Yesterday. Jason. My mom. Take your pick. “I don’t know.”

I hugged my knees, waiting for the pinpricks of unease in my chest to settle. It was the same feeling I got every time I had the nightmare, every time it felt like someone was watching me. And the same feeling I’d had for a split second two nights ago when I thought I saw that flash on the school’s brick wall. I frowned. “It wouldn’t make a difference if I did remember something, would it? I mean, not now that they have the confession, right?”

“It wouldn’t change anything if you remembered.” Mark smiled but his voice was almost too confident, like he was trying to convince himself of that fact instead of me.

I took another deep breath.

“Well,” he said as he stood, “I’ve got to get to work.” A grin played on his lips. “And you, my friend, are late for school.”

I glanced at my alarm clock and winced. I must’ve slept straight through the alarm. “Shoot! Why didn’t you wake me?”

He made a circling gesture around my room with his finger and stopped when he was pointing at a box of tampons sitting on top of my dresser. “Because I don’t want to see stuff like that. I only come in here if you’re yelling ‘Run!’ at the top of your lungs.”

“I wouldn’t have to keep that in my room if you’d rented a house with more than one bathroom,” I grumbled as I jumped out of bed. “I missed the bus. If I’m ready in five minutes, can you drop me off at school?”

He pretended to shield his eyes and fumble his way out of my room. “Why do you think I rented a house with one bathroom? So there was so little space it would force you to corral all of your girly stuff in the one place I never have to enter. No more opening drawers in bathrooms to find curling irons and pink razors and weird things that look like torture devices but I think have to do with eyelashes.” He peeked his head around my door frame. “What exactly is the purpose of bronzer? I’ve always wondered.”

I threw one of my Chucks at him. He easily ducked out of the way.

“We’re leaving in four minutes!” he called from down the hall.

* * *

I swallowed the last of my Pop-Tart as I shoved my way through the crowd of almost five hundred seniors buzzing with excitement in the school’s outside courtyard, grateful the scavenger hunt hadn’t started yet. Now all I had to do was find my team.

I inched my way around a group of girls wearing matching Everyone Loves a CheerleaderT-shirts, craning my neck to search for Sawyer, Livie and Jason. I spotted them across the courtyard. Both Sawyer and Livie had their backs to me, but Jason was almost facing me. He bit his thumbnail as his eyes jumped from person to person.

“Jason!” I called over the hum of conversation.

His head snapped in my direction. He exhaled and smiled.

I sidestepped a puddle left over from the morning’s rain and took a deep breath as I crossed the courtyard. You can do this, Sloane. I held my hands up in apology when I reached the three of them. “I’m sorry I’m late. I overslept and literally had four minutes to get ready.”

“You got ready in four minutes?” Livie asked.

I self-consciously smoothed my ponytail, which already had tendrils of hair escaping around my face. I hoped the Chucks, jeans and white tank top I’d thrown on after brushing my teeth and splashing cold water on my face in record time didn’t look too horrible. “Um, yeah.”

Livie smiled. “I could never look that good in four minutes.”

Sawyer leaned toward me. “If I told you you had a great body, would you hold it against me?”

I rolled my eyes. “Do you know the meaning of moderation?”

Jason coughed at the same time Sawyer said, “Huh?”

“It’s too soon, Sawyer. I’m still traumatized from the Harry Potter lines yesterday. You have to space them out more. When they come rapid fire like this, they lose their effect.”

“Huh,” Sawyer repeated, like the thought had never occurred to him.

Livie threw an arm around my shoulder. “Thank God you made it. They just announced we can’t have teams this year. Apparently, last year the teams were too big and everyone split up their lists and sent people off individually and the whole scavenger hunt was done in, like, eight minutes. We’re only allowed to work in pairs this time, and we were afraid one of us was going to have to go solo if you didn’t show.”

So that’s why Jason looked so worried.

Livie stepped away from me and next to Jason, the back of her hand brushing against his.

Crap. The ramifications of pairs suddenly dawned on me. I was going to be stuck with Sawyer and his pickup lines.

Sawyer shook out the T-shirt he had crumpled in one hand and held it out to me. “We can still match though.”

I bit my lip to keep from smiling at the drawing on the shirt, the same drawing I realized was on all of their shirts. “What kind of superhero symbol is that?”

But I knew exactly what it was. It was a large yellow lightning bolt, in the middle of which sat a white star on a blue background surrounded by two red rings, and on either side of the last red ring were three yellow lines that looked like wings. It was the same mashup Jason created when we were little because he could never decide which superhero to play, the same one he doodled in notebooks and used as the logo for his dream garage band as we got older.

“No one could agree so Jason came up with this.” Livie looked down at her shirt, nose wrinkled.

I slipped my shirt on over my tank top. “It looks awesome.” I traced the S in the middle of the star with one finger. “Scavenger Hunt Sloane is ready for action.”

Sawyer opened his mouth.

I pointed at him. “No action comments from you.”

He grinned as Mrs. Thompson, the principal, approached with a large stack of papers in her well-manicured hands. “Jason, how many pairs do you have?”

“Two.”

She held out two lists. Jason grabbed one and Sawyer took the other.

They both scanned the lists as Mrs. Thompson moved on to the next cluster of seniors. “Yes!” Jason murmured.

“What’d you get?” Sawyer asked.

Jason held the list flat against his chest. “I’m not telling. You might try to sabotage my items just so you can beat me.”

“Oh, it’s going to be like that, huh?” The possibility of a wager gleamed in Sawyer’s eyes. “We were going to be the group to win it all and now it’s me against you?”

Jason’s bright eyes flicked to me. “Hey, Sloane, wanna be my partner and help me prove to Sawyer that even with the new girl, who knows nothing about this school or where to find anything on this list, I can still beat him?”

My stomach tightened. Me and Jason. Alone.

Disappointment flashed on Sawyer’s and Livie’s faces, but Sawyer rallied first. “Oh, you’re on. What do you say, Liv? Should we make these two pay for plotting against us?”

“Hey! I didn’t have anything to do with this bet,” I reminded him. “New girl, remember?”

“You’re right,” Sawyer agreed. He bumped Livie with his hip. “Should we make J pay for his poor choice of partner?”

“Hey!” I repeated, a wave of competitiveness flowing through me. “Now you’re going down.”

Livie chuckled. She entwined her arm with Sawyer’s. “Partner, I believe we should.”

The whine of microphone feedback interrupted the partner showdown before the stakes of the bet could be set. “Quiet down, people.” Mrs. Thompson’s voice echoed across the courtyard from where she was precariously balancing on top of a bench in heels taller than I’d ever seen. “Okay. The rules are simple: find each item on your list, take a picture as proof that you found the correct item, and return here where I’ll be waiting to check your pictures against your list. The first pair to accurately complete their list wins and gets to pick a song to be played at graduation. Remember, every list has different items so following other teams around won’t help you. And if you don’t have a phone, I have several digital cameras up here the Photography Club is generously letting us borrow. So see me if you need one. Any questions?” Excited whispers rose from the crowd as people began shuffling toward the edges of the courtyard. “Then let this year’s senior scavenger hunt begin!”

Jason motioned to the left as Sawyer and Livie took off running to the right. The mass of seniors thinned fast, and soon we were the only two rounding the school toward the back athletic fields. “What do we need to find first?” I asked. My stomach was a jumble of butterflies and nausea, giddy excitement for the hunt and the bet...and fear of being alone with Jason and being discovered.

“‘Evidence of the school’s first couple,’” Jason replied.

I stopped walking. I’d been expecting “picture of the school mascot” or “someone wearing school colors,” not proof that some historical couple once existed. “How are we going to find that?”

Jason pointed to a large tree, standing alone at the edge of a soccer field in the distance. “See that tree? That’s where we need to go.”

“We’re going to find evidence of a couple at a tree?”

Jason sighed and stopped a few yards ahead of me. “Yes, Ms. Doubtful. Now come on!” He veered off the sidewalk and headed down a grassy hill in the direction of the soccer field.

I watched him for a few seconds, this boy I wasn’t supposed to be with but somehow kept ending up with anyway. Maybe I’m going about this the wrong way.

If the scavenger hunt had really been it—the last time I was going to be around Jason—I would’ve quietly followed him, stopped asking questions and let him lead the way just to get it over with. But I had a signed senior trip permission slip burning a hole in my back pocket. I was going to have some level of contact with Livie—with all of them—for the next few weeks. And while it didn’t seem like Jason remembered who I was, being in his house and seeing those pictures had brought back a flood of memories. Even though I wasn’t in any of the photos I’d seen, what if he had something else in his house? Something that would spark a memory that made him wonder about me?

I rubbed my thumb across my bottom lip. Maybe staying away from Jason once all the First Day Buddy stuff was over wasn’t the best move. Maybe I needed to keep him close. To know what he was thinking and prove I was a completely different person from the girl he’d grown up with so he’d never believe it was me even if his brain tried to make the connection. And I knew just the way to start.

Anticipation thrilled through me. I bounced on my toes for a beat, a tiny smile creeping its way onto my mouth. This is going to be fun.

“Come on, slowpoke,” I called over my shoulder as I zoomed past him, running down the hill as fast as I could, “or I’m going to beat you there!”

The girl Jason knew had been a terrible runner, slow and easily winded. But thanks to lesson number eleven, I’d left that girl in the dust.

He made an indignant noise and took off after me. He may have been a few inches taller, but I was fast and had a head start. I was in the lead until about forty feet from the tree, when Jason grabbed a fistful of my shirt, yanked me backward and sprinted in front of me.

I gasped and rushed forward, trying to hip check him out of the way.

Jason wrapped one arm around the front of my body as I got close, angling me behind him and attempting to hold down my arm. “You can’t beat me if you can’t touch the tree!”

I giggled and spun out of his reach, but before I could get all the way free, he smacked the tree in triumph. “You are such a cheater!” I tried sounding angry, but the fact I was still laughing ruined any chance of that.

Jason’s grin in response was deviously unapologetic.

I decided he needed a good hip checking anyway. But instead of knocking the sexy grin off his face, I tripped on an exposed tree root and stumbled into him.

“Whoa,” Jason said as he gently placed his hands on my waist to steady me.

My laughter died away and it was suddenly hard to breathe. I watched Jason’s chest rising and falling under his superhero shirt. He smelled like my childhood, like cookies and the beach, but there was a spicy boy scent I’d never noticed before. I looked up into his blue eyes.

He chuckled. “I think your attempt at thwarting my totally fair victory messed up your hair.” He reached out with one hand and tucked a few strands of hair that had escaped my ponytail behind my ear.

The spot on my waist where his hand had just been tingled.

He held my gaze for a second, then stepped back and cleared his throat. “So this is the Kissing Tree.”

I gulped. “Kissing Tree?”

“Take a look.”

I turned and my mouth dropped open. “Wow.”

Every inch of the tree’s bark, from where it disappeared into the ground to taller than even Sawyer could reach, was covered in initials.

“It’s another school tradition,” Jason explained. “Couples come here to kiss and then carve their initials into the tree.”

I circled the tree, letting my fingers trail over the letters. “There are so many. How do you know which one is the first?”

“It’s this one here.” Jason pointed to a spot in front of him at eye level. It was a simple E loves L inside a heart with a date below it. “That date is from the first week the school was open. It’s the oldest one on here.”

I traced the heart with one finger, slowing when the set of initials to the heart’s left caught my eye: J + S.

“You’re killing that tree.”

Jason looked up from the base of the oak tree in front of his house. “I am not,” he said over the soft sounds of his dad’s favorite Billy Joel song wafting from the open windows.

“Then what are you doing?” I bent down and noticed the initials carved into the tree’s trunk about two feet off the ground. I smiled.

He brushed off the tiny J + S. “I’m letting everyone know that we’re going to be best friends forever.” He pushed the tip of his dad’s pocket knife into the S, making it deeper.

“You don’t have to hurt the poor tree to prove that, Jase. The whole fourth grade knows that already. Everybody knows that already.”

Jason glanced up, grinning, and the knife slipped, slicing into his left hand. He jerked his hand away. The knife dropped to the ground, covered in blood.

My heart skipped a beat. “Hold on!” I pressed the edge of my T-shirt against the bloody spot above his left thumb. Blood soaked through the shirt almost instantly.

“Mrs. Stacy!” I yelled, knowing Jason’s mom would hear me through the open windows. All the color had drained from Jason’s face. “Bet I can annoy more nurses at the hospital than you,” I whispered.

He gave me the tiniest hint of a smile.

“It’ll be okay,” I promised as his mom came rushing down the steps toward us. “We’re best friends, remember? I won’t leave you.”

“Have you ever done that? Carved your initials into a tree?” Jason asked, pulling me out of the memory. He pointed to the Kissing Tree carvings.

I hadn’t thought of that day in years. My eyes darted to his left hand, which hung at his side. Does he still have the scar by his thumb? “No,” I replied. Which was the truth. He had, not me. “Have you?”

He kicked the ground with one of his sneakers. “Yeah.”

“Let me guess. There’s a J loves L on here somewhere.” I pretended to search the tree.

“No. Livie and I aren’t... It’s not...”

I peeked around the tree at him. “I was only teasing. You don’t have to explain.”

A wrinkle appeared in between his eyebrows. “It’s...complicated.” His eyes locked on mine. “But I’m not sure it’s an immortalize-it-in-wood-forever kind of thing.”

“Oh.” Oh. “I just thought... I mean, Livie was kind of throwing off an it’s-serious vibe when she was talking about the senior trip.”

Jason’s cheeks turned pink. “Yeah. She’s got lots of ideas about the senior trip that she’ll apparently share with anyone.”

“I can be your wingman on the trip if you want,” I blurted. “If things are still complicated, just give me the secret signal and I’ll mummify her in rolls of duct tape so she can’t leave our room.”

He laughed. “You’d do that for me?”

I shrugged. “Sure. What are friends for?” Friends. Saying that word to Jason made my pulse race. I rubbed the back of my neck with one hand as I gestured to the tree with the other. “Well, hopefully friends are for taking pictures of tree carvings when their partners choose to exit the world of cell phone ownership.”

Jason pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Friends are definitely for that. Why don’t you move closer? I’ll get you too.”

I took a large step away from the tree. “Nope. I don’t do pictures.” Pictures end up in yearbooks and on the internet and other places immortalized forever where people can find them, with names I don’t want them to know. “I’m not very photogenic. I always blink or make a face. It’s a mess.”

“I highly doubt that,” Jason muttered as he captured proof of the school’s first couple.

We got pictures of the next eight items on our list in no time, including Jason’s favorite: “Ms. Benton’s agreeable band,” which turned out to be his science teacher’s collection of Beatles bobblehead dolls. “What’s the last item?” I asked as we left the chemistry room.

“‘The Z’sbees,’” Jason read aloud. He stopped walking.

“Oh,” I replied, turning toward the hall that would take us to the front office.

Jason stayed still, his eyebrows scrunched together. “Huh.” He scratched his head.

“Wait.” A slow grin spread across my face. “You don’t know what that means?”

“No.” He glanced up from the list. “Do you?”

My smile grew wider.

“Tell me.”

“Hold on.” I held my hands out to my sides. “I want to spend a moment basking in the glory of knowing something about this school you don’t. Me, the new girl. Who knows nothing about finding anything on our list.”

Jason shot me a look. “What does it mean?”

I leaned toward him. “Not yet. Still basking.”

He reached up and gently yanked twice on my earlobe. It was a familiar gesture, one he’d picked up from his dad, and one that had always annoyed me as a kid.

I smacked his hand away with a laugh. “God, Jase. Cut it out.”

He was already reaching for my ear again when he stopped midreach and lowered his hands to his sides.

“What?” I asked.

“You called me Jase.”

Crap! Lesson number eight, Sloane, I reminded myself. Don’t get complacent.

It had always been like that with Jason, easy when everyone else required a little more work. Being around him was effortless. Now, that was dangerous.

You have to stay on your toes if you’re going to pull this off. And you need to pull this off. So stop making mistakes!

Before I could come up with an excuse for using my childhood nickname for him, Oliver Clarke appeared trailing behind his scavenger hunt partner. I didn’t know where he’d come from, but the deserted hallway was long enough that it was possible he’d seen my whole exchange with Jason, ear yanking and nickname calling included.

Oliver eyed us as he approached, pressing his lips together to hold back a laugh. He remained silent until he was right next to us, then said in a low voice meant only for me, “Hey, Sweet Potato.”

The snort escaped me before I could stop it.

Oliver’s eyes lit up.

I knew I was supposed to be avoiding him because of the whole gossip and mean ex-girlfriend thing, but no one else was around other than Jason and Oliver’s teammate, a guy I recognized from the a cappella group. And I couldn’t just ignore him after a reaction like that. I tipped my head in his direction. “Choir Boy.”

Oliver’s mouth dropped open. “Insults are not a good start to our friendship. I think you mean Singer of Very Manly Songs.”

I pointed at the corner his partner had just disappeared around. “Or maybe I mean Misplacer of Teammates.”

“Oh, shoot,” Oliver grumbled as he hurried around the corner.

I shook my head and peeked at Jason, who was biting his lip, watching the spot where Oliver disappeared. “Sorry about the Jase thing,” I said. “I have a cousin named Jason and that’s what I call him. It just slipped out.”

“It’s okay. It’s what my mom calls me.”

I know. She stole it from me. “That’s because it’s a good nickname.”

Jason smiled. “Yeah, it is.”

“So.” I clapped my hands together. “We need to find some bees, right?”

He raised one eyebrow. “Are you done basking?”

“No, but the basking can continue on our way to the office.”

When I opened the office door, Mrs. Zalinsky smiled at me from behind the tall counter. “Sloane, dear. Back so soon?”

The genuine warmth in her voice melted away my lingering annoyance at her part in giving me a First Day Buddy. She was only trying to help and it hadn’t been that bad. “We need a picture of your bees for the scavenger hunt,” I explained, pointing to Mrs. Zalinsky’s nameplate for Jason.

“Ah,” he mumbled. “I never would’ve gotten that. I haven’t been in here in forever.”

Mrs. Zalinsky eyed Jason as he took the requisite picture. “I told you you wouldn’t need that map,” she whispered to me.

I leaned closer to Mrs. Zalinsky, like we were old friends sharing secrets. “Trust me, I need a map for that. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Are you two done chatting?” Jason asked, suppressing a grin. “Because we’ve got a scavenger hunt to win.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Z!” I called as I followed Jason out of the office.

We sprinted for the courtyard, but when we arrived, we found Mrs. Thompson sitting on a bench with a line of about ten pairs already waiting for her to verify their photos, including Sawyer and Livie three groups ahead of us.

I groaned as Sawyer and Livie did a ha-ha-we-beat-youdance. I pulled Jason in line on the off chance everyone in front of us ended up disqualified. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have spent so much time basking.”

“It’s okay,” Jason said with a shrug. “We didn’t actually bet on anything, so all Sawyer gets is bragging rights. Plus, I liked the basking.”

I peeked in Mrs. Thompson’s direction, trying to see if she was eliminating anyone, but my gaze caught on the brick wall behind her instead. I rubbed the back of my neck and studied it.

“So what was with you and Mrs. Zalinsky back there?” The smile in Jason’s voice didn’t match the tightness forming in my chest.

“That was girl talk,” I said lightly, not taking my eyes off the faded bricks. It was the same brick wall I’d stood in front of the night we’d broken into the school. It had the same dark wet patches, this time due to the early morning rain. And looking at it again was giving me the same creepy feeling.

“How can you already be having girl talk with the secretary? You just got here.”

The air shifted, more thick and humid than it had been a second ago. I sucked in a ragged breath as my fingertips started to tingle, like I’d just scraped them along something rough. I balled my hands into fists.

“Sloane?”

I knew it was coming. But my breath still caught in my throat when I saw a flash of blue against the faded red of the bricks.

Something brushed against my arm and I jumped.

“Did you hear me? The pair with those Team Hot Stuff shirts won.” Jason nodded at the students around us, slowly making their way back toward the school.

“Oh yeah, sorry. Let’s go.”

But as Jason hurried to catch up to Sawyer and Livie, I took one last look at the brick wall and shivered.

Because I hadn’t just seen a blue blur against the bricks. I’d heard a voice inside my head. A voice too insubstantial to identify, yet familiar enough to make my heart trip. A voice that said three little words: You can’t hide.


Six (#u359ae647-a7c0-5bd9-9480-ee94fb4801d6)

I’d remembered something.

Not the recurring nightmare or the flashes I got when it felt like someone was watching me, but something new. I was certain. But I wasn’t certain I wanted to tell Mark about it. Not after the conversation we’d had that morning about remembering.

I pulled open the screen door after school, still debating what to do, when Mark’s voice stopped me.

“She doesn’t know anything.”

I froze. Is someone here? I scanned the kitchen, the only room I could see from my vantage point at the back door, but there was no sign of Mark. I could hear him, so he had to be close. The family room? I hovered in the doorway, one hand propping open the screen, and waited to see if anyone else spoke.

“I’ll take care of it.” Mark sighed. “You promised I could do this my way.” There were three quick footsteps, a pause, then three footsteps again.

He’s pacing, which means he’s on the phone. Is he talking about me?

“Then let me handle it,” he snapped. “Yes, it’ll be soon. Have a little faith... I’ve got to go. She’ll be home any minute.”

The faint sound of a long sigh was followed by what possibly could’ve been Mark dropping onto the couch, but I wasn’t thinking about him on a couch. I was thinking of him in an elevator.

“Thanks for taking me to the carnival.” I grinned at Mark. My hands were sticky from cotton candy and caramel apples and my voice scratchy from hours of screaming on the rides—I’d had fun. Actual fun for the first time since the day we’d left ten months ago. “Which floor?”

“Three,” Mark replied as we stepped into the elevator. “I’ll take you back to your place before I tackle the long commute home.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, because one floor down is sooo long.”

He chuckled. “It’s too bad your dad wasn’t feeling well. I bet he would’ve had fun too.”

“Yeah.” My good mood deflated. I wasn’t sure whether Dad really hadn’t been feeling well or whether that had been an excuse not to leave the apartment. He’d had a lot of excuses lately.

The elevator dinged its arrival on the third floor. “Maybe he’ll be feeling better tomorrow and we can go back,” Mark suggested.

“Really? That would be great!” I’d make Dad come tomorrow. I’d tell him about all the fun rides and games and he’d have to want to come. “It’s too bad the carousel didn’t have rings to catch. I bet I could get more than both of you. I’ve got a secret method.”

“Oh really?” Mark knocked on my apartment door. “I’d love to see you try to beat me.”

“I’d do more than try,” I said, then laughed at his doubtful expression.

He nodded slowly. “I like seeing you smile. It looks good on you, Kid.”

I knocked again, eager to tell Dad about the carnival, but he still didn’t answer. A slight chill ran down my spine.

Mark pulled his keys out of his pocket, eyebrows furrowed. “Maybe he’s asleep.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open.

A man wearing a suit and a gun on his hip was standing in my kitchen.

Fear clawed its way up my throat. I took a step back, ready to run, but Mark wrapped a hand around my arm, pulling me close.

He led me into the apartment, shoulders tense, the skin around his eyes wrinkling slightly. “What are you doing here?” he asked as the door swung shut behind us.

Despite the surprise in Mark’s voice, he obviously knew the man, and the man wore a suit like all the other Marshals I’d ever seen. An ominous feeling settled in my chest. Mouth dry, I asked, “Where’s my dad?”

The man’s gaze darted to me and back to Mark in silence.

Mark leaned closer and squeezed my arm once. “Stay here,” he whispered. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” He motioned for the guy to follow him into the bathroom and closed the door.

I dragged in a few deep breaths, trying to steady my racing heart and trying not to look at the closed door to my dad’s bedroom. It didn’t work. In the time it took me to take a single breath, I was in front of the door, my eyes searching for any explanation as to where Dad was. I reached out with a shaky hand. My fingers were just about to wrap around the doorknob when the bathroom door flew open.

I jumped away from the bedroom door, my heart nearly exploding out of my chest.

The man in the suit stalked out of the apartment without even glancing at me. Mark locked the door and rested his head against it.

I moved behind him. “What’s going on?” I whispered.

Mark turned and I knew. It was like my mom all over again. Tears welled in my eyes.

“Something happened and...”

My throat felt like it was closing but I forced the words out. “He’s dead?”

Mark winced.

My heart beat as fast as the possibilities racing through my head. “Did someone find us?”

“No. He...” Mark swallowed hard. “He killed himself while we were at the carnival.”

“What?” Hot tears streamed down my face. “Why? Why would he do that?”

Mark tried to wipe my tears away. “That was an agent. Your dad called the emergency hotline before he... He wanted someone to find him before we got home. They tried to talk him out of it and get here to stop him but...it was too late.”

I shook my head.

“He told them he couldn’t take being on the run anymore. But he wanted you to know that he loved you, verymuch.”

“Yeah, he loved me so much he left me by myself!” I could feel something inside me breaking, shaking into loose bits.

Mark cupped my face in his hands. “No. You have me, do you hear me?” I tried to jerk away but he made me look at him. “Listen to me, Kid. I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll take care of you.”

He wrapped his arms around me and rocked me as I cried. He started humming something, the sound vibrating in my chest. It wasn’t until he began to softly sing the words that I recognized the tune to “Have a Little Faith in Me” by John Hiatt. It was the song my dad always sang to my mom when she was upset.

I listened, transfixed, until the song ended. I wiped away tears that were still falling and asked, “Where’d you learn that song?”

“I used to sing it to my little sister when we were younger. I took care of her a lot.”

It was the first time he’d ever mentioned anything about his real life, but I didn’t have any trouble imagining him taking care of a little sister just like he’d often taken care of me. I realized he was right. I had to have faith in him. He was all I had left. “So what are we going to do?”

He wiped more of my tears away. “We’ll start over someplace new. We’ll live together from now on, okay?”

I took a shaky breath. “I need a new name?”

Mark nodded. “Do you have one in mind?”

“Faith.”

I took a deep breath. In the almost five years since that day, I’d only heard Mark say “have a little faith” a handful of times. Only when something was important, when it was big. And this time, he’d been talking about me not knowing anything. I buried the echo of the voice I’d heard deep inside my head. I don’t know anything.

I silently counted to twenty and let the screen door slam behind me in what had quickly become my way of announcing I was home. “Hey!” I called, forcing my voice to be light.

A moment later, Mark poked his head into the kitchen. “Hey! How was your day?” He sounded like he hadn’t just been sighing and snapping and faithing at someone.

“Good.” I tossed my backpack on the island and opened the refrigerator door, pretending to search for a snack. What I really wanted was to know what was going on.

Mark hopped onto the island and played with the straps of my bag. “How was school? Anything interesting happen?”

Cold dread filled my whole body. They know. They know Jason’s here. That’s what’s big. Mark has to handle telling me I screwed up and we have to move again, and soon. My shoulders slumped. There had to be a way to reason with him, to get him to understand that I couldn’t do it anymore. But wait. If Mark knew who Jason really was, he wouldn’t be making conversation. He’d be telling me we have to leave right now. So maybe he doesn’t know everything yet.

I grabbed a yogurt and turned to face him. I was going to find out exactly what he knew. “I invented a nephew for you today.”

Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s...not what I expected you to say.”

“I accidentally called my friend Jase instead of Jason, and before I knew it I was explaining the slip by saying that’s what I’ve always called my cousin Jason.” There. I’ve opened the door to all Jason-related topics. Now tell me what you know.

Mark nodded in mock seriousness. “I’ve always loved Jason. He’s my favorite fake nephew.”

I pursed my lips. Nothing? “He’s your only fake nephew.”

“Oh. Right.” He grinned.

Okay. “What did you expect me to say?”

He threw his hands up. “I don’t know, something about the senior scavenger hunt perhaps? I mean, how many times does a person get to do something like that, even someone like you who’s been in tons of schools?”

“Oh. It was pretty fun, I guess. Better than being stuck in class.”

“And?”

“And how was your day? Anything interesting happen?”

Mark frowned. “No. Why would it?”

I threw my hands up too. Because you were talking to the Marshals about me! “Because it was your first day on the job.”

“Oh.” The corners of his mouth twitched slyly. “It was pretty fun, I guess. Better than being stuck in the house.”

I made an annoyed noise at his use of my own words against me.

He jumped off the island and stole my yogurt and spoon in one swift move. He ate the whole thing in three bites. “I’m going for a run and then I’m playing basketball,” he announced as he tossed the empty cup in the trash. “Wanna come? But I’m warning you, if you come I’m making you spill more details about the scavenger hunt than, ‘It was pretty fun, I guess.’” He hummed as he left the kitchen.

I watched Mark leave. What just happened? I’d given him the perfect opportunity to talk about Jason and he hadn’t mentioned a thing. The sound of Mark’s bedroom door closing gave me an idea. “I’m coming!” I called as I hustled to my room to change into running clothes, glaring at his closed door as I passed. If you’re not going to tell me what’s going on, I’ll just have to find out myself.


Seven (#u359ae647-a7c0-5bd9-9480-ee94fb4801d6)

The next morning, I was up at the crack of dawn, ready to put some of my lesson-acquired special skills to use. I got dressed for school as silently as I could in my room, all the while listening to Mark getting ready for his early shift at work. When the smell of his coffee followed him out the front door, I snuck down the hall and opened the door to his room.

The what-was-now-becoming-all-too-familiar feeling of guilt made my neck hot as, for the first time ever, I stepped into one of Mark’s bedrooms. I’d never snooped through his things before. Our relationship was based on trust, and we didn’t keep secrets from each other. Well, except for the giant one I was keeping about Jason. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

My feet padded along the cool wood floor as I scanned the sparse furniture that came with the rental house: queen-size bed with a starfish-patterned bedspread, a single honey-colored wood nightstand and a matching wood dresser complete with a round seashell-appliqued mirror hanging above it. I shook my head. Every place we lived in came furnished, so it’s not like we picked the decor, but this room really didn’t look like Mark. The extreme level of organization was the only thing that made me think he lived there. My eyes darted around. Where would Mr. Neat Freak hide something?

I yanked on the cuffs of my black knit winter gloves to make sure they were snug—lesson number seven: everything you need to know about fingerprints—and started with the nightstand. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, only that I’d know it when I saw it. Other than a few books I wanted to read, there was nothing good on the nightstand. I tried the dresser but only found T-shirts, socks and underwear. Even a search of the closet, which was always the preferred hiding place in movies, turned up nothing.

I plopped on the bed, resting my elbows on my knees and staring down as I tried to think of whether there was anywhere else in the small house he could hide something. My eyes randomly followed grain patterns in the wood floor as I mentally surveyed the rooms, until I realized my gaze kept landing on a hitch in the white eyelet bed skirt surrounding the bed. One tiny section was folded over onto itself, like it had been scrunched up and not properly straightened out. I dropped to my knees and peeked under the bed. Bingo.

I pulled out a small black metal safe. It was slightly larger than a ream of paper and had a simple lock, like the kind on a filing cabinet. I ran to my room, grabbed a paper clip and a bobby pin to use as a pick and tension wrench and, thanks to lesson number nine, had the safe unlocked in less than a minute. My pulse raced as I opened the top.

I frowned. It was full of paper. A copy of the lease to our current house was on top. Underneath that were the printouts from the real estate website we’d used to pick the house. I remembered looking at several houses in the area with Mark when we decided to come to North Carolina, and I saw printouts for most of them in the stack. We’d chosen this house because it was the closest to the university, and we’d rented it a few months before we moved just to make sure it would still be available when we were ready to come. I sighed and flipped to the next group of papers.

They were also printouts from a real estate website, only for a different house. I could tell from the abundance of shells in the decor that it was a beach house. I studied the map on one of the sheets and realized it was in a town probably less than half an hour up the coast. I didn’t remember looking at this particular house with Mark, but that wasn’t strange. He’d narrowed our choices down before letting me help pick the winner. The charming porches and abundance of windows told me it was fancier than the one we were in now, and it was a bit more secluded—on a larger plot of land farther away from the neighbors—all of which would’ve been pluses. But as soon as I read that it was in a neighborhood called Avalon, I knew why it hadn’t been a finalist. I’d thought it was risky enough coming back to the East Coast for the first time, and I definitely would’ve questioned Mark’s sanity if he’d suggested renting a house in a neighborhood that shared a name with the town practically next door to the one I’d grown up in.

The alarm on my phone sounded, reminding me I had fifteen minutes to catch the bus. I couldn’t be late to school two days in a row. I took a quick look at the last piece of paper in the safe, a map of the Avalon neighborhood, and sighed. “For people on the run, we live very boring lives with very few secrets,” I muttered. I neatly stacked the papers back in the safe, relocked it with my makeshift tools, and slid it back into place. After smoothing the bedspread and propping up the bed skirt to erase any sign that I’d been in the room, I closed Mark’s door behind me.

As I brushed my teeth, I debated whether it would be worth trying to get a peek at the recent calls on Mark’s phone. But what good would a random Marshal’s number be? It’s not like I could call the person and demand to know whether Mark was suspicious of Jason. I’d pretty much dismissed the idea as pointless when I walked into the kitchen in search of breakfast and saw Mark’s phone lying on the middle of the island.

For half a second, excited butterflies filled my stomach, temptation making me reevaluate how quickly I shot down the idea of spying on his phone. Then fear crept up my spine.

“Mark?”

I tossed my backpack on the floor by the coffee table where Mark’s cell phone was resting next to an open book and followed the mouthwatering scent of chocolate into the kitchen. Light green walls and dark wood cabinets and a pan of brownies cooling on a rack greeted me—but no Mark.

I paused in front of the brownies. Mark had promised to make them for the eighth grade open house that evening, so they weren’t a surprise. But I frowned at the large knife sitting on the counter next to them, so close to the edge it was about to fall off. Mark was usually so anal about putting everything in its place, particularly his prized kitchen gadgets, that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a knife lying around. I pushed it more solidly onto the counter, one finger lingering on the handle. “Mark?”

No answer.

I turned into the hall leading to the bedrooms, slowing as I neared my room. I stepped inside, not knowing why. The air felt different somehow, cool and empty and unsettled. A chill passed over me. I needed to find Mark.

I knocked twice on his closed bedroom door. “Mark?”

No answer.

I knocked again, this time a little louder. Nothing.

I pivoted, pressing my back against the end of the hall, and held my breath. The wind blew, making shadows from the tree outside the window dance across the wood floor, but otherwise the house was quiet. Too quiet.

Other than my breath coming too fast, there wasn’t a single sound. No footsteps or pages turning or voices coming from a TV.

I moved back down the hall, unease pushing my feet to match the rhythm of my pounding heart. There was still one room to check, one room before I’d have to face whatever was behind Mark’s closed door. But when I reached the den, I hesitated.

I’d never liked this room, with its wood paneling and dark corners and lack of windows. The deer head mounted on the wall was disturbing on a normal day, but today its soulless eyes staring at me through the doorway were downright creepy.

Goose bumps trailed up my arms as I crept down the two steps into the room, purposefully avoiding the deer’s eyes as they followed me.

“Mark?” It came out as barely a whisper.

My gaze swept toward the couch, but landed on something lumpy sticking out from behind it. It was hard to tell what it was in the dim light, but it was large. Like a pile of blankets. Or a curled up body.

My heart plummeted into my stomach. I swallowed hard and took two steps forward to get a better look.

A hand clamped over my mouth.

I sucked in a sharp breath, ready to try to scream or bite or elbow the body behind me, when a quiet voice next to my ear stopped me cold. “If I was anyone else, it would already be too late.”

I spun around, easily slipping out of Mark’s grasp, and backed against the wall. Relief flooded through me as I studied him. He looked perfectly normal: work shirt slightly rumpled, black hair neatly in place, a hint of stubble across his jaw, but his green eyes were filled with a determined seriousness that could only mean one thing.

I cleared my throat, but my voice was still rough. “What number are we at again?”

Mark spread out his arms. “Welcome to lesson number eight: don’t get complacent.”

I nodded and took a deep breath, trying to force my heart to slow down.

Mark’s eyebrows pinched together. “Sorry for the dramatic set up. I just...”

“No, don’t be sorry. I obviously needed it.” I stood a little straighter and glanced around the room. “Because I just walked into a trap, didn’t I?”

His eyes lit up. “Yes. Can you tell me why?”

I pointed at the walls. “No windows. There’s only one exit, and I came far enough into the room for it to be blocked.”

“I saw you pause at the door. How come?”

“Because Bambi freaks me out.”

Mark smiled at my joke, but waited for the real reason.

“Because something felt off.” And I was afraid you were in here, hurt.

“You need to trust your instincts. Not being complacent means not falling into a routine, staying on your toes and not assuming everything that looks normal is normal.” He crossed the room and sat in an overstuffed leather chair. “If someone’s tossed one of our houses, it’s not always going to look trashed like in the movies. Sometimes, things might be just slightly out of place. But you have to notice.”

I fell onto the couch, annoyed at myself for not paying attention.

“What was the first thing that seemed off?”

“The knife in the kitchen.”

“Good. What else?”

I retraced my steps, remembering the inexplicable urge to go into my room, and sighed. “The door to my room. I closed it this morning and it was open now.”

“What about in here? You should’ve known before you even came down the stairs that something wasn’t right.”

I studied the wall opposite the door. I’d been so focused on Creepy Deer Head I missed the fact that the distressed wood bookcase normally centered beneath it had been shifted several feet to the right. I pointed at the bookcase and groaned.

Mark chuckled. “And you missed the most obvious one.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes holding mine. It was a challenge.

I pursed my lips. I’d walked in and put my bag down. Nothing was out of place at first, nothing missing, nothing unusual, except... “Your phone.”

He nodded. “You know that phone is our lifeline, our way of being able to reach each other within seconds any time of day. I always have it on me, even if I’m just going in the next room, especially when we’re not together.” His eyes turned serious again. “That should’ve been your first clue.”





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/gia-cribbs/the-disappearance-of-sloane-sullivan/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.