by Patty Blount
Her mother’s tired eyes lost their glint of humor before they once again fell to Meg’s injured hand. She quietly wrapped the medicated pad with a few more layers of gauze and taped it in place. “Meg, I think it’s wonderful. You’re such a bright and talented girl. Chase is lucky to have you.” Pauline went back to the tuna and mixed in a little mayonnaise.
Lucky?
Cursed was more accurate.
“Where is he, by the way?”
Meg shrugged. “At school, I guess.”
“Hmm. I’m surprised he didn’t call or text or even follow you. You were hysterical before.”
Frowning, Meg tugged her phone out of her pocket. No texts.
She stared down at the tuna sandwich Pauline slid across the table, her stomach revolting at the thought of food. “Mom, what if he…you know, changed his mind?”
Pauline smiled grimly and ran a hand over Meg’s hair. “It happens, honey. Better you should find out before—”
Meg understood what her mother left unsaid. She took her sandwich to her room and tried to work on her portfolio, which was hard because everything in it was Chase. She kept staring at her phone.
It insisted on remaining spitefully silent.
Chapter 38
Bailey
By the time school ended, Bailey had been laughed at, pointed at, and yelled at so many times that she was sure she couldn’t possibly feel any more humiliated even if she’d gone to school in Gram’s old bell-bottoms. She escaped to the privacy of her room and texted Ryder for the hundredth time.
Bailey: Where are you?
She waited and waited, but the only signs of life her cell phone displayed turned out to be a “Message Not Sent” error that claimed Ryder’s number was unassigned. It was wrong. The phone company was wrong. Her brain was stuck on the same song: He wouldn’t do that to me. He just wouldn’t do that to me.
Her eyes burned. Her head spun, but she ran to Facebook. Her Wall was covered in comments, even though Meg did delete the post that had started the rumors. She didn’t bother to read them all, just kept scrolling and scrolling. Finally, she searched her Friends list for Ryder.
A link beside his name made her gasp.
Add Friend
Oh, God. He’d unfriended her.
Defeat was a punch to her gut. Tears dripped and she picked up the phone. She would find him. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. She wiped her eyes and pecked out a text, but the phone stayed silent. A new post caught her eye. Someone had posted video of her confrontation with Meg. It had been edited down to only the big reveal. The She’s going to kill you part was looped.
Her notebook laughed at her from the corner of her desk. She ripped the pages out and shoved them in the trash. The sketches Meg did of her characters were next. She tore them to shreds. She turned her back on the computer and powered up her Xbox.
WyldRyd11 was not online. WyldRyd11 could not be found. She tried his email. It bounced back. There was only one thing left. She called Information and got the number of the big warehouse store where Ryder said he worked.
“Sorry. Nobody by that name works here.”
A chill walked slowly up her spine while the truth grabbed her by the hair and spit in her face.
She was right. Oh, God, Meg was right. Ryder wasn’t real.
He never was.
But the pain—oh, that was real. And there was only one person she knew who got off on it. She should have seen it, should have known it was coming. Caitlyn had told her right to her face that getting her was fun, but no, she’d never had a clue.
Bailey swallowed hard, the truth tasting bitter on the back of her tongue, and underneath it all, there was the dull, steady throb in her ear whispering that Meg was right.
Meg was right.
Meg was right.
She fell to her bed and sobbed.
Chapter 39
Meg
Meg spent the rest of her unscheduled day off sketching ideas for her portfolio. Google led her to various home test examples that taught her how to devise themes in her work. She snorted. There was only one theme, and its name was Chase, but at least she managed to find some alternatives worthy of further exploration.
At three o’clock, she put aside her stylus and sketch pad and headed to work. She did not text Chase again. If he chose to believe Bailey over her, then her mother was right—better she discover who he really was now. She opened the front door and cursed.
Chase was sitting on her porch steps.
“Damn it, Chase. You scared me.”
He looked up at her and then back toward the street. “Yeah, we’re gonna talk about all the things that scare you but not now.”
She wanted to run back upstairs and hide under her covers like the little lost girl she used to be, but she forced herself to meet him on the steps. “What’s wrong?”
He turned toward her again, his eyes flashing with barely restrained fury. “I’m outta here, Megan.”
He was leaving her. No! Her heart fell out of her chest with a splat! to the ground at his feet.
“I can’t stay here. I gotta get out now while I can, and I want you to come with me.”
She heard his words but couldn’t quite connect them. “You’re leaving.”
“Yes!” He lurched to his feet and paced. “My parents are—they’re…Jesus, they’re forty-year-old teenagers, and I’ve had enough. I need to leave before they buy me a goddamn minivan with vanity plates!” He shoved his hands through his hair and stopped pacing to stare at her. “Well? Are you gonna say something?”
This didn’t make sense. It…it didn’t compute. Bailey outed her like some psycho, but he was yelling about minivans? “You’re not leaving because of me?”
His face lost its color, and he moved to her side so fast he practically blurred. “No. No, Megan. I’m not leaving you. I don’t care what Bailey said. I am not leaving you. Please, please come with me.” He took her hand. “I want to talk to a recruiter, find out what my options are.”
His touch calmed Meg, resuscitated the rational part of her brain. “Chase, tell me what’s wrong. I don’t understand this minivan and recruiter talk.” She waved her hands.
He covered his face with his hands and groaned. “Mom’s pregnant, Megan. Another Gallagher’s on his way—number six. I think my parents are shooting for their own TV show.”
Meg laughed once. “I think it’s kind of cool. I always wanted siblings, and you’ll have five of them.”
“Pick some! I’d gladly give you Connor or the twins. I’m keeping Dylan. He’s finally cool now that he’s older.” He lifted his head and shook it slowly. “I was so close, Megan. Now they say I can’t leave. I have to turn down the scholarship so I can help.” Suddenly, he was on his feet again. “It’s not even my fucking kid, and I get stuck raising it!”
“Scholarship? What scholarship?”
He slapped a hand to his head. “I forgot to tell you yesterday. I heard from Manhattan College. Full scholarship, Megan. All I have to cover is living expenses. The guys already got a lead on a decent apartment. My share of the rent would be cheaper than the room and board in the dorms.” He shook his head. “And now they’re saying they need me home. They want me to turn it down. So I’m going to enlist.”
No scholarship and the army? No way. She’d finally caved in to his magic eyes. He couldn’t leave, not now.
“Okay, I get why you’re so upset. But you need to calm down and think about this. You only have a few months until graduation. You can’t leave now. You need them.”
He stopped pacing to stare at her. “I don’t know, Megan. Damn it. I don’t know anything anymore.” He blew out a loud breath. “Except that I need you. You help me focus.” He took a few steps toward her, tugged her to her feet, and wrapped her in a hug.
His words made her go weak and warm all
over, so she squeezed him back.
“Come on. I’ll give you a ride.” He led her to the old station wagon parked on the curb. “I’ll tell you one thing. I am never having kids, swear to God. I’ve already changed more diapers than most guys will in a lifetime.”
Meg went still.
She was five—maybe six years old—when her father didn’t come home one night. She was in bed but not asleep. She could never sleep when her mom cried. It was very late, and only the sound of her mom’s sniffles broke the silence when she heard his key click in the lock. Her mother ran down the stairs. “Where were you?” she’d shouted. “Away from here!” he’d shouted back. They screamed and yelled and broke stuff, and Meg pulled the covers over her head but still heard every word. “I never wanted kids in the first place!”
She’d cried then. It was her fault. She’d always known that of course. Always known that they fought because of her, but her mother always dried her tears and rocked her long after her father was asleep.
“Megan, you ready?”
She jerked, blinking into gleaming green eyes, and suddenly, she saw a little girl with dark hair and the same gleaming green eyes hiding under her covers while Chase shouted, “I am never having kids, swear to God!”
She turned away. “I think I’ll walk.”
He ran around the car, took her by the shoulders. “No! Goddamn it, Megan, don’t do this, not now!”
She slapped his hands away, forgot about her stitches. “Stop. I can’t do this, Chase. I can’t.” Her voice was level, her tone even. She watched the light go out of those watercolor eyes of his.
And then she turned and walked alone to the bakery. Alone, she thought. The way it would always be.
Chapter 40
Bailey
The next morning, Bailey walked to school, unwilling to risk the whispers behind hands, the tweets, the giggles. She felt it throughout the day yesterday, like a current of electricity humming under the classroom noise. She walked alone with her bitter thoughts, hardly aware of the car that pulled up beside her until the driver honked his horn.
“Bailey!”
She jolted out of her thoughts, saw Chase’s dad leaning over to shout through the passenger window. “Hey, Mr. Gallagher.”
“You seen Chase? He never came home last night.” His face was almost gray.
“What? No, not since school yesterday.”
“Ask around and call me if you hear anything, okay? Anything!” He drove off with a squeal of tires.
Bailey frowned after him.
Maybe he and Meg ran off to Vegas and got married. Like she cared. She stalked all the way to school, the fuel of her anger burning slow and strong. She shrugged a shoulder when anyone did find the guts to ask her if she knew what was going on. She turned her head away when the whispers reached her ears and only jerked once at the words “missing since yesterday and “suspected in his disappearance.” As soon as the bell rang, Bailey ducked into the closest bathroom and checked her cell phone. She thumbed past the texts from her social network feeds, ignored the ones from minor acquaintances, and stopped to read one from Meg that had arrived that morning.
Meg: Have you seen Chase?
Bailey rolled her eyes. Chase follows Meg around like a lost puppy, and she was asking her where he was? She continued scrolling through messages and bit back a curse when she saw none from Ryder. There was one from an unknown number though. She opened it and covered her gaping mouth with a hand that shook.
Unknown: UR dad’s name is Matthew Schor. He went to Madison High School, graduated in ’96. I’m so sorry.
Ryder! It had to be. He always abbreviated your like that. She called the number, but it just kept ringing. She ended the call and tried again. Nothing. Why was he doing this? She folded her arms around her body and folded up, swallowing back a sob that hitched on every breath. It wasn’t fair! She’d tried so hard, but all she’d done was wreck everything with Meg and with Chase. She wished she were home so she could throw herself on her bed and cry. Slowly, she sank to the toilet in the stall where she hid and forced herself to breathe deeply.
Matthew.
She put a hand over her heart. She had a name. Her father’s name. She started to text the news to Meg and then deleted the message. She couldn’t text Meg. Not anymore. She held her breath against the pain that slashed deep, rolled her shoulders, and let it out. She didn’t need Meg. She was a big girl. She’d do this on her own. She’d do a ton of research when she got home, and if Ryder’s message could be trusted, well, she’d remember him without hating him.
Her nerves once again steely, Bailey left the girls’ bathroom and headed to her next class just as the bell rang. She’d just opened her notebook when a knock on the door called the whole class’s attention to the corridor. Mrs. Tyrell had a brief conversation with someone she couldn’t see and then turned to her. “Bailey, collect your things. You’re wanted at the principal’s office.”
As she stood and left the class, the whispers escalated to murmurs that spread across the room at warp speed. She refused to lower her eyes or hang her head. She was the victim here, not the bad guy. She stepped out into the hall and was met by a security guard who took her elbow and marched her down the corridor.
“What’s going on?”
“Just come with me, Miss Grant.”
She wrestled out of his grip but walked beside him down the stairs to the main hall and to the principal’s office, where three people waited for her. She recognized Mr. Giovanni, the principal, and Ms. Christiansen, her guidance counselor. But the third person, a woman in a black suit with her hair pulled ruthlessly back, was a stranger.
“Bailey, have a seat.” Mr. Giovanni waved her to a chair at the small conference table in the corner of his office. “This is Detective Powell. She has some questions for you.”
Bailey turned to the tall woman. She reached into her suit jacket and pulled out a badge. “Bailey Grant, I’m Detective Powell, Nassau County Police Department, Special Victims Section. Do you know why I’m here?”
Bailey shook her head.
The detective removed a leather-bound notepad from her pocket, flipped it open, and clicked a pen. “You’re friends with Chase David Gallagher, age eighteen, of Twenty-two West Highland Drive?”
“Yeah. Why are you—”
“And you’re also friends with Megan Elise Farrell of Seventeen Park Slope Street?”
“Yes.” She looked from Ms. Christiansen to Mr. Giovanni back to the detective. “What’s going on? What happened?”
Detective Powell glanced up from her notes but did not answer the question. “When did you last see Chase Gallagher?”
“Uh—” She’d seen Meg earlier, but not Chase. God, he really was missing. “Yesterday. Yesterday before first period.”
“Yesterday. Before first period. Did you argue?”
“With Chase? No.” Not exactly. Bailey bit her nail.
Detective Powell turned to the principal with a sharp nod. “Mr. Giovanni?” The principal rotated the computer monitor on his desk so that it could be viewed from the table and clicked his mouse, and then a video began. The sound of her own voice played through the tinny speakers.
Tell him!
Oh, God.
No! For God’s sake, Bailey!
The agony on Meg’s face tugged at Bailey’s heart, and she had to look away.
Bailey, shut up—
No, Chase! You need to know. She’s going to kill you. Right, Megan? Isn’t that the messed-up truth?
Detective Powell crossed the room and paused the playback.
“Is this you, Miss Grant?” She pointed to the image paused in tirade, and Bailey trembled in her seat. My God, was that girl with the icy eyes and rigid posture really her? Her stomach churned and she could only nod.
“And who is this?”
“It’
s…that’s…uh, Chase. It’s Chase Gallagher.”
“And was this argument the last time you saw him?”
She nodded. “Yes. Why are you asking me these questions?”
Detective Powell glanced at Mr. Giovanni before she answered. “Chase Gallagher failed to return home last night. His parents are worried, so they called us.” She paused, checked her notepad again. “At about four o’clock yesterday, Mr. Giovanni called us to report that a number of parents were upset over a video—this video—in which a boy, the same boy who didn’t go home yesterday, is threatened. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. Do you?”
Bailey twisted her curls and tried not to cry. Oh, God! What did she do? What did she do? Chase didn’t go home, and everything she said yesterday was up on YouTube, and now the police were—
Her head snapped up. “Wait. You think I hurt Chase?”
“Did you?”
“No! It wasn’t him I was mad at—”
“That’s right. You were mad at Megan Farrell. When was the last time you saw her?”
“Yes…yesterday.” She pointed to the monitor.
“Did she hurt Chase?”
“What? No! Megan wouldn’t hurt anybody.”
“Are you sure? Because on that video, you said Megan Farrell was going to kill Chase Gallagher just like she killed her father.” Detective Powell stabbed her finger in the air toward the screen.
The door opened with force, and Nicole Grant stalked into the principal’s office, Gran trailing behind her.
“Bailey! Don’t say another word.” Her mother swept her eyes around the room settled on Detective Powell. “My daughter is a minor, and you can’t question her without me present.”
Detective Powell turned dark sharp eyes on Nicole. “Actually, Mrs. Grant, I can. I’m required only to notify her parents, which I did. She can either answer my questions here or I can read your daughter her rights and take her out of here in handcuffs to continue this at the precinct. Your choice.”
Bailey reached for Gran’s hand, gripped it tight. What happened? How the hell had everything gone so wrong? She shut her eyes tight and rocked in her chair.
