by A. M. Rose
“Looks fancy.” I pop a piece of banana in my mouth.
Mrs. A has a production going on. She carefully measures leaves from three different canisters and fills a little metal ball while I set the kitchen table for the three of us, with placemats and napkins Mrs. A made herself.
“Tea has so many health benefits, too.” She likes to remind me and jumps right into her usual talk about all the different types of green, white, black, oolong, and Pu-erh tea and what’s special about each. I laugh a little to myself. There isn’t anything she could tell me I don’t already know.
The kettle whistles as Dylan comes into the kitchen. His hair’s still wet, and his smell of soap and spices drifts in with him.
Mrs. A sets plates full of grilled veggies, chicken with brown rice, and the fruit salad I helped make on the table. We all sit down to eat and Dylan gives his mom the play by play of tonight’s game. It’s nice how closely she listens, leans forward, eyes on him, never interrupts. Like whatever he has to say is the most important thing in the world. And then she asks questions, who scored the second point? Did those tips from that new coach help? It warms my soul as the food warms my stomach.
After dinner, we all work together in harmony clearing the table and doing the dishes. This house is as familiar to me as my house is to Dylan. After the cleaning is finished, Dylan and I excuse ourselves and head to his room.
“Don’t stay up too late,” his mom calls after us.
His room is like the rest of the house: spotless. Except unlike the rest of the house, Dylan’s room is more modern, with its platform bed—corners crisp and tucked in—and huge, sleek oak headboard. His floating desk, attached to one wall, has his laptop open on it, and its usual stack of books to the side. I smile when I notice he’s framed and hung one of my paintings over it. It’s the field of sunflowers we stumbled upon on one of our impromptu road trips.
He had pointed out the front window of his Jeep. “Wow, check that out.”
I pressed my face against the glass. “I’ve never seen so many.” I was about to ask him if we could pull over and take some pictures, but the Jeep was already slowing down.
“I thought you might want to stop.”
We climbed out of the car and everything seemed to stand still. My skin tingled as I stared out over the fields. I’d never seen so many flowers in all my life. They started off about waist high with some reaching the sky in the distance. The bright yellow petals stood out against the black of the seeds and the green stems and leaves.
I slowly walked into them, reaching my hands out, and their petals tickled my skin. The sun kissed my face and hands as I closed my eyes and lifted my chin toward the sky. A few clicks and I spun around to find Dylan with my camera in his hands and his crooked smile on his face.
After I took some shots of my own, Dylan pulled a blanket out from the back of his Jeep and we lay on the ground making pictures out of the clouds in the sky. It was our best trip ever.
I went home and painted one of those photos. It felt like it took forever to get it right. When I gave it to him he seemed a little hesitant. So seeing the painting on his wall now is a nice surprise.
Dylan nudges my arm, bringing me back to the now. “These are for you.” He hands me a set of clean towels.
I put my hand on my hip. “Are you trying to say I stink?”
He gives me his crooked smile. “I plead the fifth.”
“Thanks.” I kick my shoes off next to his bed, place my locket on his desk, and head to the bathroom.
I step out of the tub after an extra-long shower. Steam fills the room, and I’m beginning to feel like myself again, but my clothes are nowhere to be seen. Crap. I forgot them. I wrap one towel around my head and another around my body.
Dylan’s at his computer and doesn’t turn around when I walk in.
I rummage through the bag, pulling out underwear and a cami. “There aren’t any pajamas in here. Can I borrow a shirt?” I continue to dig.
He doesn’t answer.
“Earth to Dylan. Can I borrow a—” I glance up and find he’s turned around. His gaze is fixed on me, expression unreadable.
Our eyes meet, and he spins quickly back around. “Sure. Take what you want—top drawer.”
“Don’t be getting all pervy on me.” My voice sounds too high. It’s not like he’s never seen me in a towel before. Hell, it’s more fabric than a bathing suit, and he’s seen me in one of those dozens of times. He’s just never looked at me like that, and my heart flutters.
“Don’t be wandering in here naked, and I won’t get all pervy.” And he sounds completely normal, bored even.
“I have a towel. Two towels.” I sound way too defensive.
He snorts.
Inside the dresser is exactly what I’d expect to find—perfectly folded T-shirts. He probably even irons them. I pull out a plain black one, then unfold a few just to annoy him before closing the drawer. I open his closet door to use as a cover to change. Even though I’ve used this trick before whenever Mrs. A takes over the bathroom, something’s different this time. It isn’t how his clothes are all in perfect order, color sorted, and arranged by style—long-sleeve button up, collar pullovers, slacks hanging, jeans stacked. It’s that I stand farther inside and double-check he can’t see me before I change. When I notice my shoes neatly lined up next to his, I shake my head. Friends. Nothing more.
I shrug his shirt on. Even though Dylan’s only a little taller than I am, the shirt is like a baggy mini dress. All I need is a belt and some high heels and I could go out on the town.
The wet towel finds its place over the closet door to dry as I use the towel that was wrapped around my head to scrunch some of the water out of my hair.
“What’s this?” Dylan mumbles to himself.
I toss my hair towel on the bed and walk over to him. My locket is clenched between his fingers, but I need to text Maddox, let him know I’m okay, and arrange a time to meet him. The sooner the better.
Dylan flips the locket over in his hand and pulls up Google on his laptop. “What do you think these numbers mean?”
I drop my phone back in my bag. “What numbers?”
“Right here on the side by the hinges. I mean, I know they’re Roman numerals, but I’m not sure which ones they are.”
I snatch the locket from his hands. “Let me see that.” I stop breathing. My eyes lock on the numbers.
No way.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Why haven’t I noticed these before? The Roman numerals are right where he said. They’re dull, and I have to rub my thumb against the metal to shine it up, but they’re there. Latitude and longitude coordinates.
Holy shit. My hands shake and I’m ready to jump out of my skin. Closing my eyes, a map appears in my head. The more I concentrate, the closer the map comes into focus until it reads Mt. Rose Wilderness Park, Lake Tahoe. “Move over a second.” I push Dylan out of his chair and sit down.
“Hey, watch it.”
I ignore him and pull up a map of the area, pointing to a spot on the screen. “There.”
Dylan leans in. “What’s there?”
I stand up and stare at the screen, excitement pulsing through me. “I don’t know. Those are the coordinates the Roman numerals are pointing to.” I blink over and over. Each time I open my eyes, the map is still there, pointing to the same spot. It’s a clue. The first clue I’ve found. And it’s all the way up in Nevada. Screw that. It could be in Timbuktu—I don’t care how far away it is. “We have to get to Lake Tahoe. I mean, I have to.”
Dylan steps back. “Hold on.”
I clench my locket tightly in my hand. Out of everyone, Dylan should understand. “What do you mean hold on? This is what I’ve been searching for. This could be the key to everything that’s going on with me—”
He raises his hand. “I just mean, I’m going. No way I’d let you go alone. We just have to figure out what we’re going to tell our parents.” He paces the room as I grab the
laptop, flop down on his bed, and stare at the wall, trying to come up with something.
Seriously. Why does this have to be so hard? Mom might work a lot, but she’d notice if I was gone for days and days. But the more I think, the harder it is to come up with a good idea. I’m full of bad ones. Student exchange, kidnapping, hostage situation. “Hey Mom, I joined a group that goes around and teaches people the importance of washing their hands after they go to the bathroom, and we’re going to start next week in Nevada.” Yeah, I’m sure that would totally work. Nothing suspicious about that one at all.
Dylan’s quiet. He taps his finger on his lips, stops like he might say something, and then taps again. After an eternity of silence, and more bad ideas on my side, he snaps his fingers. “Isn’t there a mock trial event coming up this week in Washington DC?”
I furrow my brows. Who cares? We need to be coming up with ideas to get us north, not all the way across the country. “I think so. But what does that have to do with us?”
“If our parents believe we’re going, they won’t think anything when we aren’t here. And it’ll give us five whole days to get up there and back.” He crosses his arms over his chest like he’s just come up with the best idea in the world. He hasn’t.
“And how exactly are we going to convince them at the last minute that we’re on the team and we’re going on this trip?”
“The school sends out emails to parents about this stuff. All we need to do is get a message into their email accounts from a few weeks ago saying we’re going. Your mom’s so busy she’ll think she missed it somehow, and my mom never checks her email. It’s perfect.” He sounds so confident, but he’s so wrong.
“Perfect, huh? And how do you suppose we’re going to get these magical emails to them?” Now it’s my turn to cross my arms.
“You can do it.”
“Me? How am I supposed to do that?”
“Drea, I’ve seen you do things you’ve never done before.” He leans down to my level and puts his hands on the bed. “Whatever is going on with you makes you stronger and smarter than anyone I know. Look at this.” He sits next to me, right-clicks the webpage, and clicks on “view source.” “Every website, everything on here is all made up of codes, kind of like its own language, telling it what to do. Look at it, and I mean really look at it. I bet you can figure it out.”
He’s staring at me, with those deep brown eyes. He believes in me. He thinks I can do it, so I have to try. I make a sharp nod, focus back on the computer screen, and push everything else out of my mind.
It takes a minute, but it all comes together. This whole other language. Just like Spanish or French, but different, and I understand everything. I type away at the keyboard. Thirty minutes and a thumping migraine later, I’ve done it. Two emails, one for each of us in our parents’ inboxes, from the school telling them we’re going on the mock trial trip. And two emails to the school excusing us for the week from our parents.
I close the laptop and place it on the floor. My head is pounding so hard all I want to do is close my eyes. “Done.”
“Perfect,” he says and I let out a deep yawn. “I’ll go so you can get some sleep. If you need anything, I’ll be on the couch.” He starts to get up, but I stop him.
“Stay. Please?”
He considers me. Our eyes meet, but he quickly looks away, and turns toward my painting on the wall. I should look away, too, but I don’t. I can’t. He must feel the warmth of my gaze because slowly his head swivels until our eyes lock.
“Drea…I…”
My heart stutters as emotions I can’t possibly decipher contort his expression.
He lets out a breath, pushes himself up on one arm like he’s going to leave, but instead he reaches over, flips off the light, and lays back down. “Sometimes it’s so exhausting.” His voice is so soft I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or to himself.
“What?”
“Nothing. I just… Forget it.” He puts his arm around me, but it isn’t warm or comforting. He’s hesitant to touch me, and his body’s rigid. His arm’s draped over me like a tree branch. It’s crushing me. Not the weight of him, the weight of knowledge. He’s exactly where I’ve always wanted him, except he doesn’t want to be here. And that hurts more than his heavy arm.
“Dylan, I’m sorry. You don’t have to stay.” My voice shakes a little; my lip does, too. “I was being silly.” I push at his arm, but he doesn’t move.
“I’m tired. That’s all.” His hand flattens against my stomach, drawing me closer to him, and my pulse responds. Sometimes I wish it wouldn’t. That I could somehow control the way I feel. But being here pressed up against him is the best feeling in the world, and this part of me doesn’t want to give up hope that maybe we could be more. His heart is racing, but gradually it slows, and mine does, too. Dylan’s chest rises and falls against me and his arm relaxes.
“Drea,” he whispers.
“Yes.” I yawn.
“I—” He nuzzles his nose against the back of my neck, sending tingles to my toes, and for a moment that hope swells. “I—” He lets out another breath. “Good night,” he whispers.
I sigh. “Good night.” Best friends. Nothing more. Warm and safe in his arms, I easily find sleep.
…
A field of sunflowers surrounds us as I lay with my head on Dylan’s chest. We make pictures out of the passing clouds. He runs his hands through my hair, wrapping my curls around his fingers.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I close my eyes and allow my body to melt into him.
It’s perfect. Better than perfect. This is what I’ve always wanted.
The gentle thump inside his chest gets stronger, louder, and a shadow washes over me. I open my eyes. The Green-eyed man stands over us. He’s dressed all in black, with flat computer-like buttons running down the length of his sleeve. In his hand, he holds a gun. Aimed directly at us.
My heart stops. I’m frozen. But Dylan doesn’t hesitate. He kicks his leg up and knocks the gun away, sending the Green-eyed man scrambling.
“Run.” Dylan jumps to his feet. “Go! Now!”
As much as I don’t want to leave him, I take off running into the closest cluster of trees. The sounds of fighting are behind me, but I don’t look back. The dense brush covers me as I sit on the ground and hide deep inside. My heart slams against my chest and sweat runs down my back.
A loud bang ricochets off the trees and I jump, throwing my hands over my mouth to hold in the scream. I don’t know what to do. I need to find Dylan. I need to know he’s okay.
Heavy footsteps get closer and closer. I curl myself tighter into a ball, holding my knees to my chest. A honeybee crawls along my arm, but I’m too scared to shoo it away.
The leaves above my head move. Dylan stands over me, blood dripping from his eye. I jump out of my hiding space and throw myself in his arms. He welcomes me, pulling me into him, and hides his face in the crook of my neck. His warm breath caresses my skin.
“Oh my God, I’m so glad it’s you. I love you so much.”
He pulls back and I suck in a breath. His eyes. They aren’t the deep brown I’m used to. They’re stunning blue. His eyes aren’t his.
They’re Maddox’s.
…
When I wake up in Dylan’s room, alone, an odd emptiness settles inside me. I push it away and frown at the clock. It’s already 10:30 a.m. Maddox. I need to talk to him. I grab my cell phone for the first time since last night.
Text message after message from Maddox.
Maddox:
Where are you
I’m where you said to go but you aren’t here
Are you playing a joke on me?
This isn’t funny
Where are you???
Seriously… Did something happen to you? Are you okay?
Will you please text me back?
They go on and on. And I don’t know how to feel about it. Guilt because I never wrote Maddox back, never tol
d him what happened? Fear? Anger? What does he know and why is he in my dreams? I try to sort through my feelings but it’s useless.
Me:
I’m fine
We need to talk
There. That better get his attention. I climb out from under Dylan’s crisp white comforter, toss his shirt on the desk chair, get dressed, and head to the kitchen. The smells of bacon and coffee fill the air, and my mouth waters.
Dylan’s at the stove, dressed and ready to take on the day. His jeans hug him in all the right places.
I shake my head and take a deep breath. My stomach growls. “Good morning.”
He stops what he’s doing and peeks over his shoulder. His gaze is no different than any other day. And why should it be? We’ll always just be friends. “Morning, sunshine, so nice of you to join the land of the living. You hungry?” He turns his attention back to the stovetop. “We have a long day ahead of us.”
“Long day?” I grab two plates from the cabinet and set them on the table.
“Have you already forgotten about the little trip we’re taking? I talked to my mom before she left for the gym. We’re good to go on my side. I’m already packed up.” He sets a steaming mug in front of me. The trip, that’s right, but we need to find Maddox first. I lean over the oversize coffee cup and take a deep breath. Yum. Cappuccino. “Now you need to call your mom.”
I stare into my cup at the lovely mound of frothy foam and nip a little off the top with my finger. Mom. Crap. Yes, she’s been cool lately, but I’m still not sure how this is going to fly. “I don’t even know what to say. Let’s just eat. What nutritious meal have you made for me this morning, chef?” I tease.
He shakes his head as he scoops eggs, veggies, and bacon on the plates I already set out. “You should probably act like it’s something that’s been planned for a while. Like you’ve mentioned it before. Then remind her of the email.” Dylan shoves a forkful of eggs in his mouth as he sits.
I stare at him for a minute. He makes it sound so easy, but nothing with Mom is easy. Now it’s my turn to shake my head as I take a sip of my coffee. Not too hot, just the right amount of sugar. I swirl it around in my mouth, savoring the flavor before I swallow.
