by Jillian Dodd
“I didn’t. But a while ago, someone broke into the school office and accessed my records. I thought at the time it was Vincent, but now I’m almost positive that it was her.”
“She’s a piece of work, that girl. She doesn’t understand the meaning of no.”
“Right. So what if she gets really serious about figuring out who I am? What if somehow she finds an old picture of me and pieces it together? Do you know how many pictures I have on my Facebook page? She’d love nothing more than to tell everyone that I’ve been lying to them. To embarrass me. Ruin me socially. I’m gonna call Garrett.”
“I’ll do it,” Cooper says.
He calls Garrett and fills him in on the situation in a very businesslike manner. He ends the call and then turns to me. “He’s out of town but says that he just informed the office to change your passwords back to your old ones and agrees that deleting them is a good idea at this point.”
Cooper stands up and paces while I log into Twitter. I don’t bother looking at any of it. I just hit Delete and then verify that I’m sure. I do the same for Pinterest, Instagram, Polyvore, and Tumblr.
I do pause, taking a minute to scroll through the magnificence of all the hot guy photos I collected over the years on Tumblr. RiAnne and I dubbed it the Hottie Vault.
I smile. Happy memories of parties, shopping excursions, and days spent by the pool with Vanessa and RiAnne roll through my head. I think back to all the mistakes I made with Brooklyn and realize I probably made plenty with them too. Maybe part of loving yourself is taking responsibility for your actions. Vanessa didn’t make me into a bitch. I’m pretty sure I did that all by myself.
Then I get on Facebook.
This is harder. My cover photo is of me and Brooklyn in Monaco. My profile picture our new matching tattoos.
I scroll down through my wall. No one seems to be commenting anymore or wondering where I am. The mystery of why I left is now old news.
But every week—make that every Saturday morning—there is a post from RiAnne. It simply says, I miss you.
And it touches me. Really touches me.
Maybe if I go back home someday, we’ll be friends again.
I pull up her photos, clicking through pictures of her and Vanessa. At parties. On dates. At Homecoming.
But the pictures look off. Because I’m missing from them.
Since I’m a glutton for punishment, I click on Cush’s profile.
I squint my eyes at his profile picture. It’s a photo of him and a girl dressed up for Homecoming.
I click on the photo to make it bigger because my eyes must be deceiving me.
But they aren’t.
This girl, who is pretty but sort of plain looking, mostly because she isn't even wearing mascara—to Homecoming, seriously? I mean, I’m all about fresh-faced beauty. I'm fine surfing, working out, or hanging out with no makeup on. But on a special night with a special guy that you are going to have pictures of for the rest of your life?
Come on! At least put on some mascara and some lip gloss!
You know how Vanessa wanted to make the rugby player hotter?
This girlfriend of Cush’s is like the anti-Vanessa. She's somehow made larger-than-life Cush look plain too.
His slacks and dress shirt are slightly crumpled looking. There’s no product in his hair. And his posture is off. He doesn’t look like the tall, proud, cocky Cushman that I know.
I click through some more photos.
Oh. My. God.
He’s losing his abs.
Seriously. He looks like he's already gone to college and gotten a beer belly.
What the hell has this girl done to him?
I can't stop my fingers from typing.
Me: Cush? Where the hell did your abs go?
He's not showing online, but he messages me back instantly, probably from his phone.
Brandon: Haha. Keatyn, I haven't talked to you in forever, and that's the first thing you ask?
Me: I’m sorry. That was rude of me. How’s the Cushman?
Brandon: Well, first off. I’m not that guy anymore. Cushman was a conceited asshole. Everyone here calls me Brandon.
Me: Um. Okay.
Brandon: You said you were somewhere good for you. Are you learning looks and partying aren't all that important?
Me: I’d say I’m learning that life is all about balance. I have to go. It was nice talking to you, Brandon.
The Cushman is dead.
And I want to cry.
The computer chimes. Cooper stops pacing and looks over my shoulder. “Are you chatting? You’re supposed to be deleting.”
“I am. I just . . .”
RiAnne: Please say hi to me.
Me: Hi.
RiAnne: Is it really you?
Me: Yes. Thank you for messaging me every week. You are the only friend to do that. It’s so sweet.
RiAnne: Vanessa is still mad you left us, but she's with me at the coffee shop every Saturday morning when I post it.
Me: Tell me what's going on. I miss you.
RiAnne: I miss you, too. Vanessa is dating the rugby player. They were Homecoming prince and princess this year.
Me: That's cool.
RiAnne: And guess what? I was nominated!
Me: That's a big honor, Ri.
RiAnne: Thanks. Where are you?
Me: I can't tell you. Random question, but I saw some pictures of V and Bam and there was a guy there. That hot older guy I talked to at the hotel. Do you hang out with him?
RiAnne: We see him at the club sometimes. I think he's a creeper. But V thinks he's hot. She's gone to his house and stuff. Like for the whole weekend. You know.
I want to throw up.
RiAnne: But not lately. She's actually pretty into rugby. Like she's gone to all his games. And she hasn't cheated on him in three weeks, which is a record. Apparently, he’s great in the sack.
Me: I’m glad she's happy. What about you?
RiAnne: Same. So many guys to kiss, so little time. Lately I have been kissing on Alex Littleton.
Me: Ri!! He is hot!!!
RiAnne: I know, right? I'm all that. We’ve been working out together and I've lost 6 1/2 pounds.
Me: Is he a good kisser?
RiAnne: The. Best.
Me: I have to go. I'm deleting my profile.
RiAnne: No! You can't.
Me: I have to. There is a girl here who hates me, and I don't want her to know about my old life.
RiAnne: Keatyn, you of anyone ought to be able to handle a mean girl.
Me: Yeah, I know. And I promise, if I ever get back home, I’ll call you.
RiAnne: Pinkie swear?
I get tears in my eyes as I type.
Me: Yeah, Ri. I do.
RiAnne: You know, if you would’ve stood up to Vanessa, like to her face, she would’ve respected you for it.
Me: That’s good advice. You taking it yourself?
RiAnne: Yeah. And I’m much happier. (That, and I’m skinnier than her.)
I don’t reply. I wipe a tear from my eye. Then I do it.
Delete, delete. Yes, I'm sure.
“Done,” I say to Cooper.
“Tonight after curfew, meet me in the small gym. We’ll get to work.”
Vincent logs on to Facebook to look at her wall, like he does every morning. Only, her profile is gone. He enters it again, wondering if somehow he’s been blocked. He checks every social media platform, only to find all of her accounts gone. He logs into his own account and searches her again. Nothing. She’s gone. Her social media footprint is completely gone. The question is, why? Why did she delete it? Or did she? Is this another ploy to keep them apart? Is it because she saw him in Vancouver? Was there something on her social media account that they thought allowed him to find out she would be there? What would make her visit when she did?
He calls the man who watches Tommy and Abby’s home. “Do you know why she came home? On a Monday? Shouldn’t have Tommy and Abby been filming?”
/>
“I don’t know the answer to that exactly. First, a guy showed up. He played in the backyard—”
“What guy showed up?” Vincent asks, interrupting.
“I don’t know his name.”
“What did he look like?” Vincent is trying hard to control his temper.
“Shaggy blonde hair, tall, tan. California surfer-looking, based on his clothes.”
“Are you freaking kidding me? Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“Uh, you just told me to watch for the girl?”
“That was her boyfriend, you idiot! That must have been why she went there.”
“Well, that and for the party, probably.”
“What. Party.” Vincent can barely contain his anger. If there weren’t many miles between them, he would reach out and kill this man with his bare hands. He’s hired an imbecile.
“Birthday. The littlest girl. There was a cake and balloon delivery that morning.”
Vincent presses his face down into his palms, hoping it will keep his head from exploding.
“You still there?” the man asks after a few minutes of silence.
“Yeah. And I’m calling your boss to tell him about your ineptitude at your job.”
“Oh, man. Don’t do that. He’ll kill me!”
“That’s the idea,” Vincent says, slamming down the phone. Then he realizes there is someone else who should have notified him that the boyfriend was going out of town. He calls her.
“It’s my understanding that Mr. Wright took a trip recently to Vancouver? Why was I not informed of this?”
“Because he didn’t tell me he was going,” she pouts.
“Why did he go?”
“He said it was a birthday party for a family friend.”
“Where is he now?”
“We’re both in Portugal.”
“What’s after that?”
“Thanksgiving in Hawaii.”
“And how are you getting along? I’m assuming you’re not as close as you led me to believe if he didn’t bother to tell you where he was going. I will stop paying you immediately if you fail me again.”
“I’m sorry. I was upset, too.”
“If any of his friends visit him, I want to know about it.”
“Oh, well, one did come. When we were in Japan. But it was just a guy friend of his. Damian Moran. He’s in a band.”
“I see,” Vincent’s anger flares again.
“I want to know everything about him. Do you understand me? Anyone he talks to. Anyone from his past. Or even if he starts hanging out with someone new on the tour. I must know about it. If not—”
“Yeah, yeah. I get it,” she says. “You’ll fire me.”
I’ll do more than that, he thinks.
If things aren’t already spiraling out of his control due to idiots, he gets another call. This one from the man who can track anyone through his or her money.
“No trace of her,” he says, without prelude. “Is she on the run from the mob?”
“Her mother’s pissed at me. What can I say,” Vincent lies. “I can’t be tied down to just one woman.”
“A woman’s wrath. I feel ya.”
“Is there anything else we can do?”
“I’ll keep the feelers out there. If anything hits her credit cards, I’ll notify you.”
“Right away?” Vincent asks.
“Like immediately?”
“Yes. My men found her once, but they didn’t notify me soon enough, and she got away. I’m concerned for my daughter’s well being.”
“Sure, man. I’ve got a twelve-year-old. Can’t imagine my wife taking her away from me. I’ll call immediately. Promise. You know, something like this, you might consider getting the cops involved.”
“Thanks, I’ll consider that,” he says, rolling his eyes and slamming down the phone. It’s been a hell of a day.
Even after what happened in Vancouver, Keatyn insists on going to her loft this weekend.
After soccer practice, Cooper herds me into his office and shuts the door.
I’m tired from being up late last night learning an assailant’s attack zones. Muscles I didn’t even know existed are sore.
“You need to lay off on the workouts. I’m so sore from last night. Thank goodness I don’t have dance or a game tonight.”
“Tonight is what I want to talk to you about. Going to New York is not a good idea.”
“I’m going.”
“Then I’m going with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I’ll be at my loft, Cooper. No one from my old life—not even my family—knows about it. A few people from school have been there but other than that, only Garrett and the guy that handles my money know where it is. I’m safe there.”
“What if someone sees you in the street? Or worse, in front of your loft, and thinks you look like Abby and calls him? He already did auditions there.”
“That’s why New York City is safe. Everyone is too busy to notice me. And I really don’t look that much like her in passing. It’s only the combination of my voice and gestures when people seem to notice. So I won’t talk to anyone. I’ll wear sunglasses.”
“You should be more afraid. How can you not be scared after Vancouver?”
“I am scared, but I can’t let it rule my life. I know we had a close call. I’m grateful that you planned ahead and he couldn’t trace our flights. I know you got out the guns and we all kind of freaked out, but he wasn’t going to forcefully take me in front of all those people.”
“All what people? Me and two pilots? That’s nothing. In Miami, he would have lied his way out of the club. Said you were drunk or sick. He could have drugged you. He could flash a fake badge like I did and say you were a fugitive. No one would think twice. He’s a brilliant liar. Hell, he’s lying to the whole country right now.”
“I gave up everything I love to keep my family and friends safe. Garrett told me I may never get to go back.” I start to cry. “That I have to start a new life. I’m trying so hard to do that.”
He pulls me into a hug, just as Whitney bursts through the door.
I jump and pull out of Cooper’s hug.
“What’s wrong?” Whitney snaps.
Cooper takes control, herding her out of the room and saying harshly, “Don’t ever barge into my office like that again. Do you understand me?”
“But she barged in your office just the other day. Why was that okay?”
“She’s on my soccer team.”
“And I’m in your health class.”
“Make an appointment.” The force that he says it with makes me glad he’s on my side.
Whitney nods obediently and says politely. “I’m sorry, Mr. Steele, I hoped to talk to you about the French Weekend.”
“As you can see, I’m busy. If you don’t stop randomly dropping by without an appointment, I’ll withdraw my help on the project. We clear?”
“Uh, yes, sir.” She turns and walks quickly away.
“And if I open this door and catch you eavesdropping, you’ll be finding yourself in detention.”
He sits on the corner of his desk. “Continuing. You’ve been there how many times before?”
“Just twice. Once with Dawson and once with my friends.”
“And one of those times Vincent was there?”
“Yes. But he was following my mom, not me. And Garrett told me to trust my gut. My gut tells me I’m safe there. For now. Like I am at school.”
“For now,” he adds somberly.
“The loft is where Garrett told me to go if Vincent ever found out I’m here.”
Cooper nods. “I’m just trying to think ahead. Of what could go wrong.”
“What do you think could go wrong?”
“A million things. But, realistically, he’d have to know you were here to know you went there. So then it becomes the possibility that he sees you somewhere there. That’s probably not going to ha
ppen randomly. So he’d have someone looking for you. Like he did in Vancouver. Like I’m pretty sure he had on the beach. He’d go to the places he’d expect you to go. Clubs. Shopping. Favorite restaurant. Could he know any of those things about you?”
“I never told him.”
“On Facebook maybe?”
“No. I never posted anything about New York. The only thing could be . . .”
“Could be what?”
“Shoe porn, maybe.”
“What the hell is shoe porn?”
“It’s when you post a photo of a hot shoe on social media. Shoes that other girls will drool over. Kind of like you would over a hot guy.”
Cooper laughs and shakes his head. “Shoe porn. Now I’ve heard everything. So, I’d go to shoe stores, flash a photo of you, give them my card, tell them it’s a hundred bucks if they call me.”
“Would you do that in New York?”
He thinks for a second. “New York. Miami. Near the rehab in Utah. And probably Vancouver. Upscale stores. Shoe department.”
