by Margo Kelly
CHAPTER 22
Tuesday. Another day of trudging through the motions. But at least the day didn’t start out with Mom yelling at me. This time, she flipped on the hall light and then came over to my bed.
“Thea . . .” She placed a hand on my shoulder. I rolled over and looked up at her. “How’d you sleep?”
“Better.”
“I’ve decided I’ll call the counselor today and reschedule the appointment for next week but under one condition.” Her change in attitude made me wonder if this was a false calm before the next storm. I kept up my guard just in case.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“When we talk to the detective tomorrow, you have to answer all of his questions.”
“I will.”
“I mean . . . no vague answers. You can’t even answer with an ‘I don’t know.’ I want you to be truthful. Promise?”
“Yes.”
I sat up and raked my fingers through my hair. Pushing the counseling appointment out gave me more time to breathe, and think.
■
At lunch, Janie and Tim wanted updates, but there were none to give. I let them know we were meeting with the detective Wednesday morning, and hopefully I’d have more information then.
Tim and I wolfed down pizza and tater tots while Janie pecked at her dry salad. She had lost even more weight. Her hair was thinner and had lost its shiny bounce. Her face sunk in deeply beneath her cheekbones. I set my fork down and twirled a strand of my hair. I considered different ways to bring up the topic with her. We had just started speaking again, and I didn’t want to jeopardize our friendship. Plus, it didn’t help that her mom still forbade her to associate with me, because apparently I was the plague.
“Hey, Janie . . .” I started. She cocked an eyebrow and waited for me to continue. “Does your salad taste okay? You want some pizza?”
She pushed her tray away. “No. I’m not hungry today.” What was I supposed to say to that? I’d been walking on eggshells around this topic for months, but I cared too much about her to let it drop.
“I don’t think you should lose any more weight,” I blurted out.
“Who are you to set a weight loss limit for me?” she asked and hopped up, but I grabbed her tiny wrist to stop her.
“Wait. I want to help you.” I didn’t want to make her mad, but what if I didn’t get another chance to talk to her about this? She yanked her wrist away from me.
“Help me with what?” Janie narrowed her eyes at me. “I’m fine.”
“Are you anorexic?”
“I. Am. Not. Anorexic,” she said in her deep angrier tone of voice.
“All right, forget I said anything.” We stared at each other for a few seconds more, and I wished I’d never opened my big mouth.
The bell rang.
“We should go to class,” Tim said. He’d been so quiet I’d almost forgotten he was at the table.
“Are we still friends?” I asked Janie. She crooked her lips to one side like she had to think hard about it.
“Only if you stop acting like the weight police.”
“Deal,” I said, but there was no way on earth I could let this go. I just needed a better game plan to help her. Maybe I should still try to talk to her mom. Janie and I exchanged weak smiles, and we all went our separate ways.
■
Once again, I struggled during basketball tryouts. Officer Ford walked into the gym right when someone passed me the ball, and instead of landing in my hands, the ball hit the side of my head.
The basketball coach yelled at me even more. “Take a break, Reid!”
Great.
I jogged over to my water bottle and took a swig. Coach Gavyn, who had been lurking by the bleachers, shifted over next to me.“Are you okay?” he whispered.
“Nope.”
He set his hand on my shoulder. I jerked away and spilled water onto the floor.
Coach Gavyn held up his hands in an apology. “Thea, take a deep breath. Focus on the task at hand. You have the ability to make the team. Put everything else out of your mind for now.” He took a step back and gave me my space.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Now get back in there.” He pointed to the court. I set down my water bottle and rejoined the drill in progress.
Mom showed up early again. We drove home in silence again. I asked where my cell phone was again, and she said it was none of my business again.
■
I went to bed after dinner. I didn’t read. I didn’t write in my diary—how could I? Derek lurked on every page of it. I just stared up at the ceiling until I fell asleep. In the middle of the night, I woke to the sound of a phone ringing. I reached for my cell, but then remembered I didn’t have it. I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep but heard a phone ringing again. I realized it was the house phone. The clock read three A.M. Who would call at this time of night? I decided it must be Dad, and I dozed back to sleep.
■
The next morning when I entered the kitchen, I found Mom at the sliding glass door looking out.
“What are you doing?” I asked. She turned toward me at the same moment Seth walked up to the door from the outside. He slid open the door and came into the kitchen.
“I didn’t see anything unusual along the fence,” Seth said to Mom. “But that chair is not ours. I think it came from the house behind us.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Come here.” Mom motioned to the back patio. We stepped outside onto the cold concrete, and she pointed to a white plastic chair that sat on the lawn about five feet away from the house. The chair couldn’t have been ours because we didn’t have any patio furniture.
“Where’d that come from?” I asked. Mom’s forehead wrinkled.
“Have you ever seen it before?” she asked.
“No. What’s going on?”
Mom walked over to the chair but didn’t touch it. She pointed down. “Do you see how the feet of the chair have gone down into the lawn?”
“I guess, yeah.” She took two fingers and lifted the chair. It was obvious the bottom inch of each foot had sunk into the cold hard ground.
“If the chair wasn’t here yesterday, how do you suppose it went into the ground like that overnight?” I shrugged. How was I supposed to know?
“It’s probably nothing,” I said and plopped into the chair.
My breath caught in my throat.
The white chair sat at the perfect angle to see directly into Mom’s bedroom window; her blinds and curtains were wide open. What did that mean? My eyes began to burn from staring so long without blinking. I closed them and tried to think this through. Surely, some teenager left the chair here as a prank . . . but why? I hopped up and ran to Mom’s room to see the view from inside. Mom followed.
“Thea, you need to be aware—” She crossed her arms as I looked out her window. “The phone rang in the middle of the night and startled me awake. Since Dad is out of town, I’m especially on edge. I flipped on the light, but since I didn’t recognize the caller ID I didn’t answer. I decided to ignore it and use the bathroom. Before I finished, the phone rang again. Same number on the caller ID. I still didn’t answer. I checked for messages, but there were none.”
“So, a wrong number,” I said. “What does that have to do with the chair?” Mom hung her head and sighed. “What? I don’t get it.”
“Derek could have sat in that chair,” Mom said. “He could have been confirming this was the correct house, by calling in the middle of the night and then seeing the light come on at the same moment. Either that or he wanted to scare us. I don’t know. But I think it was Derek.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Yes, but I believe that’s what happened. I’m just thankful we’re seeing the detective this morning. Hopefully, he can help.” I heard my cell phone vibrate, and I looked around the room.
“You have my phone in here?” Duh. Of course she did.
“Yes, but we�
��re giving it to the detective, along with your computer, today.”
“Who’s been texting?”
“Who do you think?”
“What’s he saying?” I asked.
Mom walked toward the door. “Head out, Thea. I need to shower, and we need to leave in thirty minutes.”
I didn’t budge. I remembered a conversation with Derek when he told me he would never give me up without a fight. The once-endearing statement now took on a whole new meaning. “I want to know how many times he’s texted and what he’s saying.”
“Fine . . . He has texted about nine times a day. He texts that he loves you, that it’s a misunderstanding, that he can’t live without you. He’s said that he wants to talk to you in private . . . that he could come here, to the house, and talk to you. He even sends texts addressed to me on your phone. He has to be crazy to continue texting after I already threatened to call the police.”
Part of me was scared that he wouldn’t give up. Another part of me was thrilled that he wouldn’t give up. Didn’t that mean he loved me? Or did it mean he was crazy? Maybe it meant I was crazy.
“Mom?”
“What?” she said, the word on a puff of air.
“You honestly think Derek sat in that chair last night?”
“What other explanation makes sense?”
“But why would he set the chair outside your room? Wouldn’t he be afraid of being caught?”
“Well, how would he know it was my room? Did you ever describe where your room was in the house?” I thought about it for a moment and recalled a conversation I’d had with Derek.
“I told him my room was in the back and to the side of the kitchen.”
“Sweetheart . . .” Mom shook her head. “Based on that description, he could’ve thought he was at your window last night. He could’ve hoped you had a phone near you and that you’d answer it. Maybe he even hoped you’d go out your window to meet him.”
Shivers traveled up my spine. I tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t catch even a small gasp of air. Mom was over to me in an instant and wrapped her arms around me.
“We have to be extra vigilant to make sure the doors and windows are locked until this guy is arrested. We don’t know where he is or what his intentions are.”
“Can we have the chair dusted for fingerprints?” I asked.
“I don’t know. We’ll ask the detective. Go and get ready. We need to leave soon.”
I headed for my room, but Seth waited for me in the hall.
“What?” I asked.
“Do you have any idea the stress you’ve caused Mom?”
“Shut up.” I tried to move past him, but he stepped in front of me.
“You’ve lied to everybody. You brought a stalker into our backyard.” Seth reddened, and his volume increased. He started to say more but then closed his mouth and sneered at me. His shoulder slammed into mine as he walked away. I knew it was my fault, and I didn’t need him to tell me. I’d hurt Mom in a horrible way.
I took a shower and thought about the chair. Whether it was Derek or not, why would the person who brought the chair into our yard leave it there? Because he wanted me to know he was there. That was the only reason I could come up with. Could Derek have been in my backyard last night? No. Surely it was a neighbor kid playing a prank.
Seth loaded the computer into the back seat of Mom’s car then headed to school while Mom and I drove to downtown Nampa. Mom circled the block a couple of times, driving past the police department.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Watch your tone.”
“I just asked a question.” I took a deep breath and tried to find the nicest tone of voice possible. “I’m just curious why you’re going around the block when the police department is right there.” I pointed as we drove past it again.
“Because the detective’s office isn’t at the police department. It’s in the Family Justice building. I can’t remember the address so I’m trying to find the sign.” I started searching also and spotted it just as we drove past, too late to pull into the lot. Mom circled once more, and then pulled in. Another car came in behind us.
I hoisted the computer out of the back seat, and we headed toward the entrance. A tall slender man stepped out of his car and hustled to the door before us. Dressed like a businessman from head to toe, his hair was short and freshly combed, and his lightly tanned face was clean shaven. He wore a long sleeve shirt tucked into his dark brown slacks, and at his waist he wore an equipment belt with a holstered gun.
“We keep the door locked at all times,” he said and pulled out a key. He opened the door for us, and we entered a small reception area, but no one was within sight. The man came in behind us and stuck out his hand to Mom.
“I’m Detective Corbett.”
“Maggie Reid.” Mom shook his hand. “This is my daughter, Cynthia.” He smiled and pushed some items out of the way on the reception desk.
“Cynthia, you can set that here,” he said.
“I prefer to be called Thea.” I set the computer on the desk, and he stuck out his hand. What was it with adults and shaking? I felt compelled to extend my hand as well.
“Thea, then,” he said and smiled again.
“Do you want her cell phone, too?” Mom asked.
“Yes, let’s set it all here together.”
She handed over my cell, and I wanted to reach out and grab it. I missed my phone. I missed texting, and I wanted to read the messages from Derek.
“Let’s go to the conference room,” Detective Corbett said and motioned for us to follow him. Mom waved me in front of her, and she followed behind. We walked down the hallway, and other people began to appear. They all greeted us. Most of them wore equipment belts around their waists; however, no one was dressed in a police uniform.
Detective Corbett waited at an open door, and we moved past him into the conference room. Mom and I sat near the head of a long wide table. He grabbed a chair at the same end, but across from us. He had left the door open, and next to it was a large window with slatted blinds.
“Now then, before we begin, let me tell you a little bit about myself . . .” He went on to explain how long he’s worked with the department and how many predators he’s investigated and how dangerous the Internet is. I tried not to sigh.
“Thea,” he said, and I looked up at him. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Like . . . what do you mean?” Why couldn’t he just ask a specific question?
“Tell me why you’re here today.”
“Because my mom thinks I’m in danger.” Mom rubbed her face, and my neck stiffened.
“Are you in danger, Thea?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think so until this morning, but I’m still not sure.”
“What happened this morning?” he asked Mom. She told him about the white chair and the phone calls.
“Can you dust for fingerprints?” I asked.
The detective’s smile was replaced by a clenched jaw. He sat still for a moment, and then he said, “We’ll look into it.”
Mom took a piece of paper out of her purse and slid it across the table to the detective. I caught a glimpse; it appeared she had written the phone number from the caller ID on it. Detective Corbett rose, went to the door, and closed it. Then he turned on me.
“Thea, what’s it going to take for you to understand that you are in danger here?” He collapsed into his chair and used his feet to roll it around the corner of the table closer to me.
“Who do you think this guy is?” he asked. Panic welled inside me. The detective scared me more than the idea of Derek in the backyard. While I was pretty certain Derek wouldn’t hurt me, this detective was in my face and could reach out and grab me right now.
“Derek is my friend—”
“Really? How would you define your relationship?”
“I guess we’re boyfriend-girlfriend.” I hated having this conversation, especially in front of Mom. The detect
ive popped up from his chair and paced the edge of the room.
“What makes you think he’s your boyfriend?” the detective asked.
“Because we have conversations, we trust each other—”
“Do you love each other?” He jutted out his chin and wedged his thumbs into his equipment belt.
“Yes.” I peeked at Mom. She slouched back in her chair. I couldn’t believe she was remaining quiet.
The detective bent over the table and raised his voice. “He is not your friend, Thea.” He pulled back and asked, “Do you have friends at school?”
“Yes.”
“Do they go online and play Skadi with you?”
“They have . . .”
“They are your friends. Do you know why?”
“Derek was my friend, and I also have other online friends.”
The detective straightened. I couldn’t understand why he was so upset. I waited. He sighed.
“Thea, no one online is your friend unless you know them in real life as well. Kids at school can be your friends. People online are not. None of them. You don’t know where they live. You don’t know who their family is. You don’t know the color of their hair.”
“I know who Derek is—” The detective propped himself on the edge of the table and crossed his arms. “He lives in Georgia with his dad. His mom died from cancer. He hates that his dad drinks alcohol. His friends give him crap for being with me. We like the same music—”
“She doesn’t get it,” Detective Corbett said to Mom. He slapped his hand on the table and leaned in toward me. “Thea! Wake up! No one online is your friend. No one. This guy, Derek, he could live down the street from you. He doesn’t have to be in Georgia . . .”
From the moment his hand slapped against the table, his voice faded from my hearing. I was tired of being lectured and yelled at. In my head, I cocooned myself and distanced myself from his words. It was working until Mom tapped the table to get my attention. Then his words came flooding back into my head full blast.
“. . . He could be a pedophile in prison. He could live around the block. You. Do. Not. Know. Him.” The detective paced to the end of the room again. I was being attacked, and I needed to figure out how to defend myself. I’m not as stupid as he’s making me sound. I’m not.
