Turner and I stared at each other until the sound of my dad’s footsteps faded. Then his mouth quirked up on one side. “Philly?”
“Seriously?” I ground out through clenched teeth. “If you’re going to poke fun at me, I’m just gonna go.”
I reached for the door, but he lunged forward and took my elbow. “No. Wait. I’m sorry. I just . . . I miss you. I miss our banter.”
“Yeah, well . . .” I extracted my arm from his grip. “You said you wanted to talk, not banter, so . . . what the fuck do you mean Jenny is your sister?”
He blew out a big breath and took his hat off, putting it on backward. I wasn’t sure if it was better or worse now that I could see the desperation in his gaze. “OK, fair enough. I meant what I said. She’s my sister. But no one here knows that. That’s why I’ve been speaking to her, and that’s why it looks kind of intense when I do. We’ve . . . been through some shit. About three years ago, my mom and my sister left, disappeared. My dad and I have been looking for them ever since.”
“What? That doesn’t even make sense. This sounds like some ridiculous story you made up to confuse me. I just can’t understand why.”
Turner sighed. “I’m not making shit up. I wish I were.”
He looked resigned, kind of sad, as he pulled out his phone, tapped away at it, and then held it out to me. Staring back at me from the screen was a young Turner. He was skinnier, a bit more gangly, but it was definitely him grinning at the camera, his arm slung around a little girl’s shoulders. I frowned; the girl definitely looked like Jenny.
“Flick through. There’s more.” Hands in his pockets, he stepped up next to me so we could both look at the pictures on the screen. The next was of a couple, arms around each other, the man laughing while the woman looked off to the side. I’d seen Turner’s dad a few times, and that was unquestionably him in the pic—the woman had to be Turner’s mom. The next photo showed all four of them grouped around a cake with several candles, Jenny the center of attention at what looked like a birthday celebration. The next was of Turner and his mom. Photo after photo of what was clearly his family.
“I don’t understand.” I handed the phone back. “What exactly happened? And what does this have to do with anything?”
Turner checked the time. “Look, I don’t know how much time we have before your dad’s countdown clock runs out, but I’ll try to keep it brief. Like I said, my mom took my sister and left. She tried to take me too, we got into a huge fight, and I went and stayed the night at a friend’s. I had no idea she was intending to just disappear.”
I held up a hand to stop him. “Wait a second. If your mom took your sister, isn’t that, like, some form of kidnapping? Why didn’t your dad just go to the police?”
“Of course he did. They checked with a few of my mom’s friends from church and the one cousin who was all the family we had in the area, then pretty much told him there was nothing they could do. That was just before they put me into a room and asked me a bunch of leading questions about whether my dad got angry or drank or ever yelled at my mom. They pretty much just assumed he was abusive and she’d run away from him. They told him to get a lawyer and washed their hands of it—wouldn’t even hear him out about the people responsible. The people that have been helping her stay hidden.”
“What people?” I checked my phone. We had ten minutes.
“Look, my parents did not have a happy marriage. I mean, maybe they did when I was younger—I do remember some happy times. But by the time I was in my teens, they’d just fallen out of love. They argued from time to time, and things were tense, distant. But my dad was never abusive. I never once saw him hit her or throw anything or even raise his voice. They weren’t at each other’s throats—they were just making each other miserable. I think they were trying to keep the family together for us kids, but I wish they’d just broken up. Maybe all this could’ve been prevented then.
“Anyway, the point is, my mom was lonely, broken. Looking back on it, she had some issues—things neither she nor my dad were equipped to deal with. Those things made her vulnerable. She somehow got mixed up with these BestLyf people, started going to a few free meetings. Then she started paying to attend the more intense seminars. That caused more arguments about money. Dad thought she was wasting it, and Mom felt like it was the only good thing in her life.”
“What exactly are you saying?” A heavy dread settled in my gut. I believed he was telling the truth about Jenny being his sister—the photos were undeniable. And I believed him when he said his dad wasn’t abusive. I’d never heard any yelling or crashing from the apartment next door, and Turner had never said or done anything to make me think he was scared of his dad. But the story just kept getting crazier and crazier.
“I’m pretty sure BestLyf is a cult.” He propped his hands on his hips.
I frowned. That couldn’t be right, could it? My mom went to those meetings and had nothing but good things to say. Chelsea loved every second of the personal-development courses. Cults didn’t help people be their best selves—they made you live on some secluded farm, waiting for the second coming or some shit. Didn’t they?
“What are you talking about? BestLyf is a corporation. They have offices all over the country. They advertise on TV, for fuck’s sake.” Was Turner a conspiracy theorist?
“I know it sounds crazy, but we’re not the only ones this has happened to. There’s a whole network of people who have lost loved ones to that hellhole.”
“Then did you report that to the police? I’m pretty sure cults are illegal.”
“We did.” He sounded defeated. I wanted to hug him, so I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my apron. “But after the fifth police station my dad was laughed out of, he stopped trying. BestLyf is a legitimate business in the front—they do provide legit services, but they hide behind that front and ruin people’s lives. They’ve been at this for years. It’s hard to find proof. We couldn’t get any help from the police, so Dad went straight to the source. He banged on the doors of the BestLyf office in our town, demanded to see my mother. They denied she’d ever even attended a meeting. When we realized my mom and sister were no longer even in town, we started looking for them elsewhere.
“Dad did some research and found all the places they have offices, training facilities, retreats—any property that’s associated with them. And we started going to these places. Dad tried to get jobs with them in different towns, but they obviously communicated well between branches, and he could hardly step onto the property before they would call security. So, we came up with a new strategy. We would go to a town where BestLyf had an office, Dad would get a job doing whatever he could find, and I would be enrolled in the local school. I’d make friends, talk to people, figure out whose parents worked for BestLyf, and try to get some inside info. Every spare second we had, we’d stake out the offices and employees’ houses trying to get a glimpse of my mom and sister. When we were sure they weren’t in that town, we’d move on to the next one.”
My eyes widened as he told his insane yet somehow admirable story. I couldn’t believe the lengths they were going to. But then, maybe I could. Who knows what I’d do for my own family? “Holy shit,” I breathed. “And now you’ve found them.”
“And now we’ve found them.”
I turned away, threading my hands into my hair. “This is fucking insane, Turner.”
“I know,” he rushed out. “But this is why. Please, you have to believe me. This is the only reason I put up with that bunch of cunts. I want to punch Jayden in the nose half the time. But pretending to be his friend has allowed me to get closer to Jenny. I’ve been over to his place a few times and managed to snoop around a bit. They did a number on my sister, and she’s refusing to see my dad, but she hasn’t told anyone we’re here, so I have hope she’s starting to come around. They’ve convinced her my dad was a bad man—that he was the reason my mom took her and left. I’m slowly helping her remember. But we still haven’t seen any sign o
f my mom, and any time I ask her, Jenny clams up.”
“What about Jayden? Have you asked him?”
“About my mom?” He sighed in frustration. “I can’t really ask him directly without giving away who I am. I’ve tried to bring it up in a roundabout way—asking if his mom or dad will be home when he invited the boys over, or asking what his mom does when he mentioned his dad’s work. That kind of thing. But all he’s said is that his mom died when he was eleven, and he doesn’t like talking about it. Never even mentioned a stepmom or anything. It’s so fucking weird.”
He was breathing hard, his shoulders tight and his fists clenching as he talked. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and make it all better.
“I can’t blow my cover yet,” he went on. “I can’t risk them finding out who I am or that we’re even here. But having you think I don’t care is fucking tearing me up inside. So, I’m trusting you, Mena. I’m trusting you with my truth.”
I hadn’t trusted him with mine.
He didn’t say it, and I didn’t think he meant to throw that in my face, but I drew the parallel myself. I’d lied to him to protect myself. He’d lied to me to protect his family.
And he was dealing with so much—an insurmountable, crazy amount of pressure.
I couldn’t hold back anymore. I rushed forward and wrapped my arms around his waist. He hugged me back hard, his heart hammering under my cheek, his heavy breath in my hair.
My phone rang, and I hurried to answer it—it had been twenty minutes. “Just waiting for the elevator, Dad,” I said before he could even speak.
“You better be in this apartment in the next three minutes, Philomena.”
“Yes. I’m coming.” I hung up without waiting for a response and stepped out of Turner’s embrace. It was harder than I could’ve imagined—to have his arms around me after so much angst about how he really felt . . . “I have to go.”
He nodded, but he looked so uncertain. “Are we good?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. This is just . . . a lot. I need to process.”
“OK. Yeah, of course. Just promise you’ll let me know if you have any questions? I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
I nodded. I had no more words.
But Turner did. “I want you to know I’m going to fight for you. I know you need to think about all this, but I can’t lose you. You’re the best fucking thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”
With one last agonizing look at his beautiful, tortured face, I left.
As was becoming my new normal, I hardly slept that night. Thinking about Turner used to keep me up with giddy excitement as I replayed all our interactions in my head. Lately, Turner kept me up because I was heartbroken over how shit had gone down, first because he didn’t seem to care and now because of his supposed tragic story.
Around two in the morning, I gave up and grabbed my phone, hardly even surprised when I saw Harlow was online. That girl kept the weirdest times. On a whim, I messaged her. I didn’t feel right telling her Turner’s story—it felt too private and heavy, with too much at stake if it was true—but I couldn’t just take his word for it. Even though I couldn’t go into details, Harlow helped me anyway. She dug up a few local missing-person articles from three years ago, and when she looked into Turner’s dad, she couldn’t find anything worrying, other than complaints from BestLyf.
It all matched Turner’s story.
I managed to get maybe three hours of sleep before my alarm went off, and when I saw myself in the mirror, I groaned. I looked like shit. With the girls having my back, and Madison and the others having left me alone all week, I was just emboldened enough to apply some eye makeup. Nothing ostentatious—just enough to cover the bags under my eyes. I didn’t touch my birthmark, figuring it was best not to draw too much attention to the fact that I was wearing makeup.
Mom asked over breakfast if I could do her makeup that night. It was my aunt and uncle’s anniversary party.
I shook my head. “Sorry. Gotta work. Have fun.”
“OK, sweetheart. I’ll just pick your dad up and head straight there after work then, so we won’t see you after school. Drive dad’s car to work—don’t walk, OK?”
I waved her off, yawning as I headed out the door.
The girls drove me to school, and the giant coffee they brought me helped perk me up a bit. Thankfully, Harlow didn’t bring up our late-night sleuthing. I still wasn’t sure what to do about that, or how to feel about it.
I made it through most of the day in a haze, hardly paying attention in class and nearly nodding off in English. As I stopped at my locker during lunch, Madison and her friends happened to be walking past. I spared them a glance and ignored them, assuming they’d keep doing what they’d been doing all week—leaving me alone.
How wrong I was . . .
Madison’s eyes narrowed as she took in my face, and she walked straight up to me. Kelsey turned around and hurried off, but that still left three of them hovering around my locker.
Madison leaned in and sneered. “You can slap all the makeup on it you want, but you’ll always be ugly, Phil.”
Anger rose quickly and unchecked, and I slammed my locker shut. I was so done with everything the past few months had thrown at me.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I got up in her face and did not keep my voice down, did not cower or back away. I was like a different person, hands thrown out and eyebrows raised as I unleashed. “What did I ever do to you? Seriously? Why do you hate me so much? Why do you care?”
She shrugged, but the gesture lacked her usual nonchalance. She was seething. “There’s just something about certain people. You can’t really put your finger on it, but you can’t stand the sight of them. You’re just hateable, and I wish you’d do me a fucking favor and just die.”
“You’re a hateful, spiteful bitch, and you’ll never be happy. Go fuck yourself!” I yelled into her face. I was completely lost in the rage, not thinking at all about the words coming out of my mouth.
“Miss Willis.” Mr. Chen’s deep voice froze me to the spot. All the fight drained out of me, and my face fell as I slowly turned toward my English teacher.
He had his hands on his hips, his expression very stern. “That kind of language is unacceptable.”
“You should’ve heard what she was saying before you got here, sir.” Suddenly, Madison sounded meek, her voice even a little watery. “She called me the most awful things.”
“It’s true, sir. We heard it all,” Bonnie piped in, Steph nodding emphatically.
What a joke. I rolled my eyes. “Please. What about all the things you’ve said to me over literally years.”
Madison gasped and pressed her hand to her chest. “I would never—”
“Enough!” Mr. Chen snapped, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. He looked about as tired as I felt as he mumbled under his breath—something about shitty pay and long hours and teenagers being the devil.
“Miss Barnes, I heard the terrible things you said too. Now, I don’t know what this is about, and I don’t want to.” He held his hand up, stopping Madison from spewing another lie. Of course he didn’t want to know about it. None of the teachers gave a shit. “You’re both about to be adults. You’re seniors, for god’s sake. The younger kids look up to you. Start acting like it.”
“Yes, sir.” Madison nodded.
“I’m sorry.” I sighed.
“I’m not done,” he barked, then looked between us. “Detention. Both of you. You can take the time to think about what it means to conduct yourself with dignity. I’ll see you both this afternoon.”
He walked off without another word.
All three of them stared daggers at me. If this were a cartoon, steam would have been coming out of Madison’s ears. I flipped them off and walked away, hoping to spend the last twenty minutes of lunch taking a nap in the library. This really sucked ass. I’d have to run home, grab my uniform, and head straight to work
.
Mr. Chen slept through most of detention, leaning back in his chair with his mouth hanging open. It suited me just fine, as I was able to doze a bit too, although it was hard to fall asleep completely with Madison sending me a death glare from across the room, stopping only to text on her phone.
The moment Mr. Chen’s alarm went off at the end of the hour, he eagerly dismissed us and hurried ahead out the door, his shoes echoing in the empty hall. I tried to rush off too, but Madison kept getting in my way, slowing me down until the other students were all ahead of us too.
As we neared the corner around which were the front doors—and my freedom from this nightmare of a day—the door to the last classroom flew open. I gasped, but before I could make another sound, a hand covered my mouth, and several others pulled me into the dark room. Madison calmly stepped in after us, closing the door with a quiet click.
My pulse thudded in my ears as I struggled, kicked my legs, threw my head from side to side to try to dislodge the hand over my mouth.
Had the others already walked out the door? Was anyone still around to hear me scream? Oh god! My parents weren’t even home to notice I hadn’t come home.
Panic choked me as I redoubled my struggling, its icy grip cutting off my air as badly as the hand over my face. I screamed anyway. The sound was pitiful, muffled by my attacker’s hand.
“Would you shut her up?” Madison hissed. She was still by the door, listening, peering out, making sure we were alone.
Steph stepped into my field of vision and punched me in the gut. Her arms were as weak and useless as mine, so the blow didn’t make me double over in pain, but it still hurt, startled me, made me cough.
The hand over my mouth disappeared. “Ugh! Gross! She slobbered all over me,” Jayden complained.
I took a deep breath and screamed as loudly as I could.
Bonnie rushed over and slapped me, cutting the sound off and snapping my head to the side. Jayden’s firm grip on my arms kept me upright.
Like You Care: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Devilbend Dynasty Book 1) Page 13
