by Rachel Shane
“What kind of parents don’t let their kids listen to normal music?”
“The kind that homeschool them and don’t let them hang out with non-homeschooled kids they haven’t pre-approved of like a credit card application.”
I stared at him in shock, both because of the info and because he’d given it to me without my prying.
My face must have surprised him too, because a rush of words fell out of his mouth. “But I swear, they mean well, this isn’t something for Child Services. I know that’s what you’re thinking.” He looked like he was holding his breath, like he said too much.
“I wasn’t. And besides, if any situation is for Child Services, it’s mine, so let’s make a deal, OK? I won’t judge if you won’t?”
“Deal.”
I pulled out my cell phone. “What’s your number? I’ll text you, and we can figure out when to meet again?”
“Oh.” Gavin stared at the floor. “Let’s just make plans now. I’d rather not involve phones. Or anything that might lead back to my parents. But we can meet Tuesdays and Thursdays at seven pm.”
I blinked at him. “Wow, that’s specific.”
“Tuesdays are youth group night and Thursdays are when I’m supposed to be at piano lessons. That’s the only time I’m free of my parents. They’ll drop me off at the church and then I’ll bail. Our hideout here should be safe.” He bit his lip. “I hope.”
“Okay, Tuesday then,” I said, realizing we had opposite goals. Because while he wanted to hide from his home life, I hoped this band would help me bust out of mine.
Present Day
As I speed along to the warehouse, we pass Gavin’s church, located only a few blocks away and across a railroad track. Sabrina peers out at the white building, then promptly ducks down. Startled, I remove my foot from the gas.
“Go!” she scream-whispers. “Mrs. Waverly was standing outside. I think she saw me.”
I gun the gas. Mrs. Waverly. Gavin’s piano teacher. The one he ditched to start a band with me. My heart threatens to jump out of my chest. While most people’s hearts just tick, my surgery-enhanced one is more like a ticking time bomb.
I’m so riled up by the time we reach the abandoned warehouse, I hit the brake harder than I intend, jerking the car to a rough stop. Sunlight emphasizes the building’s flaws, like catching a career prostitute under the unkind halo of a streetlamp. Graffiti bruises the exterior like prison tattoos, and the entire building leans a bit to the left as if the dented metal is caving under the weight of its own ugliness.
Sabrina stares at me with her mouth open. “Gavin would never come here.”
I smile to myself. Maybe I do know him better than she does. “I’m going inside. Wait here.”
She grips my forearm tight. “This place doesn’t look safe.”
I shake out of her grip. “It is, trust me.”
She bites her lip, looking like she doesn’t want to.
“Sabrina, I really have no idea what’s going on. But if Gavin did run away and leave us clues, then he wants us to follow them.” I meet her eyes. “He needs our help.”
I let her stew on that while I march to the doorway. Shiny silver nails secure a wooden plank in place, hammered in so only the circular tips dot the perimeter. Did Gavin do this? I haven’t been here in weeks so I have no way of knowing when this blockade made its debut.
A pink post-it sticks to the plank. It reads: Backyard Rebels.
Behind me, Sabrina’s door slams shut and feet patter toward me. I rip the post-it off the door and show it to her.
“What’s that mean?” Her eyes dart around as the sun slides behind a cloud, creating growing shadows.
“It’s the name of our band.”
Sabrina rakes her hand through her hair the same way her brother always does. “And how does that help us?”
I shrug. “Probably just marking the door. So we know we’re in the right place.”
“We don’t know it means that. This is insane. What if Gavin expects us to figure out his cryptic clue and we can’t and then we fail?” She stumbles backward. “What if we fail?”
My chest cinches tight. “We can’t…won’t.”
I inspect the wood for any false nails, hoping the plank is for show, like those alarm stickers people place in their windows instead of installing a real system.
“Wait, I have an idea. I need your phone.” She holds out her palm.
I shake my head. “You’re just going to call your parents.”
“Gavin still has my phone. From Friday. So I’m going to call him and find out what the deal is.”
“You mean he’s had your phone this entire time and you didn’t think of calling him yet?”
She gives me a dirty look. “When did I have time to remember phones between busting out of school, nearly getting impaled by trees, and driving into a part of town where I’m most likely to get murdered?”
I reach into my pocket and hand my cell to her. She dials quickly, and then presses it to her ear, tapping her foot as she waits for it to connect. After a few seconds, she snaps it shut. “Went straight to voicemail. He must have turned it off.” She starts to dial again.
I snatch the phone out of her slimy fingers and stuff it in my pocket.
“We should tell my parents. What if he’s in trouble?” she protests. Her lip trembles. “They might be worried if they find out he’s not at your house.”
“Sabrina, I know you think your parents are as pure as holy water, but honestly, I don’t trust them.” I kick the plank with my foot trying to mimic a karate chop, stubbing my toe in the process. Pain throbs.
Her eyes narrow. “Why? Because they found out about your mom? Because they don’t trust you?”
“Let’s just agree that it seems like Gavin didn’t tell anyone else, so we shouldn’t either. That means not your parents or Isla.”
Arguing is wasting time, so I abandon the wood and comb the perimeter of the building, looking for an alternate way in. Like the door, wooden planks cover all the ground floor windows.
Remembering a window in our practice loft, I scan until I find it. The glass has been popped out cleanly, no sharp edges remaining. Several metal poles line the top edge of the building, one located just above the open window. This gives me an idea.
“Hey, Sabrina. That rope that holds the bumper onto my car. Are you good at getting out knots?”
She stares at me like I’m wearing a frilly pink dress. “How are you going to drive home?”
“If the trees didn’t kill it—”
“And why do you need a…” Her eyes lock behind me on the open window. “No way. Moxie, I may not like you, but I don’t want to explain your brains all over the sidewalk to the cops.”
I brush past her.
My fingers ache as I unbraid the knots, digging my nails underneath the tight ones and yanking with all my might. When I free the rope, blisters are rising like goose bumps on a chilly night.
I’m not sure how to construct a rope-climbing device. I always had a pass to get out of gym because of my heart condition, so I never practiced using the ropes course.
“This is too dangerous.”
“I’m not asking you to climb. Here, hold this right here.” I cross the rope ends so they make an X. If she holds the rope in place, it will be easier to start the lasso.
“I won’t be an accomplice to this.” She backs away.
I shake my head. “I don’t get you, Sabrina.” I squat down and step on the X. “You put on the goody-two shoes act sometimes. Like now, or in front of your parents.” I loop the rope and secure a tight nautical knot. “But other times, you surprise everyone with your calculated tricks. Poor Isla—even your BFF gets herded off to the music room with a lie when it suits your needs.” After a few more knots, I test the lasso’s strength and head back to the window.
This building looks about as sturdy as my car, but I wind the rope around my arm with the loop clutched in my palm anyway. A deep breath gives me th
e courage needed to spin the rope and send it sailing upward, hoping to catch on the spike. Not enough oomph. Not enough moxie. The rope falls limply to the ground.
Sabrina shakes her head at me.
I try three more times before the rope snags on the spike and dangles off the tip. I pull it in several directions, like a girl running around a mayflower pole, until the loop secures around the metal spike. I may not give a damn about religion but I’m willing to pray this thing supports my weight.
I tie the rope around my waist with one of my trusty knots and then prop my feet against the wall, leaning back at a forty-five degree angle. My foot has trouble grabbing on, and I lose my balance, sliding onto my butt. “I hate your brother right now,” I say through clenched teeth.
“As long as you don’t love him,” she counters.
That comment propels me forward. I put one hand over the other, and heave myself up, grunting and using the wall as leverage.
When I get a few feet off the ground, I latch onto the bricks that jut out from the exterior of the building, positioned at odd angles from the state of the building’s deterioration. One wobbles when I touch it, sending debris scattering below me. Sabrina yelps.
My arms ache. My legs dangle awkwardly. My fingers shake. But if Gavin is the one who barricaded the doors, then he believes in my ability to do this.
So I push forward. One step for Gavin.
Another pull, closer to the top, farther away from Sabrina.
One hand over the other, to prove I can live up to my name.
I climb higher and higher, not looking down but not looking up either. Because I don’t know what the future holds. I can only concentrate on the present, on making it past this hurdle.
My fingertips graze the window and I let out a breath. With all my energy, I haul myself up, my forearms shaking, my elbows locking, my legs kicking beneath me trying to find purchase. My heart pounds fast.
As I try to slither through the window, the phone dislodges from my pocket and drops to the ground outside with a loud crashing sound. I don’t have time to worry about it, I just keep going until I fall hands first onto the dirty floor. Holy shit, I’ve done it. I stand up, brushing the dust from my clothes. Leaning against the wall, I pant, trying to slow my labored heart.
The place looks empty, like no one had ever stepped foot inside it, the traces of life we left over the last few months stolen like our contents. The couch we dragged in here after finding it on the street: Gone. Streamers and posters and all those notebooks filled with song lyrics I wrote: Gone. Like Gavin himself.
Something glints on the floor and catches my eye in the center of the room. Gavin’s digital MP3 recorder.
My stomach lurches. I’ve never seen him without this.
When I lift the mp3 player from the ground, my hand discovers a pink post-it note resting underneath it.
“Sorry about the barricades. Can’t risk anyone finding these clues instead of you two. Keep safe. I’ll try to do the same. If something bad happens to me, don’t forget what led you here.”
I shiver. Leaving behind clues took a lot of effort. Why couldn’t he just tell me this stuff? Wouldn’t it have been easier and safer? So many questions, but even more left to be asked.
I press play on the mp3 player. The echo of feet stomping inside the warehouse startles me. At first I think it’s the player, but when I pause it, the feet don’t stop.
“Moxie! Where are you?” Sabrina calls from someplace close.
Before I can answer, she walks through the open doorway from the stairwell.
“I figured out what he meant by Backyard Rebels.” She catches her breath. “Backyard is in the back, right? So I circled around the building and found the board at the back entrance loose.”
“Oh.” I stare at her beaming smile, then at the window I’d risked my life to climb. “Good one.”
“I bet he knew you wouldn’t figure that out on your own.”
A furious scream builds in my chest at her words. After the insult, I hate to admit it’s true, but Gavin’s more important than my own pride. “Also, you’re right about the stuff in the box leading to clues. I found this.” I show her the mp3 player and the note.
We each put in an earbud. The player clicks on. Static fills my ear for a few seconds before the low hiss of a singing voice takes over. My voice and Gavin’s backup ballad blasts into our ears. The song I sang the day I first met him in this warehouse. I had no idea he recorded me. Had no idea he saved it.
“Who is this?” Sabrina asks, turning the volume louder. “It’s awesome.”
I smile at her. Would she have complimented me if she knew it was my voice? “It’s me. The day I met Gavin.”
Her face falls. “What does this have to do with where he is?”
I shake my head. “No idea.”
About halfway through the track, a new found sound enters the mix. It sounds like banging.
“That banging noise definitely wasn’t there when I first recorded this,” I tell Sabrina.
The banging changes to drilling. Sabrina closes her eyes, concentrating. “It reminds me of the annoying sounds my dad makes when he does his construction jobs. Like when he re-did our basement. I couldn’t get the banging out of my head for months.”
“Do you think that’s the info Gavin wants us to find?”
She shrugs. “Maybe we need the other clues before we can make sense of anything.”
After gathering up the mp3 player, we exit the warehouse and head back to the window to try to extract the rope from the spike. But we don’t even make it halfway around the building before we notice a silver Ford Focus parked next to my car.
The shiny vehicle looks so out-of-place in this part of town.
I bend down to pick up the ruined pieces of my smashed phone. Sabrina gives me a look that suggests she thinks I did this on purpose. I just roll my eyes and continue to my car, glancing in the Ford’s windows as we pass. A briefcase lies on the front seat. Maybe the township has finally decided to tear this place down.
“Recognize the car?” I ask.
She peers at it for a moment. “No. But all cars look the same to me. Well, except yours.”
I head to the passenger side of my car first to help Sabrina open her sticky door, but this turns out to be unnecessary. Her door is already open. I distinctly remember her slamming it shut.
I’ve never seen another car at the warehouse before and something tells me it’s not a coincidence. My mind flashes to Gavin’s note. If something bad happens to me… Goosebumps erupt all over my flesh. We have to get out of here before something bad happens to us too.
I shove Sabrina into the car and ignore her protests as I race to the driver’s side. Forgetting about the seatbelt, I peel out of the parking lot. My front bumper crashes to the ground without the rope holding it in place. I swerve around it.
When we hit the next street, I let out a breath.
Sabrina grips her door with white knuckles. “What are you doing? Is this, like, the only way you know how to leave parking lots?”
“Your door was open, Sabrina. That other car was there because of us.” I think of the silver Ford Focus glinting in the sun. How did it know we were there? Then I remember the briefcase. “Do you think it’s someone from your dad’s job? The carpentry sounds?”
She shakes her head. “No one he works with carries a briefcase. Too bad it wasn’t a hard hat.”
“What about Mrs. Waverly? Maybe she followed us when she saw you in my car.”
“What reason would she have though?” Sabrina hugs her knees to her chest so she can fit more easily in my tiny car.
“I don’t know. I met her once, she didn’t seem to like me.” Though that wasn’t exactly uncommon. I glance at the rear-view mirror where a clear road stretches out behind us. “Well, we seem to have lost them, whoever it was.”
Sabrina relaxes in her seat. She flips the mp3 player over and over in her hands. “I thought Gavin would spell things out
more. This is going to be harder than we thought.”
“Maybe there’s some kind of data on here that will appear if we put it in a computer. Like a hidden file with instructions,” I say. “Gavin’s all about digital music. That’s probably the clue.”
“Worth a shot. We can go to my house.”
Her house. No way. Not if her parents are there. “No, let’s get all the clues as quickly as possible, then try to figure them out.”
Sabrina reaches into the back. “Hey, where’d you put the box of clues?”
“What do you mean? It’s on the backseat.”
She goes completely still. “Um, no it’s not.”
“Shut up.” I drag the car over to the shoulder. I hope she’s joking, but when I check the backseat, it’s empty.
She clamps a hand over her mouth. “They stole the clues! I guess that rules out Mrs. Waverly, huh?”
“I don’t think it rules out anyone.” I put the car into drive and turn the wheel. The car lags, like a sluggish dog tugged along by its owner.
“What would she want with the box?” Sabrina asks.
“Is Mrs. Waverly related to your parents’ secret somehow? Does it have to do with church?” There are too many questions to ask. We need answers. “Hopefully Gavin’s plan is brilliant, and I’m the only one who knows where they lead and at least I remember what all the objects are.”
“Go faster,” she says. “Just in case. Where are we going next anyway?”
“I’m going as fast as my stupid car will allow. And the fork is next. The night I met you. Best night of your life, right?” I ask sarcastically.
Sabrina stares out the window. “Actually, it kind of was.”
Two Months Ago
Two weeks after I first met Gavin, I leaned against a tree across the street from his church where I usually idled my car to pick him up. Through the trees separating the church from me, I watched teens gathering in the parking lot, gabbing and chatting. They filtered inside, and a few minutes later Gavin emerged from the back entrance, a black hoodie obscuring his hair. He looked just a little too suspicious as he weaved through the trees toward my look-out post.
