Find Me

by Romily Bernard

  I can’t really blame her.

  I sit at the breakfast bar, watching Lily and Bren make lists of everything they’ll needuntil I’m boiling inside my own skin. I go upstairs, and I’m alone for maybe two minutes before Lily arrives.

  “You need time to think?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m going to San Francisco with Bren, and I’ll do it with or without you, Wick,” she warns.

  Exactly. That’s what I want. Except I still have to wrap my arms around me to keep from doubling over.

  “I know my picture showed up because of you.”

  I go still. “Why’s that?”

  “Because it’s always you. Just like it was always Dad.”

  “Then why didn’t you want me to say anything? Why did you lie?”

  “To protect you, to give you the opportunity to say yes. I knew what she was going to ask. I knew what we could have had.” Lily turns for the door. “But you’re right, Wick. Everything really is ruined.”

  It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Bren and Todd fight, but Todd says I can stay home, promises he’ll bring me to Bren for the weekend. My foster mom drives away with Lily in tow while I lie on my bed, work my jaw back and forth until I want to scream.

  When I finally push myself upright, I see the sketch pinned to my window. I’m ten feet away, but I still recognize Griff’s style. He made the girl look fierce, but drew her eyes sad.

  Vaguely, I remember the text: I’m coming over. He really did, and he left me the sketch so I would know.

  On the nightstand, my cell phone buzzes. For a crazy second, I think it’s Griff and he knows I’ve seen his picture. He knows I’m thinking of him.

  But it’s not Griff. It’s Joe.

  Meeting 2day.

  Again? I’m not eager for a repeat. I put the phone in my pocket, concentrate on nudging open my window. I carefully pull Griff’s drawing free.

  It isn’t some random girl. He drew me.

  He’s sketched me in blue and green ink. My hair is loose, and I’m pushing it away from my face with both hands. I look like it’s all one big joke, like I’m amused and nothing scares me.

  And yeah, the eyes are sad, but they’re also . . . knowing. There aren’t any tears in them even though, right now, I can feel tears pressing against my lashes. Is this how he sees me?

  He made me look like I could take on the world.

  He made me look beautiful.

  Another text:

  1 hr

  I grimace. Something’s up. That barely gives me enough time to sneak away. I grab my bag, shove the window open a little farther, and tuck the sketch as far under my bed as I can reach. It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever been given.

  I scramble out the window and down part of the tree. I fall the rest of the way and end up in the bushes.

  I pop back up, scan for any neighbors. Thank God. No one. I set off for the bike paths.

  Almost forty-five minutes later, I reach my old subdivision, making the familiar right off the path, and stop dead. From this angle, I can see straight down the street, straight to Joe’s . . . straight to the cars parked outside his house.

  Cops.

  Oh my God. The cops.

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  He really does want Lily Tate. She really is next.

  I can’t help him. Won’t help him. I’d rather jump.

  —Page 68 of Tessa Waye’s diary

  They know. It’s all over. I want to scream and I want to hide and I cannot look away. Four cop cars are parked on the street and in the yard, lights flashing. There must be ten officers going in and out of the house. They’re carrying computers and dragging Joe’s gun safe onto the lawn. They’re leading my dad to a squad car.

  They’ve caught Dad.

  And, like he knows I’m watching, like he knows I’m close, Dad’s head swings up, turns toward me. His mouth opens . . . I turn.

  And run.

  I’m barely on the path before I hear someone coming after me. Just one person? Or is it more? I pump my arms harder, force my feet to move faster.

  It doesn’t matter. They’re gaining on me.

  “Wicked!” An arm hooks around my middle and we go down, twisting at the last second so I land on top. I start kicking and punching.

  We roll, and I look up at Griff. “Jesus, Wicked! It’s me!”

  Griff. It’s only Griff. But I can’t stop struggling. I have to get away. The cops know. They’re making arrests and they have my dad and he saw me. He’ll think I betrayed them, and he’ll be enraged. They’ll never be able to hold him.

  He’ll come for us—for both of us.

  “It’s okay.” Griff pushes me harder into the leaves. He has me pinned, and I still feel like I’m going to rocket off the ground. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  Except it’s not. I try to curl into a ball, hold myself together, but I can’t. Griff’s in the way and I’m spinning apart and I can’t stop shaking.

  How long until the cops come for me?

  I’m sorry, Lily. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Griff presses me to his chest. It isn’t until my whole face has gone wet that I realize I’m crying.

  We spend another hour waiting in the woods, watching the shadows stretch longer and longer. Waiting for cops to come up the path.

  They never do.

  I push myself upright, and Griff’s hand drags down my arm like he doesn’t want to let me go. “How did you know they were coming?”

  Griff looks away.

  I wipe my sleeve across my eyes once more. “How did you know they were coming?”

  “Because I was in on it.”

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  Sometimes I think I got involved with him

  because I was bored with boys.

  —Page 9 of Tessa Waye’s diary

  “You were in on it?” This doesn’t make any sense. It’s like when we repeat those random Spanish phrases in class to improve our accents. Everyone is saying the words, and no one has the faintest idea what they mean. That’s what this is like. No me gusta bullshit.

  I put both hands on my knees and grip. “What. Are you. Talking. About?”

  “You’re not the only one with secrets, Wick.” Griff meets my eyes, and whatever he sees there makes him wince. “My cousin’s a cop. I do undercover work for the police every once in a while.”

  “Because they make you?”

  “Because I want to.”

  “Because they caught you before?”

  Griff smiles. “Really blown you away, haven’t I?”

  No. Yes. “So you’re a red hat.” It isn’t really a question, but he nods anyway. “And you know I’m not.”

  “Yeah.”

  I thought we were alike, but we’re not. Red hats are good hackers. They protect people, systems, websites. That makes Griff one of the good guys, and I’m still . . . just like my dad.

  I swallow hard. “So . . . all those times you kept asking me why I didn’t do something else for money, what was that about? Some sort of hint?”

  Griff studies the ground. “I wanted you to quit. . . . I also wanted to know the truth about why you were hacking.”

  “Even though you were lying to me.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You said they took you in for questioning, but you were really . . . informing on us.”

  “Not all of you. I didn’t tell them anything about you. They don’t know about your involvement.” Griff’s hand shoots forward, grabs mine. I start to pull away, but he holds me like he’s drowning and I’m a lifeline. “You didn’t want to be there. I had to save you.”

  Something cold coils in my gut. “I don’t want to be saved. I don’t need to be saved.”

  “Do
n’t you?”

  I don’t answer. Griff’s seen what I am with my dad. He’s seen how I have to act with Joe. He’s seen the worst parts of me, the parts that make me the most ashamed.

  I look away.

  “You weren’t supposed to be there when they got busted,” Griff says quietly.

  “Joe sent me a text. Emergency meeting.”

  Griff’s fingers tangle around mine. “I didn’t want you to see it.”

  Too late for that. A vision of my dad walking down the porch and looking up at me floods my brain. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Did you tell them about Tessa? About Lily?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Griff presses his hands over both of mine, rubbing his fingers across my cold skin. “I didn’t tell them because I knew it would be the fastest way to lose you.”

  Except that isn’t quite right. Griff wants to go to the cops, but he wants me to be the one to do it.

  “Not going to happen.” We’re walking to his bike, and as the evening’s last joggers pass us, I duck my face so they can’t see how I’ve been crying. I don’t need to, though. Griff puts himself between their stares and me.

  He grazes his hand against mine. “Are you sure you want to go home?”

  Home? Yeah, I guess he’s right. Bren and Todd’s house is home now. If they put away my dad, it could be home for a long time.

  Well, it could’ve been if I hadn’t screwed it up by telling Bren I had to think about her offer.

  “Yeah, the detectives will come by.” I straighten. “I want to be there.”

  “Wick.” Griff tucks me close, and for a moment, I let him. “They can help find Tessa’s rapist. They can help you.”

  “You mean like they helped my mom?” Griff sucks air like I punched him. “I gave Carson Tessa’s diary, you know. I slipped it into his car when he was at my house the other day. You know what he did?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. He showed up at Lauren’s house that night instead of investigating the diary. He doesn’t care about Tessa. It doesn’t matter to him. Not really.”

  Griff’s arm tightens around my shoulders. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

  “I’m always alone.” And then, because that sounds like I’m whining, I make myself grin. I am not broken. I do not need to be saved. “I’m alone, and that’s the way it needs to be.”

  Griff scowls. “Why do you have to be like this?”

  I refuse to look away. “Because this is who I am.”

  Griff turns for his bike. “Get on.”

  I start to object. We shouldn’t be seen together. It could be dangerous for Griff, for me.

  But my hands reach for him anyway.

  I climb behind him, feel all my bravado drain. By the time we get to my neighborhood, I’m cold to the bone. We turn the corner, and I see the cops parked at my house, waiting. Griff’s left hand squeezes mine.

  It’s supposed to be comforting, but I still feel like he’s driving me straight into an ambush.

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  I hated that heroine. You know, the girl from

  Twilight. She just . . . got consumed by Edward.

  She didn’t just fade into him. He devoured her. I

  said I’d never be like that, and yet . . . here I am.

  I feel like he’s eaten away every part of me.

  —Page 31 of Tessa Waye’s diary

  “Hello, Wicket.”

  Even though I can’t hear Detective Carson over the bike’s engine, I can read his lips as he says my name, and I recognize the mocking smile.

  I grip Griff’s waist a little harder.

  Detective Carson is leaning against the trunk of his car, and when Griff kills the bike’s engine, he pushes away, comes closer to us. “Hello, Griff,” Carson continues. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Griff pulls off his helmet and reaches around to take mine. “Didn’t expect to see you either, Detective. What’s up?”

  “Thought I would deliver the good news myself.”

  About my dad. And it is good news. It’s wonderful news. Maybe this time their charges will hold and they’ll put him away for real. Or maybe they’ll just piss him off, and I know what he does when he’s pissed.

  “What good news?”

  “We just arrested your father.”

  “Oh yeah?” My voice skids high as Lily’s, and I have to remind myself these are the people who have let him get away again and again, who let him walk around, destroying anything he wanted, including my mom. Including me. But I still want to do a happy dance. I still want to believe. “You get him on anything that will actually stick?”

  “We think so.”

  “Um, Wick, I have to go.” Griff tilts a little so I can see his face. His eyes have gone dark, and his mouth is thin. “You good?”

  He says it so flippantly I almost don’t catch the undercurrent, the anxiety threading beneath. The way his fingers knot tightly with mine reminds me.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” But I know he can feel how my hand is shaking.

  “I’ll see you around?” Again the squeeze; it’s not a question, but a promise.

  I shrug. “Okay.”

  Carson and I watch Griff turn the bike down the driveway. When he hits the road, Carson leans in so close he just has to whisper, “He said you weren’t involved, but I don’t believe him.”

  Griff. He really didn’t tell.

  He said he didn’t want to lose me.

  “Involved in what?” I manage. The response is slow—too slow—and Carson and I both know it.

  He smiles.

  “Detective Carson?”

  I jump. Todd is standing on the front porch, looking less than amused. Actually, he looks kind of hostile. His tie has been yanked loose from his neck and his shirt is wrinkled, one fist clenched like he’s ready to punch something.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” Todd asks, not sounding like he wants to help Carson at all.

  Briefly, the detective stiffens. Todd’s presence doesn’t suit him. He wanted more alone time with me.

  “Are you all right, Wicket?” Todd’s voice grows warm and concerned, like he’s worried I’m upset.

  I manage a weak smile.

  “I just came to give the girls some good news, Mr. Callaway. We’ve arrested their father. Between the parole violations and the new charges, he won’t be seeing daylight anytime soon.”

  Todd’s mouth creases into a smile. “That’s wonderful!”

  “Yes, sir, we certainly thought so.” Todd comes down the front steps, and Carson angles his body away from him, puts his hands in his jacket pockets aw-shucks-style. “But that’s only part of the reason why I came by. We believe Mr. Tate was tracking his daughters.”

  Todd’s head cocks and his eyes narrow.

  “Considering Mr. Tate’s . . . computer expertise, we suspect he was trying to contact them through their various online profiles. If they were helping him in any capacity . . .”

  What? I don’t know where he’s headed with this, but I don’t like it.

  Neither does Todd. “What are you trying to say, Detective?” he spits. “That they were helping him elude you? Are you trying to say my girls were involved in this?”

  “Unfortunately, it’s an angle we have to consider. Even though I’m sure we won’t find anything.” Carson backs up a step, but only one. His shoulders square up like he’s readying himself for a fight. “It would look better if you helped us build a case against Mr. Tate.”

  “And how would we do that?”

  “Let me have access to Wicket’s computer. Let our experts take a crack at it.”

  Hell no! My coding programs are still safe on my jump drive, but an in-depth search of my erased internet history could screw me.

  “We want to make sure they’re safe, Mr. Callaway
.”

  “If their father’s incarcerated, I’d say they’re the safest they could be.”

  Good, Todd! Fight! If he wants it, he can try for a warrant, but a judge won’t give him one. Without Griff putting me at the scene, they can’t link me to my dad’s plan.

  Carson nods. “Except he has numerous friends on the outside, Mr. Callaway, and we both know he wouldn’t hesitate to call on them.”

  Shit. I look at Todd and feel sick. Carson won’t need a warrant. Todd’s going to give him everything freely.

  “I just want them to be safe,” Carson continues in an oh-so-reasonable tone. “And I know you want that too.”

  He wants to make us safe by going through my personal computer? If Bren were here, she’d tell Carson no dice.

  But of course, I can’t say anything. Not without spilling other stuff.

  And Carson knows it.

  Todd hooks his arm around my shoulders. “Of course Wicket will give you her laptop.”

  “It’s a desktop,” I snap.

  “Oh. Well. Then the desktop.” Todd looks at Carson. “More than anything, I want her to be safe.”

  “Naturally,” Carson says, but there’s something about his tone that doesn’t make it sound natural at all.

  “But you’re wasting your time, Detective. Wicket would never be involved in anything like that.”

  Todd says it in a way that makes me sound better than a hacker, better than my father.

  If he only knew.

  “Wicket.” Todd nudges me. “Go get your computer.”

  I open my mouth. Shut it.

  Carson grins like he’s got me, like he’s won.

  Like I’m stupid enough to put anything on that computer that could incriminate me.

  Bastard. I grin right back. “Sure thing, Detective. Always happy to help.”

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