Basic

by E. J. Mara

  Maybe I looked ridiculous, but he looked straight up haggard. It was like he hadn’t slept at all.

  My panic turned to concern.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  Without a word, Jonathan handed me his phone.

  I looked at him -the grim set of his mouth, the coldness in his eyes- and a chill shimmied down my spine.

  Hesitant, I took his phone and looked down at it.

  My own face stared back at me.

  Younger, fuller, my hair shorter, but still me.

  I was smiling with a group of friends from New Orleans Midtown High. Every one of the girls and boys in the picture were tagged, including me. And my name had been listed as Tessa.

  I stared at the picture, my heart pounding.

  “I found that,” Jonathan said, his voice low. “In one of my cousin’s Facebook photos. My cousin lives in New Orleans. So, I texted him and asked him about the girl named Tessa and he said she went to his school for two months last year, that her parents were divorced and other than that he didn’t know much about her.”

  I slid the phone back across the table, my eyes downcast. I couldn’t look at Jonathan. I didn’t want to.

  “Why did you lie to me?” he asked, his voice surprisingly soft. “Why did you tell me, and everyone else, that your name is Libby and that your Dad died?”

  I gulped.

  This had never happened before. And I mean never.

  As many times as we’d moved and as many times as we’d lied, no one had ever made either of us. But now, now that I’d met a boy I actually liked – he’d been the one to find out the truth.

  Thanks, life. Thanks for this wonderful moment.

  I made myself look Jonathan in the eye and I told him the truth.

  “I’m sorry for lying,” I said. “But I had to. I’m not Libby, or Tessa. My real name is Amanda Grace Hollister. And no one else can know that. Okay?”

  Jonathan blinked back at me, a twinge of sadness in his expression. “Why not?”

  “I can’t tell you,” I whispered. I cleared my throat and tried to speak up, “Some things happened that I can’t talk about and I had to change my name. Please don’t tell Kimberly or anyone else. Please, Jonathan.”

  His expression no longer cold, he nodded. “Okay, I won’t. But, like, are you, are you safe? Is there something I can do to help?”

  “No, it’s – I mean, it’s okay, we’ll be fine,” I stammered. “As long as my mom and I stay below the radar, we’ll be fine.” I looked down at the table and forced myself to shut up. A part of me wanted to tell him everything, but an even bigger part of me knew just how terribly that would turn out.

  If Jonathan knew the truth about me and my mom, about how she supported us- he’d not only hate me, but seeing as he was Captain America’s non-super twin, he’d probably feel obligated to turn us into the police.

  “You said your dad died,” Jonathan said. “Why’d you lie about that?”

  Keeping my eyes on the wooden table, I spoke slowly, “I’d really rather not talk about that.”

  “Libby,” he sighed and said. “I mean Amanda-”

  “Libby’s fine.”

  Silence sifted between us.

  “Okay, Libby,” Jonathan finally said, his voice low. “You can tell me if you’re in some sort of trouble, you know. I might be able to help.”

  My mouth dry, I wished the godforsaken waitress would make her way over to our booth and, at the very least, offer us some water.

  I shook my head. “Thank you, but I’m fine, my mom’s fine. We’re good.”

  “So, you just lie to people for no reason?”

  “Keeping your business to yourself isn’t lying,” I said.

  “Well, what would you call telling people your name is Libby when it’s actually Amanda?” Jonathan asked, his voice low. “Or telling people your dad is dead, when he’s alive? I’m pretty sure that’s called lying. I mean, what the hell? I thought… I thought we were friends.”

  I clasped my hands tightly in my lap, my heart pounding as my anxiety spiked.

  “We are friends,” I shook my head. “But I can’t talk about this.”

  “Friends don’t lie to each other,” he said, speaking slowly.

  “But-”

  “If you talk to me, maybe I could help.”

  I snorted. “I don’t think so.”

  Jonathan’s face darkened. “So, this is funny to you?”

  I gulped. “No, I just-”

  “Is this what you do? You go around lying to people?” he said, cutting me off. “Messing with their heads and making them fall… making them think you’re friends so you can laugh at them?”

  “No! I-”

  “Then, just tell me what’s going on.”

  “If you’d let me talk, then maybe I could actually say something,” I snapped, startling myself.

  I froze, scarcely able to believe I’d snapped at Jonathan. It felt all kinds of wrong.

  He glared at me, coldness returning to his eyes as he said, “If all you’re going to do is lie, then don’t bother. I hate liars.”

  I just looked at him in shock, unable to believe this was happening.

  I trusted Jonathan. I thought he was different, one of the few people in this gross world who was actually kind. He was my unicorn, my friend.

  But now, he was basically telling me he didn’t respect my privacy.

  All he could see was his own hurt, he wasn’t even trying to understand that I was just protecting myself.

  That’s when Mom’s warning from last night came back to me

  ‘…They’re completely self-centered control freaks. They live to dominate. And nothing satiates them. They always want more. They’re monsters…’

  She was right.

  And Jonathan was starting to show his true colors.

  Even though I was falling apart inside, I straightened my posture, lifted my chin and looked him in the eye, “Then we have nothing left to discuss. And don’t ever call me Amanda.”

  One of his eyebrows went up and a look of sadness crossed his features before he broke eye contact and scowled into the distance. “Fine,” he said, crossing his arms and refusing to look at me. “I’m sure there are plenty of other appropriate things to call you.”

  I opened my mouth to snap back at him and found myself interrupted by a perky Texas drawl.

  “Hey y’all!” A blonde waitress with a bright smile said as she approached our table. She held a pitcher of water in one hand. “Can I get y’all some water and something else to drink or are y’all ready to order?”

  “We’re waiting for some friends,” I said. “We’ll order when they get here. But for now I could use some water and a glass of strawberry lemonade.”

  “Perfect,” she said with a smile as she filled my empty water glass. She glanced at Jonathan, “And you, sir? Anything to drink?”

  “Same,” he muttered, his gaze down on the table.

  “Okay,” the waitress looked from me to Jonathan, her curiosity obviously piqued. She poured water into his glass and then said, “I’ll be right back with that strawberry lemonade.”

  “Thank you,” I said, since Jonathan probably wasn’t going to utter another word for the rest of the morning.

  Fifteen uncomfortably silent minutes later, Kimberly finally arrived and slid into the booth next to me. By that time I was tenser than I’d ever been in my life and trying so hard not to cry that I was mentally exhausted.

  “Hey!” Kimberly said, looking from me to Jonathan. “I was waiting on one of y’all to text me last night and fill me in on what happened. Please tell me you got to see the footage, at least.”

  Too drained to speak, I just nodded.

  Jonathan’s eyes were downcast and his voice tight as he said, “Yeah, we saw it. And we saw the guy who did it. His name’s Timothy Dawes and he’s a former sheriff’s deputy.”

  Kimberly exhaled and put a hand to her temple, as if to steady herself. “Shut up, no way!
Are you kidding me? He’s a cop?”

  “Yeah,” Jonathan said listlessly. He looked as drained as I felt. “And we got his address too.”

  “Perfect,” Kimberly said, taking a deep breath. “Great job, you guys. We’re like, getting this done. Wow…”

  She shook her head in disbelief, but her eyes were wide and glimmering with excitement. It was the same look she’d had the night we’d set fire to her dad’s dealership.

  I braced myself for whatever crazy idea she was going to hit us with next. All I could do was hope it didn’t involve matches and Timothy Dawes’ house.

  Kimberly opened her mouth to speak, but Jonathan beat her to it.

  “Since we have an address and a name, that’ll make it super easy for a private investigator,” he said.

  Kimberly’s eyebrows went up. “Private investigator?” She quickly asked, looking from Jonathan to me. “Who said anything about hiring a P.I.?”

  “I think it’s a good idea,” Jonathan said in a firm, yet slightly detached voice. “It’s better than going to the cops, who are probably covering for this guy since he was one of their own. And it’s better than us continuing to stick our nose somewhere it doesn’t belong.”

  “Farrah belonged to our community,” Kimberly retorted. “And now she’s missing. So, from where I’m sitting, this entire situation is our business. I want to know what happened to my neighbor.”

  “She’s not your neighbor,” Jonathan snapped, in a very un-Jonathan like way.

  Kimberly looked at him in surprise, before leaning forward and hissing, “Just because she’s black and lives on the other side of town doesn’t mean she isn’t my neighbor. She’s a Sunnyville resident and so am I, therefore she is my neighbor.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Jonathan spat back, his gaze flickering to me for the briefest of seconds. My heart skipped a beat. But he looked away so quickly it was almost as if it hadn’t happened. “I’m not some racist hick. I just meant she doesn’t live next door to you, so she’s not your literal neighbor.”

  “I’m not sitting here, in this booth at 7 in the morning to argue about the definition of ‘neighbor,’” Kimberly said, waving a dismissive hand in his direction. “I’m here so we can figure out the best way to save Farrah Duncan. And I don’t think that hiring some former ex-cop who probably drinks too much and barely supports himself as a PI is a great way to track her down.”

  Jonathan’s face reddened and he blinked quickly.

  I took this reaction to mean Kimberly was on to something.

  I’d never met a private eye in real life, but the ones on television were usually former cops and they usually did have drinking problems. Maybe there was something to the stereotype. Just like there may have been something to the stereotype about men being jealous, pig-headed, control-freaks…

  “So, it’s a better idea for a bunch of high school students to track her down?” Jonathan asked, one of his eyebrows arched. “That’s totally a hundred percent foolproof? And totally safe, right?”

  Kimberly glowered at him. “Dealing with a kidnapper and possible murderer is never safe. But yes, it’s safer than trusting a former cop.”

  “How do you know-” Jonathan started.

  “Yes, I know for a fact that every one of the five P.I.’s in a fifty mile radius is a former officer of the law,” Kimberly said, interrupting him. “My dad’s business deals with them all the time. Don’t ask why.”

  “We won’t,” I nodded, totally understanding her need for privacy. That was something I could respect.

  Jonathan shook his head. “I’m not on board with this, Kimberly. I don’t think you or …” he nodded towards me without looking at me, “or her should risk your lives for this. There are people who get paid to do that.”

  “And those people are not doing their jobs because they’re prejudice,” Kimberly snapped. She shook her head and laughed dryly before turning to me and saying, “Libby, you haven’t said anything. What do you think?”

  Kimberly looked at me expectantly and Jonathan looked down, scowling at his menu.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  Apparently, arguing with Jonathan was enough to render me braindead.

  Fortunately, I was saved by Texas’s perkiest waitress.

  “Hey y’all!” she loudly exclaimed, scaring the daylights out of all three of us. We jumped in unison and she laughed. “I don’t know why I have that effect on people. I’m just lil ol’ me, not the least bit scary!”

  “Don’t mind us,” Kimberly said with a bright smile. “You’re not scary. We’re just still half-asleep.”

  “Well, what can I get you three to wake you on up?” she asked with a friendly smile.

  Everyone ordered except for me, after my terrible conversation with Jonathan I couldn’t even think about eating.

  I could, however, think about whose side I was going to take on the issue of how to handle the Farrah Duncan situation.

  Honestly, I liked Jonathan’s approach better. We could always hire a P.I. from a few counties over- one who had no ties to Sunnyville area deputies. That would be safer for us.

  But, I hated the way he’d just written me off.

  I’d asked him for privacy and he hadn’t respected my wishes. It was the reaction of a person who didn’t respect me.

  As soon as the waitress left our table, Kimberly turned to me, “So, P.I. or no P.I.? Thoughts?”

  I glanced at Jonathan and he quickly looked away.

  My heart fell into my stomach for the hundredth time that morning and I quietly said, “I’m with you, Kimberly. We can’t trust the cops, meaning we can’t trust a private investigator.”

  Kimberly broke into a triumphant grin. She lifted her right hand for a fist bump and I gently knocked one of my fists against hers.

  She turned to Jonathan and said, “If you’re not comfortable with this, you can back out. I wouldn’t want to pressure you into doing something you don’t think is safe.”

  “I’ll stick around and help,” Jonathan said quietly, his eyes downcast and his face the picture of defeat.

  I hated that look on his face, I wanted to say something to make him feel better- but I couldn’t. He’d been wrong to demand too much from me. It was his own fault he felt bad.

  Even as I thought this, my conscience tugged at me, whispering that this wasn’t exactly true. That I’d been the one who lied. But I tried to ignore my conscience, the way I knew Mom would want me to.

  “Great,” Kimberly said with a nod. “Because we could use you. And I already have tons of ideas about how we can find out if Farrah’s being held in his house or-”

  The diner’s door opened and loud footsteps stomped inside. But they were no match for the female voice that shouted, “There he is!”

  All three of us, along with everyone in the restaurant, turned around to see Jen and Lindsey approaching our table.

  Jen’s face was ghost white, her lips a thin straight line, and her gaze angry enough to shoot lasers. Lindsey walked a few paces behind Jen, wearing a contrastingly apologetic expression.

  The second he laid eyes on his girlfriend, Jonathan bolted, jumping to his feet like he’d been shocked by the seat of his chair. “Jen? What are you doing here?”

  Jen glared at him as she marched to our table and said, “No, that’s my question for you! What are you doing here, Jonathan?”

  Jonathan reddened, his eyes wide with confusion. “Uh, what? I’m just… what? Why?”

  Jen shook her head and turned to me, glaring at me until I felt about as big as a blade of grass.

  “What?” I squeaked.

  Jen pointed to me, but addressed Jonathan, “Why are you always with her? Last night, you were at her house. I saw your dad’s Red’s Security truck there and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t at her house, so it had to be you! And then this morning, Lindsey gives me a ride to school and I see your truck here, so I walk in to surprise you, and what do I find? You’re with her ag
ain! Are you cheating on me?”

  “No!” Jonathan and I both said in unison.

  “Jen, I would never cheat on you,” Jonathan said, his voice soft and pleading. “You have to know that.”

  That right there, made me feel a million times worse.

  I looked down at the table, wishing I could melt away and vanish into the seat cushion under my bum.

  “Well, you’re with her twenty-four seven and you’re hardly ever with me,” Jen said. “What am I supposed to think?”

  Kimberly raised her hand, like we were in a classroom or something. When no one called on her, she answered anyway, “I totally understand how you feel, Jen. But your dude’s not cheating on you. I mean, obviously this isn’t a secret date, because I’m here. And threesome’s are not my style. So, you know. This isn’t some cheating … situation you’ve, like, stumbled on.”

  Jen folded her arms and looked from me to Jonathan, suspicion in her eyes. “Then what did I stumble on?”

  I turned to Kimberly and she exchanged glances with me and then with Jonathan.

  Finally, she sighed and said, “Jen, you and Lindsey might want to sit down for this.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  By the time 3:15 rolled around, I was exhausted. Not physically, but emotionally and mentally.

  The five of us had ended up staying at Marvin’s Diner until a few minutes after noon. After that, Kimberly and I drove to a nearby park where we sat on a bench and talked about the Farrah Duncan situation on our own. I was surprised she didn’t ask me what was going on between me and Jonathan. She was pretty observant and it was obvious Jonathan was unable to even look at me anymore. I was sure she’d noticed.

  Anyhow, before we knew it- it was 3:00 and Kimberly drove me home.

  After she dropped me off, I strolled up our driveway, where a douche truck, a bright blue Ford F-150 was parked.

  I frowned at it, hoping it didn’t belong to Van.

  He was much too cool to drive a piece of ‘look-at-me-and-my-desperate-need-to-overcompensate’ trash like that.