Find Me (6 page)

—Page 23 of Tessa Waye’s diary

“Wick?”

I am lying facedown in bed, drooling on myself. My bones are complete mush, but my head doesn’t hurt anymore.

“Wick!”

Shit!
I bolt upright. Bren is hovering in my doorway like there’s some invisible line keeping her from stepping into the room. One hand plays with her pearl necklace, twisting the beads between her fingers. “Lauren is here to see you. She brought you today’s math assignments.”

I squint.
What? Math?
I rub my tongue against the roof of my mouth, grinding away the grimy feeling.
I don’t have math with Lauren.

“Are you up to having guests?” Bren asks. “I could just, you know, keep the notes for you until you’re feeling better.”

I fork my fingers through my hair, trying to wrench my brain around. “No, no! Don’t do that!” I push away the covers with both feet and realize I went to bed with my shoes on. There are pale, dusty tracks across the blue bedsheets. “Sorry, I’m just feeling a little spacey.”

Bren drops the pearls and both hands round into fists. For a moment, I think she’s going to launch herself at me, feel my forehead, check my pulse.

Blast me with a Care Bear Stare.

“Why are you feeling spacey? Are you getting sick again?”

“No, I just took these pills—”

Bren sucks in a noisy breath.
“Drugs?”

Oh God. These are the side effects of watching too much Dr. Phil. Bren is convinced that after growing up with my dad, I’m one step away from becoming Lindsay Lohan. “Sort of. I took two of those pills Dr. Norcut prescribed for me. You know the ones she wanted me to take when I get headaches?”

A wide smile slings across Bren’s face. She looks . . . proud? “Did they help?”

“Uh, well, I went to sleep, so . . . I guess?”

“That’s good. That’s good.” Bren’s nodding hard enough to knock something loose. “You need to sleep. Dr. Norcut says your insomnia and migraines are linked to your stress levels.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ll just have Lauren come back another time. You need your rest.”

“Oh, no! Don’t do that.” I give Bren a big smile like my head isn’t swimming and
Find me
isn’t resurfacing in a chorus line. “I’m feeling lots better, Bren. I should take a look at the assignments. Don’t want to fall behind.”

Bren lips go all thin like she doesn’t agree. “Okay, then, if you’re sure.”

“Definitely.”

She turns toward the hallway and calls, “You can come up, dear.”

Someone stomps up the stairs, and Lauren appears in the doorway with a black eye that’s as bad as any my dad ever gave my mom. And yet she’s grinning like this is some sort of toothpaste ad.

“Thanks, Mrs. Callaway!”

“You’re welcome, hon.” Bren smiles at Lauren, but her gaze hitches on the girl’s face like she’s worrying. “Let me know if you two need anything.”

“Sure will!” Lauren waits until Bren’s footsteps hit the bottom stair and then bumps the door shut. “You know, when you hang your mouth open like that, you look just like Bren. It’s kind of freaky.”

“What happened to you?”

Her grin widens. “You should be asking what happened to the other chick.”

“You were
fighting
?”

“Holly Davis said you were acting like a freak, and I got a little pissed.” Lauren wanders to my computer desk and drops into the roller chair like a careless puppy. “What can I say? Apparently, my abandonment issues have manifested into anger management issues.”

I know I shouldn’t, but I laugh. I can’t help it. Most people meet their best friends at church or school. Lauren and I met in Dr. Norcut’s waiting room. She’s adopted, and her adopted mom worries that Lauren will grow up with Issues because her biological parents gave her up.

Lauren was four when it happened. She loves her new life with her mom, dad, and brother and says she doesn’t remember anything that came before. But that hasn’t stopped Mrs. Cross from sending Lauren to Dr. Norcut every Tuesday and Thursday.

“Is that what Norcut told you?” I lean against the headboard. “You have anger management issues?”

“Among other things.” Lauren notices the meds bottle I left next to my keyboard. She picks it up, reads the label, and shakes it at me. “Imitrex? I guess she’s been telling you stuff too.”

“She thought it would help.”

“Did it?”

I shrug. “I went to sleep.”

Lauren nods like this is normal. “Anyway, I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“I’m fine.” I summon a smile and find it’s kind of easy when all your insides are in pieces.

“Really? You’re fine? Because you look kind of rough.”

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t mean it like that I meant it like—” Lauren looks up at my ceiling like it will somehow shower her with answers. She scowls when it doesn’t. “I saw you in the hallway at school, and you looked really bad. . . . I thought maybe the whole Tessa thing made you think about your mom.”

Nurse Smith thought so too.
It’s understandable. Our town is pretty small, and for a time, my mom’s suicide, and later, my father’s escape from the police were all anyone could talk about. I’m sure it wasn’t a big leap of deduction for everyone to assume I was having flashbacks.

“I’m better. It was just . . . shocking. Are you okay? You and Tessa cheered together.”

Lauren’s eyes go empty like she’s examining her hidden corners. “I feel shaken . . . upset . . . not betrayed like Jenna does. She’s devastated over Tessa.”

Lauren gives me a sad smile. “You know you’ve been to a lot of therapy when you can turn your feelings into a list. I know I should feel guilty about Tessa. But even though we cheered together, we weren’t really
friends
—not like you and me.”

I look away, fiddle with the edge of my comforter. Lauren and I have only known each other since she moved here five months ago, but she’s definitely my best—my only—friend. Most of the town knows about my dad and, by extension, about me, but Lauren’s the only one who knows a little about my online activities.

Only a few weeks after she arrived, some lacrosse players thought it would be funny to send her dirty anonymous emails. Any other girl would’ve flipped, but Lauren got pissed. I took a risk and offered to find out who was sending them. And once we did, instead of going to her parents, Lauren confronted the guys herself and threatened to go public. I think that’s when we realized we were so similar. We deal with problems on our own.

That’s a long way of saying I should trust her enough to explain what really happened today, but I don’t. I tell myself it’s because I’m playing it smart, but really, I wonder if I’m just chicken.

“Anyway, that Griff kid from your computer class asked me about you.” Lauren gives me an expectant look, ready for an explanation.

I don’t have one, but my face gets hot. “Can’t you get kicked off the cheerleading squad for fighting?”

“Probably, but who’s going to tell? They’re all afraid of me.”

She says it like it’s a joke, even though we both know it’s true. Lauren looks like someone’s porcelain doll. She’s all smooth dark hair and moon-pale skin, but, sometimes, when she smiles, it’s nothing but teeth.

“Hey, let me check my email real quick.” I slide off the bed and nudge Lauren out of my chair. She ambles over to my closet and starts going through my clothes. For a long moment, there’s nothing, but when I hear her voice, my stomach drops three inches.

“What’s this?”

I turn around and see the diary in Lauren’s outstretched hand. The cover is folded over, and
Find me
stares up from the page.

“It’s nothing. Put it back.”

“It’s not
nothing
.” Lauren swallows hard, staring at me like I’m a stranger. “What are you doing with Tessa Waye’s diary?”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

.....................................................................

I thought, maybe, keeping a diary
would break my fall.

—Page 2 of Tessa Waye’s diary

I can tell Lauren about the diary, about everything. The best part of being best friends is that I can tell her anything, or at least I
should
be able to tell her anything.

Back when Tessa and I were best friends, she said I could always confide in her, but look how that turned out. I scoot my chair closer to the desk so there’s more room between Lauren and me. “I’m not doing anything with it.”

“But why do you even have it?”

She sounds so genuinely bewildered, I waver. I try to think how this might work.

Yeah, so I’ve acquired another stalker. Oh, I didn’t tell you about my first? Well, it’s a long story.

Or,
So someone thinks I can find Tessa. Why? Well, I have this little side business. I hack people for money. Oh, I didn’t tell you about that either?

Stop it. I can trust Lauren. I can. I’m not the girl my dad says I am.

I take a deep breath, but it feels like the air entering my lungs is wearing soccer cleats. “Someone left it for me.”

“Someone left it for you?” Lauren’s eyes drop to the diary, swing up to me. “That’s crazy! Who would do that?”

I stiffen, but . . . she’s not challenging me. Lauren’s outraged. I don’t know what to say. Because for all the times I’ve told myself she’s my best friend, for all the times I’ve told myself she likes me for me, until now, I never believed it. The realization is horrible and wonderful. I don’t deserve this.

So maybe that’s why everything vomits to the surface, splashing up chunks of information. It’s messy, sticky, nothing like my tidy lines of code. Suddenly, I’m spilling everything: about how I’m watching Detective Carson. How Detective Carson is watching me. How the diary just showed up with the note pasted inside.

“Then I got this email.” I double-click my in-box. Lauren and I both read the
WILL YOU DO IT?
in silence.

After a long time, maybe ten seconds, maybe ten years, Lauren straightens. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Lauren cocks her head. Strands of dark hair slant across her cheek, and she tucks them back with jerky fingers. “How could you
not
know? You have to find her, like the note says.”

“Because two words mean so much.”

“Wick, you can’t ignore this!”

“You’re damn straight I can’t. Whoever this is knows about my . . .” It’s hard to fit my mouth around the actual word. Not because I’m embarrassed. Well, not really. But aside from Lily, I don’t discuss this with anyone, and the words stagger on newborn legs. “No one is supposed to know about my hacking.”

“Whoever sent this . . .” Lauren studies the email on my computer screen. I watch her eyes trace the words twice more. “Whoever sent this thinks you can help.”

And why the hell is that? It’s not like Tessa and I were close. I mean, we were friends once, but my dad ruined it. It was one of the few times he actually remembered to pick me up. I was at Tessa’s house, and he showed up drunk. I remember being so embarrassed and then just grateful he wasn’t angry, or trying to hit me. It should have been a good day.

But the Wayes were horrified, especially Mr. Waye, who said he didn’t want his daughter hanging around such “trash.” Tessa never spoke to me again. She wouldn’t want my help. After that afternoon, she never wanted anything more to do with me.

It makes me the worst person for the job.

Or am I better suited because I knew what really went on behind the Wayes’ closed doors?

“Wick?” I jerk to attention. Lauren is still staring at me. “How did someone get the idea you could help? What kind of hacking are you doing?”

Her question smothers me. “I dig up personal information on people.”

“What kind of personal information?”

“The kind that wives and girlfriends want to know: finances, other women, jobs.”

“Why?”

I start to say something, but Lauren nods. She looks around my borrowed bedroom and she knows.

“I thought you quit, but you never stopped, did you? How long have you been doing this?”

“Three, maybe, four years?” Lauren studies me. I can’t tell what’s she’s thinking until her attention swings down to the diary. “What are you doing?” I demand.

“Looking through the diary.” She flips past the opening pages, lingers over the torn-out section. “Everyone wants to know why Tessa killed herself. This could have the answers.”

“You can’t do that!”

“You mean you
haven’t
?”

“Yes—no!” I sound ridiculous. “I did glance through it, but it was wrong. Privacy is important. Just because Tessa’s dead doesn’t mean we can forget that her diary was never intended for anyone else’s eyes. It’s wrong.”

“Fine.” Lauren snaps the book shut, thrusts it at me. “But someone wanted you to read it.” Why else would it get left?

“Who cares?”

“You do. I know you, Wick. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t do something.”

“Bullshit, I don’t care about Tessa Waye.”