Find Me (16 page)

I love the way he looks at me.
It’s like he’s starving, and I’m food.

—Page 10 of Tessa Waye’s diary

I’m awake long after Lauren leaves.
When I find you
is branding everything I see. I have to catch up, but how? The IP address he used is hidden. I followed the proxy server connection from New York to London to a tiny town in the Virgin Islands and gave up. He’s using a software program to bounce his connection, routing it through different servers around the world. So annoying when noobs do this. Makes them think they’re better than they are. Eventually, he will screw up, and I’ll have him.

But how long until that happens? I roll over, bury my head under the pillow. Michael Starling is my guy—only someone who’s guilty would use that much protection to keep from being found—but it brings me no closer to the man behind the name.

I toss the pillow aside and reach for a pen. I’ll start with what I know.

He likes young girls.

He has access.

Tessa mentioned he was tall once. She said he was hot probably twenty times.

Attractive.

I look down at my list. Great. Tessa’s rapist could be in a boy band. I’m not doing this right. I flip the paper and start again. Possible suspects.

A friend.

Technically, it works. It could explain
some
of what I know: access, liking young girls, attractive, but it doesn’t explain
everything
I know: He seems older, they were both hiding the relationship, he had a great deal to lose.

A teacher.

That could work too, and it seems more likely than some random guy from our school . . . but if it’s a teacher, then
which
teacher? If I assume Tessa’s relationship started about a year ago when her Facebook postings started to decrease, then that leaves the field pretty open.

A relative.

Same problem as the teacher angle. Could be a possibility, but how do I narrow down the relatives?

4.…..

Hmmm. I don’t have a Number 4.

Unless I do. What if I consider Tessa’s life outside of school? What if my Number 4 is someone her family knew?

If I think about that . . . What if it’s Todd?

The thought makes me go very, very still. I mean . . . it’s logical. He had the opportunity. He had the contact, the trust.

But it’s also Todd. The guy who is everybody’s hero. The one who almost cried the other night. He’s a
counselor
for Christ’s sake. And, while I know—I
know
—that doesn’t excuse him, I can’t stop thinking of all the ways it won’t work. He’s too kind. He’s too squeaky clean. He’s too . . . computer dumb.I tap my pen against the page. I need more clues. I grab the diary off my nightstand; flip it open, and go slowly through the first twenty pages.

There it is. Page twenty-two. Tessa wrote how her mom loves him, but he only wants Tessa. It’s definitely worth asking Tally about.

And as long as I’m trying this from a different angle, what if I looked at people Tessa was afraid of?

Her dad.

She was definitely afraid of him—even Todd knew. And of course, Mr. Waye would have access. Now that I think about it, Tessa never names her father in the diary either . . . even though she complains that her mom won’t—or can’t—stand up for them.

Maybe Tessa was afraid to name her abuser . . . because he’s her dad.

Or maybe I’m thinking horrible thoughts about Mr. Waye because he forbade Tessa from being friends with me.

I sit back. It’s a stretch to think her dad would be involved, but he definitely belongs on the People Tessa Was Afraid Of list.

I chew on the end of my pen and read through the list again. Whoever this guy is, he can cover his tracks. He knows how to hide his location. IP blocking software doesn’t make him a genius, but it does make him smarter than the average user. He would also have to have access to Tessa and be able to get her to trust him. If not a relative or a teacher . . .

What about a cop?

Unease squeezes my chest. What if she was afraid of Carson?

Think about the picture where he was staring at her and how Tally said he sat in front of their house. Cops always seem so trustworthy, but Carson’s already proven he’s bold enough for a break-in. He tried our locks. He laughed as if our attempts at protection amused him. Because he figured he would eventually catch Lily? That was the night Tessa died. What if he decided it was also the night he would attack my sister?

What if I’ve been watching too much
Criminal Minds
?

I crumple up my list; toss it in my book bag so I can throw it away at school and not worry about Bren accidentally discovering it in the trash. I’m getting paranoid.

But what if I should be?

I flip off the lights and rub my eyes until colors starburst behind the lids. It’s two in the morning now. I’m going to be a zombie at school tomorrow and I should just go to bed, but it’s so not going to happen. My body is exhausted, but my brain is on overdrive.

Headlights slide past my window, and even though they’ve become as familiar as my own code, my nerves still shiver.

Two in the morning. Carson’s right on time.

I pull my desk chair closer to the window, expecting to see Carson wheel into his usual spot, but the car doesn’t stop. It drives past our house and rounds the corner. The street is empty . . . or is it?

Something moves in the shadows, and as I watch, a man emerges from the neighbor’s tree line, steps across the deserted street, and looks up at our house.

It isn’t Carson.

It’s Jim Waye.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

My friends would say they know who I am, but
really they just know who I wish I could be.

—Page 41 of Tessa Waye’s diary

All hell breaks loose at school. The next morning, Jenna Maxwell is crying. Again. Counselors are circulating. Again. And all the students have to attend a mandatory cyberbullying workshop in the auditorium tomorrow.

“You might have had a point about the whole ‘inflammatory’ Facebook comment.”

“You think?” Lauren is waiting for me after fourth period, arms tight across her chest. “If you wanted to draw attention to all this, you got it, Wick.”

“That wasn’t the point.”

“I know.” Briefly, Lauren closes her eyes, and when they reopen, they’re hooded. “I know that wasn’t what you were doing, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. If someone traces it to you, you’re screwed. I’m worried you’re walking around with a target on your back.”

That makes two of us. Right now, I feel like my life has gone totally surreal. Everywhere you turn, people are talking about Tessa, her Facebook page, and the posts. Even though they don’t know who’s behind it, it still scares me.

In some ways, I’m used to being gossiped about. Everyone knows how my dad beat my mom and how my mom jumped because she couldn’t take it, but this is the closest anyone has ever gotten to me—the
real
me—and I don’t like it.

“You look exhausted,” Lauren says.

“Yeah. I was up most of the night. We had another visitor, and even after he left, I still couldn’t sleep.”

“That cop again?”

“Nope. Jim Waye.”

Lauren blinks. “What?
Why?
”

“Hell if I know.” I open my English notebook and check to make sure my homework is tucked inside. “He just stood across the street and stared up at our house.”

“Okay, that’s creepy.”

“No doubt. The thing is . . . I don’t understand why he would do it. I mean, he hates Todd, since Todd sicced the police on him. He’s not a big fan of mine—”

“Doesn’t matter. No one
normal
hangs around outside someone’s house in the middle of the night. The guy is seriously strange. You know he’s still showing up to cheerleading practice?”

I stare at Lauren.

“Yeah. Exactly. I mean, he used to watch our practices almost every day after school, and that was weird enough, but now that Tessa’s, you know,
gone
, he’s still showing up.” Lauren fidgets with the strap of her book bag, attention trained on the counselors circulating at the other end of the hallway.

“Look, I gotta go,” she says. “If I’m late for history one more time, Mrs. Gavin’s going to give me detention, and my mom will flip. Try to be good, okay?”

“Gee, Bren, you look awfully young today.”

Lauren stalks down the hallway, middle finger raised, and a group of freshman girls scatter in four different directions to get away from her.

Norcut might have a point about the anger management issues.
I turn to my locker, ready to get going, but I don’t move fast enough, and Jenna Maxwell, her boyfriend, and her flying monkeys cruise past, heading for their own lockers.

Usually, Jenna’s mere presence makes me remember I need to do something, anything really, that’s far away from her. In fact, it’s so instinctual my feet are already moving, but I can’t seem to stop . . . staring.

This was Tessa’s best friend—and yeah, that’s obvious—but knowing what I know now, it feels different. This is the girl who should’ve known what happened, who should be tracking down her best friend’s attacker, and instead, Tessa’s stuck with me.

I pretend to trade books again and watch the girls from the corner of my eye. I tell myself it’s reconnaissance. After all, this was Tessa’s world, and that’s something I’m trying to piece back together to discover where it all went wrong.

Except it kind of just shows me where
I’ve
gone wrong. It’s funny the way they all touch one another, the natural way they hug. Makes them seem like a different species entirely—or maybe it’s just that I am. Jenna’s friends have none of my hesitancy or awkwardness. They’re stroking her arms and trying to soothe her tears in a way that makes me pause. I might be even a little . . . envious? Tessa felt so alone, but how could you ever be alone in the middle of all these friends? How could you feel alone when you’re so damn perfect? When your friends look after you so well?

“I just don’t understand why she did it.” Jenna smacks her locker shut with a flattened palm, and her friends draw away in surprise. Anger. It’s even more familiar to me thanJenna’s sneer.

She doesn’t understand, and she’s furious. I get that. Sometimes I hate my mom for doing it too. Sometimes I understand. Jenna will feel the same way about Tessa, and I want to tell her it will get better. I want to—

“My mom says she’ll go to hell for it,” Jenna announces. “Says Tessa’s going to burn for eternity.”

It hurts more than any blow. I don’t want to believe in a God who would turn his back on someone who needed him so much. Suicides, more than anyone, deserve God’s love. They’re the lost ones, the forgotten ones, the ones he’s supposed to notice.

And did he? Did
anyone
?

Sudden nausea threatens to curl my knees into the floor. Jenna prattles on and on and I shouldn’t be listening to
any
of it, but I can’t shut down her words. Is this part of the reason Tessa didn’t tell anyone? Part of the reason she jumped?

“She deserves hell,” Jenna continues, brushing pale blond hair behind her ears. “Committing suicide makes you a coward.”

“You’re a bitch, Jenna.”

She rounds on me in one smooth pivot. “What did you say?” she demands.

For a second, I really don’t know. The words just snaked out of me, and now I want to call them back, because in four little words I just reminded them I still exist, and even worse, I revealed how much I still hurt.

And Jenna sees it too.

Her mouth tilts into a sideways smile. “What’s the matter, Wicket? Hit a little close to home?”

“You shouldn’t talk about Tessa like that.”

“Why’s that?” Jenna gets a little closer, and without thinking, I retreat a step, but my shoulders hit the lockers and she’s closer than ever now, so close I can smell her citrus gum and see her eyes aren’t even bloodshot. All of Jenna’s crying has been
fake
. It’s been for attention.

It makes my hands curve into fists. I ought to punch her—for Tessa’s sake, for my mom’s, but suddenly I feel like crying. How can Jenna live with herself? She’s making her best friend’s death into an accessory, wearing the grief like it’s a Kate Spade purse.

“You think Tessa cares?” Jenna sneers.

“No, but I do.” I swallow and take a small step forward. Maybe it surprises her, maybe no one’s ever been so stupid, but it forces her back. “She was your friend.”

Jenna makes a strangled little noise like a gasp caught halfway up her throat. Her palm shoots out, catching me in the shoulder, slamming me into the lockers. It doesn’t hurt. Not really. But people are staring now. I glance around for help, but even Jenna’s friends won’t meet my eyes.

“You’re nothing more than trash, Wicket.”

For some reason, it stings worse coming from Jenna than it ever did coming from Carson. Jenna pulls away, smiles at her boyfriend. “And do you know what do you do with trash?”