Find Me (8 page)

He flashes me that smile again, the same as this morning’s. “After all, if you can’t trust the cops, Trash, who can you trust?”

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HarperCollins Publishers

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My mom loves him, but he only wants me.

—Page 22 of Tessa Waye’s diary

Yeah, who can you trust?
Definitely not Carson. Maybe not even me. I know better than to fall for Todd and Bren, and yet here I am. In Abercrombie. In some Peachtree City mansion.

In denial.

Or at least, I was. The soap bubble’s burst now. This is who I am: a foster kid living a borrowed life. How could I have been so stupid?

There’s a small noise to my left, and when I look up, I see Lily trailing down the hallway. She’s been eavesdropping. “That went well.”

“What can I say? I’m freaking sweetness and light.” I sound like it’s no big deal, and briefly, I’m proud. Then I remember Carson’s explanation for my smart mouth:
Trash always has an answer
.

I guess he’s right. I might have a new address, but I’ll always be that same loser girl.

Lily stands with me as I watch Carson’s sedan pull away. Part of me thinks this is becoming an annoying habit. Another part of me is panicking. I feel like my insides are about to turn outside, like even my bones want to escape.

Escape where? It’s almost hilarious. I’ve nowhere to go.

I rub my temples with both palms and realize I haven’t heard Todd’s voice in several minutes. I look past Lily, down the hallway, but it’s still deserted. “Is Todd still on the phone?”

She nods, eyes still pinned to the window and the now empty street.

I sag.
Good.
When Todd returns, there will be questions, and at the moment, I’m too tired to answer.

Lily retreats a single, deliberate step and points her finger at my chest. “What have you done to make him hate us so much?”

I hesitate. Carson’s interrogation was hard, but Lily’s will be far worse. “He doesn’t hate us.”

“Is he one of those people you hacked? Maybe his wife, his girlfriend. Maybe someone used you and told him.”

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know everyone I hack, Lil. He’s just sniffing around for Dad.”

“He said he was here for Tessa.”

Her name makes me pause. It sounds foul in Lily’s mouth, or maybe it’s just the way I hear it. I can’t really gauge my sister’s reaction. Is she upset because of Tessa? Because it reminds her of our mom? Or is she just scared?

“Yeah, well, he said he was, but he’s really just looking for Dad. He’s just trying to look for weaknesses. Why do you think he said that stuff about how I’d need his numbers? He thinks Dad will contact us and I’ll get scared.”

I can’t tell if I sound convincing enough. My tone wiggles between aggrieved and outraged. It would probably fool a teacher, would definitely fool Bren.

But this is Lily. My sister. The only person who knows me. Really knows me. What works on everyone else doesn’t work on her, so I launch into another conversational assault tactic: misdirection.

“I’m not the criminal in the family,” I say.

Except I am.

I am more my father’s daughter than I like to admit. I just have different dirty little secrets. I cross my arms again, trying to look properly pissed off, but it’s really to help me hold down the shaking. Now that Carson’s gone, my skin is trying to shiver loose from my bones.

“You have to stop, Wick.”

And then what? Trust that Bren and Todd will take care of us? Trust that we’re going to be okay? I can’t do it. I don’t think I have it in me, and for a second, I want to cry. When did I stop believing in happy endings? Maybe I never did.

“We need the money.”

“We have Bren and Todd right now.”

“Exactly. We have them
right now
. What happens after that?” Irritated, I shove one hand through my hair, resisting the urge to pull it out.

I’m proud of my sister. I really am. She’s lovely, and I often wish I were more like her: sweeter, softer, lighter, brighter. Even though I know I’m not and probably never will be. Maybe if I were more like Lily, Bren would like me more. Maybe I’d be happier. Maybe we’d get to stay.

But I’m not like her, and sooner or later, everyone realizes what we are: trash. And then it’s finished. I shouldn’t have to explain this stuff again. Lily might be younger, but she’s seen the same crap I have. She should know.

No, she does know,
I decide, looking at the way Lily’s mouth is twisted like she’s chewing on carpet tacks.
No, she definitely knows. She’s just in freaking denial.

Anger fills me faster than floodwater. “Don’t you remember where we came from?”

“Yes! And I don’t want to go back! I want to be normal!”

“What the hell is that?”

“Don’t swear.” She sounds so small I feel like I’m picking on her. “Bren will make you put a quarter in the swear jar.”

“All the more reason to keep working then.”

She pushes out a short, dry laugh. “You’re going to ruin everything.”

The words hit with a slap. Actually, I wish she had slapped me. It would have hurt less. But I’m not the only one like our dad. Lily also knows how to wound.

“Everything’s already ruined, Lily.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

I went after him. It’s true. I started it.
I’m just as bad as he is. Worse.

—Page 31 of Tessa Waye’s diary

It’s almost eleven o’clock, and I’m too wired to sleep. Todd’s working late. Lily and Bren have gone to bed. And my stalker still hasn’t taken my bait.

How is that possible? I push away from my computer and rub my aching neck. It still doesn’t help. The muscles feel like knotted ropes. Am I dealing with someone who knows about Trojan horses? Maybe the email account hasn’t been checked? Maybe—

Something scrapes outside my window, and I stiffen. In the dark, the tree branches twitch like spider legs.

It’s nothing. Has to be.

Another scrape.

What if it’s whoever left the diary?

In my head, I tie up the words, but they still escape. There’s no way anyone would dare. I mean, Bren is right down the hallway. Todd could come home any minute. It’s too risky.

So why have my palms gone damp?

I roll my chair a little farther back and stare at the open window. The lamplight catches just the edges of the trees, but nothing else. I opened the window earlier because it felt so stuffy after Carson left. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

Something below the window rustles. It’s even closer than before.

It’s moving
up
.

I drop both feet to the floor, digging in with my toes like a runner ready to sprint. It’s maybe three strides to the window. Two if I really stretch. So I’ll run over and slam the window down. Easy, right?

Unless I get grabbed.

I make the distance in two strides and seize the window’s edge. Outside, the tree shakes hard, and one hand slaps down against the sill. A scream climbs up my throat . . . and lodges.

It’s Griff.

“Sorry.” His face bobs into the light, the surrounding darkness making his smile look even whiter. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

He’s dangling half in, half out of the tree next to my window. His legs are tangled in a branch, and both forearms are braced on the windowsill. He looks seconds away from laughing.

Like this is some joke.

Like I’m some normal girl who doesn’t have to worry about being stalked.

It kind of makes me want to punch him.

“If you weren’t trying to scare me, then why the hell are you climbing a tree outside my window?”

Griff’s smile freezes. “I wanted to see you.”

My heart rate spikes. “What the frick for?”

“You never answered me.”

Never answered him?
It takes me a full five seconds before I realize what Griff’s talking about. The text. I never responded. I bite down on my lower lip, trying to think of something to say. I ought to ask him why he thought I
would
answer. I ought to tell him to piss off.

But I don’t. Or maybe I can’t. I mean, the guy is dangling from my bedroom window. He scaled a tree for me. And all for what? So he could make sure I’m okay? I don’t get it. I chew my lower lip a little harder. “Why do you care? It’s not like we talk that much.”

“Yeah, I know. I think we should fix that.” Griff leans a little farther in and looks around. Heat surges across my face when I realize I have dirty laundry to his left and discarded paperbacks to his right. “So can I come in?”

“Uh.”
No! My room is a mess and Bren would have a heart attack and you shouldn’t even be here.
“Okay.”

Griff’s grin slings wide. “Great!”

He heaves himself up a little and pauses, gaze speared to mine. Suddenly, we’re close again, and the air between us curls.

His left eyebrow rises. I wish I could do that. “Um, a little space?”

“Oh!” I shuffle backward and my lab partner slides, hands first, onto my floor. He’s still wearing the faded polo and khakis from earlier. I’m not usually a fan of anything preppy, but this . . . really works.

Griff looks up at me, his grin crooked, amused. “Didn’t think you’d actually agree.”

Yeah, well, that makes two of us.
I scoot to the side and drop into my desk chair, sitting on my shaking hands. “What do you want?”

Griff shrugs, still looking around the room like he’s studying some museum exhibit. I mentally will him to look at me.

What does he find so freaking interesting anyway?
I tell myself I don’t care what he sees, but inside I’m praying I haven’t left any underwear lying around.

“I always wanted to see where you lived now.”

“Why?” He’s staring at my bed now and the heat in my cheeks, already scalding, turns nuclear. “Were you expecting a coffin or something?”

“Of course not. You sleep hanging upside down, right?”

I give Griff a stony look, but it doesn’t hold. He’s funny. I’ve always had a soft spot for funny. A smile starts to worm across my lips, and Griff catches it. The earlier crooked, evil grin stretches even wider, and I have to remind myself not to gawk. But this is Griff. In my bedroom.

Wanting to
talk
.“Why are you being so . . . so . . .” I refuse to say the word
flirty
.

Griff smiles. “Because I wanted you the moment I first saw you, but mostly because Matthew Bradford threw your lunch into the school fountain last week, so you let the air out of his car tires.”

“
Tire.
I only did one.”

“Yeah, I know. I did the other.”

“How did you . . .”

“Know you were there?” Griff stands up, and for the first time, I notice his polo isn’t fashionably faded so much as frayed and worn. He doesn’t look thin. He lookshungry. “I was one car over, hiding out instead of going to lunch. You’re the first girl I’ve ever met who’s smart and never plays stupid. You’re small, but you don’t back down.”

Griff switches his attention to my bookshelf, tracing his fingers over ten different Stephen King novels and pausing when he hits Jodi Picoult’s entire oeuvre. If he asks, I’m going to swear they’re Bren’s.

“So is that a good enough answer?” he asks.

I start to,speak but my computer chirps, and my heart leapfrogs into my throat. Someone just clicked on my virus link. Someone took my bait. I spin my chair around and hear Griff move a little closer.

“What is it?” Griff’s on the other side of my desk with Bren’s battered copy of
Eat, Pray, Love
in one hand. He eyes my computer with interest. “Something going on?”

“No, nothing.”

Except it isn’t. It’s everything. I press into my chair until the plastic pinches the knobs of my spine.