Nowhere to Turn

T
O MY FAMILY

CHAPTER
ONE

M

y father gave me an odd look as he dropped the receiver of the kitchen phone into its cradle. “Aren't you going to be late?” he said, reaching for the coffeepot to refill his mug.

“I've got plenty of time,” I said. “I'm meeting Morgan—”

“—downstairs at La Folie. I know.” La Folie is the gourmet restaurant that occupies the ground floor of the building my dad owns. He lives on the third floor and rents out apartments on the second floor. “Why doesn't she just come up here? Is it something I said?”

“No, it's something Fred said.” Fred Smith is the owner of La Folie. “He promised her a double latte on the house anytime.” There's nothing Morgan loves more than double lattes. Except boys—oh yes, and shopping.

“Ah,” my father said. He gave me an odd look as he sipped his coffee.

“Something wrong, Dad?”

“No. Why?”

“You're looking at me funny.”

“Am I?”

“If it's about Mom—”

I am strictly forbidden from discussing my mother's personal life with my father. My parents had been separated for three years, divorced for one, and my mom had just agreed to marry financial analyst and all-round nice guy Ted Gold. In fact, she and Ted had just left on a two-week vacation to celebrate their engagement. I was staying with my dad while she was gone.

“It isn't about your mother. I was just thinking how quickly you've grown up, Robbie.”

He sounded convincingly wistful. I should have known better.

Morgan Turner, one of my two best friends in the whole world, was sitting serenely at a booth near the window while La Folie's waitstaff swirled around her. The restaurant was doing a brisk Saturday morning brunch business.

“What can I get you, Robyn?” asked Carmine, one of the servers, as I slid in opposite Morgan.

“Nothing, thanks. We're not staying.”

“Yes, we are,” Morgan said. “At least until I finish this.” She raised the giant latte in front of her, took a tiny sip, and settled back against the leather booth. “You know what I wish? I wish I didn't have to spend one more minute in some musty old library poring over stupid books I'm not even interested in, just to fulfill the requirements of some curriculum writer who probably hasn't seen the inside of a high school since before we were born.”

Morgan and I had been paired up for a school project. I could see I was in for a barrel of fun.

She took another sip. “You know what else I wish?”

“No.” And I wasn't sure I wanted to.

“I wish someone would shoo that girl away. She looks like a junior bag lady. I think her nose is making a grease mark on the glass.”

I turned to look and was startled by the face pressed against La Folie's front window.

“Beej,” I muttered. Short for B.J. I had no idea what B.J. was short for. Beej was a street kid I had met the previous autumn. When she spotted me, she smiled and waved—which made me instantly suspicious.

“You
know
her?” Morgan said. Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh God. She's coming in. Who is she, Robyn? Please tell me she isn't one of those people from the homeless shelter.” She meant the shelter where I volunteered with my boyfriend, Ben.

“She's a friend of Nick's,” I said.

Nick was my ex-boyfriend—that is, assuming he'd ever been my boyfriend in the first place. I wasn't sure about that anymore. He had disappeared a few weeks before Christmas but had recently reappeared. Or so I'd heard.

“Nick?” Morgan said, suddenly interested. “Has he called you? Have you seen him?”

“No,” I said. “I haven't talked to him. I don't know where he's staying, and he sure hasn't bothered to contact me.”

I told myself that I didn't care, but it was a lie. I was furious with him for walking out without a word of explanation. I had promised myself that if I ever saw him again, I'd let him know exactly what I thought.

“Sorry I asked,” Morgan said. Her eyes skipped to the door. “Uh-oh. She's headed this way.”

Beej definitely did not fit the profile of a typical La Folie customer. She was wearing faded jeans, a beat-up army jacket, and a wool hat with earflaps. A bulging backpack was slung over one shoulder. She loped toward us, oblivious to the looks of La Folie's clientele, and dropped down into the booth beside Morgan. Morgan wrinkled her nose and shifted over.

“Hey, Robyn, long time no see,” Beej said, as if she'd actually missed me. That made me even more suspicious. Beej had always given me the impression that she regarded me as a prissy, spoiled, rich (by her standards) kid. She wriggled free of her backpack, unzipped one of the pockets, and pulled out a CD jewel case, which she shoved across the table to me.

“What's that?” I said.

She gave me a look, as if she was trying to assess exactly how stupid I was. “What does it look like?” she said.

“You burned some music for me?”

“
Right
,” she said.

“Photos? One of your film projects?”

I hated to admit it, because I wasn't any fonder of Beej than she was of me, but she was actually a really good photographer. She spent every penny she could earn or scrounge on her cameras. She had even won a couple of awards at a downtown youth center for her work. She also made short films. She'd done one on street kids that had aired on a local TV station. “It's a DVD,” she said.

“About what?”

“Nick.”

I shoved it back across the table.

“Ancient history,” I said.

“More like breaking news,” Beej said. “I just made it.”

Morgan examined the DVD with interest. “You made a movie about Nick?”

Beej glared at her—she and Morgan had never had the pleasure of meeting—snatched the DVD, and slapped it on the table in front of me.

“You have to watch it,” she said.

Uh-huh. I hadn't seen Nick in months, and all of a sudden he was sending Beej to find me and give me a DVD that I had to watch? What was on it—an apology? Well, if he wanted to say he was sorry, he was going to have to do it in person. I didn't touch the DVD. I didn't even glance at it. Instead, I reached for my coat. Beej shook her head in disgust.

“You haven't changed a bit,” she said.

I pulled the coat on and stood up.

“We have to get to the library,” I said to Morgan.

Morgan sighed and, for once, didn't argue. She waved Carmine over and asked for a to-go cup.

“Believe me,” Beej said. “I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important. Nick's in trouble.”

It kept getting better.

“What kind of trouble?” Morgan said.

“Whatever it is, it's not my problem,” I said. “Come on, Morgan.”

“Do me a favor,” Beej said, standing up. “Watch the DVD. There's a phone number inside the case where you can leave me a message.” She shouldered her backpack.

I waited until she was gone before I turned to Morgan.

“Can we go now?” I said.

“I'll be just a sec.” Carmine was coming toward the table with a to-go cup, but I couldn't wait any longer. I didn't want to be anywhere near that DVD. I headed for the door. “Wait,” Morgan called.

But by then, I was stepping out onto the street. Who did Nick think he was? He'd told me he loved me, and then he'd just vanished. Two months later, I'd heard he was back in town, but he hadn't even called. And now he needed my help?