Good as Dead(23)

We put the dashcam app on my phone. Dad said it was because my phone was newer and had more memory than his, but I think he just wanted an excuse to peek in on my social life—see who I was texting, at what time and why. We had, in fact, never looked at the dashcam stream, I wasn’t even sure it worked.

“I’ll go in with you when we get to the hospital,” the cop said, “to make sure they take you straight to your mom, OK?” I nodded. I was sure I could have found her myself, but I wasn’t about to say no to a cop.

“She’s going to be OK,” he said. “The driver nicked her pretty good, but from what I saw, her injuries aren’t life-threatening.”

Nicked her? I supposed it was possible for a speeding car to nick a person, in the way a tractor might nick a blade of grass. I knew he was trying to make me feel better, but the more he talked, the more it made me want to cry. I wished he would just shut up.

“She’s a victim, but she’s also our star witness,” he rambled on. “We need her better so she can help us catch the guy!”

He found my eyes in the rearview, so I mustered a nod. I had never thought of my mom as a victim before. Or a star witness. Or a widow. But I guess she was all of those things now.

In front of us, a car was stopped. The chatty cop flipped a switch, and his siren chirped a warning—get out of the way! I knew he was just showing off, but I wanted out of that smelly squad car, so I was grateful for anything that would make that happen faster.

I looked down at my phone. The dashcam app was at the bottom right corner of my screen. I remembered my dad asking me what I wanted the password to be. I don’t know what I told him, if I told him anything at all. I panicked a little—what if the cops ask me and I can’t remember it?

“We’re here,” the cop said as he turned into the driveway. I had never entered a hospital through the ambulance entrance before. Aggressive red letters screamed “Emergency” like a bloodstain against the cold concrete wall. I thought it would be busier, with paramedics rushing around like on all those medical shows on TV. But the only person there was a security guard, sitting in a plastic chair, staring at his phone. He didn’t even look up at us.

The car lurched as we pulled up to the curb. I didn’t bother trying to open my door—it didn’t even have a handle on the inside. “One second, honey,” the cop said as he clicked off his seat belt. As he rounded the back of the car to let me out, I tucked my phone away. There would be time to tell him about the dashcam later, I didn’t want to get into it while my mom was lying alone in a hospital bed.

He opened the door for me, and I made sure to thank him as I got out. I glanced at his shiny brass name tag—KELLOGG. Like the cereal, I thought. His beer belly pushed against the bottom buttons of his shirt, stretching the fabric, revealing two tiny patches of bare skin. It was a sweltering day, and I remember thinking how it must suck to have to wear a polyester suit, especially one that was two sizes too small.

“I don’t want you to worry,” Kellogg said. “We’re going to find the guy who did this.”

Once I figured out how to log in to the app I would tell him about the camera. By the way he was talking about Mom being their “star witness,” I gathered no one knew about it, at least not yet. It would blow the case wide open. Whoever discovered that video would be a hero, maybe even get promoted. Kellogg looked like a guy who could use a promotion and the new uniform that came with it.

But I didn’t mention it.

And that turned out to be both a stroke of genius, and a catastrophic mistake.





CHAPTER 13


“You need a ride?” a raspy, cool-guy voice called to me as I walked off the practice field.

I looked over to see Logan, my ridiculously hot assistant track coach, leaning against his shiny black SUV, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on me. It was a nice car for a kid just out of high school. I noticed a DEVILS sticker on the back bumper—his former school team, perhaps? He’d stuck it on upside down and drawn a vertical line through the letter V so it looked like it spelled SLIMED.

I tried to play it cool, hoping whatever color might be spreading across my cheeks would be mistaken for postworkout flush. “My mom’s coming,” I said, “but thanks.” I don’t know why he wanted to give me a ride—I looked disgusting. My straight hair was in a low ponytail, and I could feel the sticky strands crisscrossing my sweaty back like a blonde spiderweb. Ugh. Why couldn’t I be one of those girls with cute, puffy hair that I could swirl atop my head like cotton candy?

“Call her off,” he demanded. “Tell her one of the coaches needs to talk to you about your form.” My form? I didn’t know whether to laugh or cringe. But then he smiled, and I knew he was kidding. “Ha ha sorry, that was cheesy, even for me.” His laugh was like the whoosh of a waterslide, smooth and exhilarating, and hearing it felt like riding a wave.

“She’s already on her way,” I told him. I had texted her as soon as practice was over. And I would never bail on her. We didn’t do that to each other, not now, not ever, not even for a boy.

“Tomorrow, then,” he said. “I’ll buy you a taco, best one you’ve ever had.” He looked at me expectantly, and I suddenly got afraid. Holy shit, is he asking me out? I had never been asked out in my life, so I wasn’t sure if that’s what was happening.