The Mystery of Hollow Places(48)

“No, but—” My fingertips are numb now, bloodlessly white around the phone.

“And who are you?”

I jab at the screen until I hit something that ends the call, then stare at the phone.

“What—”

“Jessa,” Chad cuts her off quietly. The room is so quiet, in fact, that when his phone frog-croaks in my hand, we all jump. “It’s a text,” he says, blushing.

For one crazy, panicked moment I think it must be from my mother and I punch my finger into the text bubble. It reads: Hi, you. Long day at the slopes, and sooo tired after last night. It was worth it. ;) Can’t wait to see you again! My eyes flick to the name above the message.

“It’s Pari,” I say dully, tossing Chad his phone.

He catches it easily and reads her text, and though he very considerately wipes the smile from his face almost instantly, his eyes brighten. He likes Pari and her winky-face and he likes whatever they did last night, which was tiring but worth it.

How stupid am I to think he agreed to go to prom as anything but a pity date for his little sister’s friend? Of course that’s the truth. He’s a nice guy, and I am pitiful. This whole mission to find my dad by finding my mom was pitiful. Because my mother is not troubled waters. She is not lost. She is not holed up with Dad in some secretive place while he tries to save her for the both of us, which I believed since I discovered the heart in my nightstand.

My mother is married. My mother lives in Windham. My mother has a new last name, and my dad is nowhere.

“I’m gonna go,” I manage. “Gotta charge my phone.” Without another glance at Chad in the lips chair, I grab my stuff and hurry out of the room.

Jessa follows me into the hall. “Wait, Im, was that really your—”

“Uh-huh,” I mumble, slipping into my coat and zipping it to the neck. If I’m this cold already, I might just freeze to death before I reach home.

“Well, that’s awesome!”

I turn on her. “What are you talking about?”

Jessa beams. “Im, you just talked to your mother for, like, the first time ever. You really did it, you found her! We thought she was a wreck or something, but it sounds like she’s fine. Isn’t that a good thing? Maybe now she can help us out with your dad.”

I study my friend, so cool in her skinny jeans and hot-pink one-shouldered sweater, her nails newly French manicured. My beautiful, perfect friend, with her beautiful, perfect body, surrounded by her beautiful, perfect family, in her beautiful, perfect home. While eighth-grade me was teaching myself to cook mac ’n’ cheese and trying to convince my father he couldn’t live off clove cigarettes and PBR and three a.m. infomercials, the Prices were “fine.” And god, they always will be.

I cross my legs to hide the ragged hole in the knee of my jeans. “Just do me a favor. Fuck off.”

Jessa’s lips part, then press together. “I’m trying to help you. So is Chad.”

“Like he wanted to help me out with prom? Yeah, no thanks. You shouldn’t have even told Chad, or your * boyfriend. That was unbelievably stupid.”

“First, we’re not even going out.” Jessa’s blue eyes ice over as she tilts her head sharply to the side. “And you’re saying I’m stupid?”

It’s too late to go back now—all my misery is boiling into this sick, hot rage that makes me want to tear down the plaster walls, smash the picture frames, shatter the chrome vases on their little tables—crash, kick, destroy, ruin. Why did I think this girl could help me? Jessa has never had to search for anyone or anything, ever. She’s never had to worry, or hope, or wonder. Any mysteries in Jessa’s life have been solved as easily as finding her missing lip gloss in the bottom of her fourth-favorite purse. I let this feeling fill me up, and it’s so much better than feeling pathetic. I shrug. “Should I say it slower?”

“You know what? Whatever.” Her face is almost calm except for one dangerously arched eyebrow. “I’m always trying to help you. I stay home from parties ’cause you’re too scared to go.”

“I’m not—”

“I totally blow off Jeremy to hang out with you so you won’t spend all your time moping. I even share my parents with you when your own dad can’t take care of you.”

“Don’t talk about my dad,” I snap, my fists clenched at my sides.

“Then don’t call me stupid.”

“You’re the dumbest dumbass in the world if you think you know anything about me or my family.”

She’s smiling now, so cold you could catch frostbite. I’ve seen this smile turned on those second-floor-bathroom girls, but never on me. Every word in her oversweet voice is like an icicle shattering on the hardwood floor. “You should probably go home, then. Lindy’s, like, a genius, right? Maybe she’ll be a better only-friend.”

So I leave. As soon as I numbly wave good-bye to Mr. Price and Dr. Van Tassel, who are busy in the kitchen, pretending they didn’t hear a word of our fight, I’m out the door and running, hot-faced, sweating through my stupid puffy coat even in the bitter, damp cold, past lit yellow windows and fancy gated lawns. I don’t stop till I’m slamming in through my own front door. I don’t even have time to shed my bag and coat before Lindy’s in my face.