Motion(Laws of Physics #1)(13)

The guy’s gaze found me, his slashing dark eyebrows pulled low, giving him an air of being thoroughly . . . I’m going to go with the word irked again. “What are you doing?”

“Getting—” I held out the bag of whatever I’d grabbed in front of me, reading the package “—prunes.”

Ah jeez. Prunes. Why’d it have to be prunes?

He blinked. Some of the severity in his glare seemed to dissolve into confusion as he looked between me and the bag. “Prunes.”

I nodded. What else could I do? I was holding a package of prunes, now I just had to commit to the package of prunes.

“Yes. Prunes. As you see.” Tearing it open and walking out of the pantry, I reached into the bag. Slimy, larger versions of raisins were waiting for me inside.

“You’re going to eat . . . prunes?”

I nodded, struggling to find a lie that sounded as plausible as Gabby’s had been. “You don’t know anyone who eats prunes?”

“My grandpa,” he said flatly, still splitting his attention between me and the bag.

“Smart man. They’re high in fiber.”

“Fiber.”

“Yes.” I lifted the bag to scan the nutritional information, hoping they were actually high in fiber. Though I had a suspicion, I wasn’t 100 percent certain. After reading the package, I released a relieved breath. “Twelve grams of fiber per serving. It says so right here. That’s a lot. And I need my fiber.”

“Why do you need fiber?”

“Flying makes me”—oh God, don’t say it!—“makes me”—oh noes, here it comes—“constipated.” I nodded at my own assertion, quickly stuffing my mouth with three prunes so I wouldn’t be able to speak.

His confusion persisted, but he said nothing. Holding perfectly still, he watched me with a frown that teetered on dismayed.

Meanwhile, I had to stop chewing. Each prune had a pit. Shit. There existed no graceful way to remove a pit from one’s mouth. I would have to spit the pit.

Holding his gaze, which now seemed to be fascinated in addition to dismayed, I spit the pits into my palm. I then gave him a tight-lipped smile while I continued to chew, because that’s what I did when people stared at me. I wonder what Lisa does when people stare at her?

One of his eyebrows lifted and he gave his head a subtle shake. “Okay. Right.” He glanced at the ceiling and then around the kitchen, as though trying to figure out where he was. “I’m going to have to call your parents’ assistant, Dr. Steward, right? And let her know you don’t have your phone.”

Luckily, I was still chewing the prunes, which gave me a few moments to think about how to respond to this statement. As an aside, carrying around a bag of food and stuffing my face whenever he asked me a question was a solid plan. It would give me an opportunity to stall, to think.

Stating that Dr. Steward was my parents’ assistant wasn’t entirely accurate. More like, she had incidentally become one of the various team of people my parents called upon when they needed a problem handled. But I didn’t need to clarify that with Abram. Trying to explain the complexities of staff and their unofficial roles to people who didn’t understand celebrity was time-consuming and typically yielded even more confusion.

Moving on.

Even though I dreaded the possibility of speaking to either of my parents while pretending to be Lisa, his logic made sense. I couldn’t see any way of talking him out of calling Dr. Steward as I could form no compelling—i.e. logical—argument against it.

Therefore, after swallowing, I said, “Whatever, Abe.”

I’d decided to say whatever since Gabby had indicated it would always be a safe choice, and I’d called him Abe since it was short for both Abram and Abraham. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember which was correct. I’d never been good at remembering names. Or remembering faces. Or people.

This must’ve been precisely the right thing to say—and by that, I mean it was the wrong thing to say but in the right way—because his eyelids lowered again to half-mast and his mouth flattened. He looked perturbed, which was good. Perturbed was much better than suspicious or confused. Perturbed meant he saw me as Lisa and not as a potential imposter. So, in summary, woot woot!

“Forget it,” he grumbled, turning from me and running a hand through his longish brown hair. “Just, hand over the phone when it arrives, okay? I’ll be in the basement. Let me know if you need to go out for anything. Otherwise just . . .” his gaze flickered to me and I spotted that same hint of repugnance as before, like he found my presence unsavory. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

I wanted to respond with In this economy? But instead, and without thinking too much about it, I saluted, still gripping the pits in my hand. Why I did this, I had no idea. Luckily, the action didn’t faze him. With one last irked look, Abe walked out of the kitchen, leaving me with my prunes, their pits, and an immediate sense of relief.





3





Displacement





Prunes would be my constant companion for the next week, the means by which I delayed answering or speaking to Abe. Good plan. The fiber consumed would be a bonus.

Tossing the pits in the garbage and rinsing my hand, I zipped closed the bag, tucked it under my arm, and glanced at the pantry. The backpack would stay put for now. Abe didn’t trust Lisa. Best to move the bag in the middle of the night, or at some point when I could be 97 percent certain we wouldn’t cross paths.