Grown(56)

E. Jones: [crying]

Fletcher: Mrs. Jones, do you remember seeing a band onstage?

L. Jones: Well, no . . . but I thought she meant offstage or something. I was in her dressing room. I didn’t . . . I mean, I don’t think . . .

E. Jones: I’m not lying! I swear! Gabriela saw my phone! She saw him texting me!

Silverman: And finally, we checked with the school. There’s no student by the name of Gabriela Garcia.

E. Jones: What?

Silverman: They have no record of a Gabriela Garcia. And the phone number you gave us belongs to a Martin Anderson of White Plains. Age, thirty-five.

E. Jones: No. That’s . . . that’s impossible.

Fletcher: Mrs. Jones, have you ever met Gabriela?

L. Jones: [pause] No. No. I’ve . . . I’ve never met her.

Fletcher: Mrs. Jones . . . your mother suffers with mental illness, does she not?

L. Jones: H-how did you know that? And what does that have to do with Enchanted?

Fletcher: Has your daughter ever had a mental evaluation?

E. Jones: Mom?

L. Jones: Don’t say another word, Chanted! We’re done here.





Chapter 71


Who is Gabriela?




“Shea, I want you to be honest with me. Do you know someone named Gab or Gabriela?”

Mom and Daddy sit with Shea at the kitchen table while I pretend to be asleep in my room. But these walls are thin.

“For the last time, I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Shea, this is serious,” Daddy says, exasperated.

“I get that, but doesn’t change what I don’t know!”

“Gabriela,” Mom repeats herself. “A Spanish girl? There can’t be many of them.”

“Yeah, a Spanish girl that looks white. And a senior? That’s a needle in a haystack. I barely know the kids in my own class.”

I text:

GABRIELA! STOP IGNORING ME! THIS IS SERIOUS!

“Can you ask around?”

“None of my friends are talking to me, so sorry I can’t ask them either,” she says bitterly.

“Can we go up to the school, ask about her?” Dad asks.

“I don’t think the school’s allowed to give out information on other students,” Mom replies. “Please, Shea. You must have seen your sister with somebody.”

“No! I haven’t, OK? She mostly hung out by herself. She didn’t even eat in the cafeteria. I don’t want to call her a loser, but . . .”

Gabriela, please!

“Your sister is in trouble, baby,” Mom says gently. “We need to do everything we can to help her.”

Shea sighs. “I’ll ask around. Can I go to bed now? It’s late.”

“Sure, baby.”

Shea enters our room and I keep my head to the wall, squeezing my eyes tight to hide the tears.

A text flashes. From Gabriela.

Dude, for the last time. WRONG NUMBER!!!

“You never heard her mention . . . anybody?” Daddy whispers.

“I don’t remember,” Mom sighs. “Then again, I can barely remember what happened yesterday, let alone six months ago. We’ve just been so busy with work and I . . . all I remember her talking about is her teammates. Shit, I’m the world’s worst goddamn mother! First I didn’t want her to sing, then I couldn’t go on tour with her, now I don’t know her friends. I just . . . never thought I had to worry about her. She always seemed to be OK.”

“Not your fault,” Daddy says cautiously. “But do you think . . . ?”

“I don’t know, but please. Let’s . . . not talk about that right now.”





Chapter 72


How to Buy Back Your Life




The number is still written on the kitchen whiteboard in big, bold red. Mom said she called it five to six times a day when she was looking for me. The evidence of her fight is all around the house. Receipts, tour schedules, articles, tickets, concert photos . . . now she’s on the phone with another lawyer, one recommended by the W&W moms.

There’s no escaping Korey. He’s everywhere. I’m back in that house again, door locked, trapped. And this time, I’ve brought my family and friends with me.

I dial the number and slip into the bathroom, throwing the shower on to buffer the sound.

“Jessica. It’s Enchanted.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line.

“Oh. You,” she says, voice seething. “What do YOU want?”

“I need to speak with Korey.”

Another long pause. Mumbling. She’s talking to someone.

“Well . . . I’m not with him. He’s in New York.”

The phone is on speaker now. Korey must be with her.

“I know that. He’s been stalking me,” I snap, hoping the words burn him.

“Ha! More delusions.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. So why are you calling me?”

“Because you know how to get in touch with him.”

“So?”

“So, tell him . . . I’ll give him what he wants.”

Silence. Whatever car she’s in sounds like it’s driving down a highway.