How to Disappear(29)

“I spotted her.”

“Where is she? Is it over?”

“This isn’t Yucca Valley Correctional. I can’t walk up to her in the shower and shank her.”

“You were that close?”

“Figure of speech.”

“Figure of speech—straight-A student. You lost her, didn’t you?”

I toy with the idea that I lost her on purpose, that I unconsciously engineered this because I couldn’t decide how much of a virus spore I was. If so, it was poor engineering because when I look up, she’s walking out of the alley and right toward me.

“Shit! Gotta go!”

“Oh no you don’t!”

For a second, I’m more scared of her than of Don. It’s one short, cold blast to the gut. It’s dead Connie Marino and the reminder that this girl isn’t who she seems to be. But despite knowing who she is and the blast to the gut that reasonable people know not to ignore, I’m grinning at her. I’m happy to see her. I’m still suppressing the big, silenced Don’t!—the syllable that’s struggling to get out and get out loudly while I hold my jaw so rigid, it might crack. I’m still freaking turned on.

I shove the phone into my pocket as she crosses the street, step forward to meet her. I say, “Are you following me?” It’s playing with fire, but it’s all I can think of.

“You wish!” she says. But it isn’t nasty, it’s kind of sweet. “How do I know it’s not you stalking me?”

“I do wish.” Then I patiently explain how stalking works, and how I’m not, and miraculously, she buys it. “Are you sure you don’t want me to?”

She twists up her mouth on the left side, like a cartoon character that’s deep in thought. “I’m pretty sure.”

Even with the baggy clothes and what she’s done to herself, this girl is meant to be on the receiving end of following—and not just by twisted stalkers.

“Okay, lucky coincidence. Can I get you a burger?” She looks taken aback. “When you get off work?”

This is a fail, too much too soon. Her eyes are back to scanning the street. She says, “I’m kind of agoraphobic. Do you know what that is?”

“Isn’t that when you can’t leave your house? You might be cured.”

“Read up. Jeez, do you seriously want to debate this? I think I know what I’ve got.”

“Sorry, rude.”

“So rude.”

I touch her shoulder. “What happens if you get to work late?”

She rolls her eyes. But she doesn’t walk away.





30


Cat


He’s standing in the shade in the Food 4 Less parking lot. Hunched over his phone like he’s afraid it’s going to jump out of his hands.

Then he sees me. Springs up. Comes bounding over. Okay, not exactly bounding. Too puppyish for him. Moving very fast and very intentionally.

Toward me.

I tell myself this is okay. It’s an I-found-him thing and, therefore, meant to be. This is an example of the universe providing.

I get that it’s providing the exact thing I’m supposed to avoid.

A human guy.

But it’s like stumbling over a lucky penny, shiny and heads up. The universe doesn’t rain lucky pennies. When it does, you pick one up.

No! Don’t pick him up! Turn! Walk away!

The space between us is closing, like air being squeezed out of a rapidly collapsing lung.

Then he wants to know if I’m following him.

Way too self-confident.

“You wish!” My head is so buzzing, I’m talking on autopilot. “How do I know it’s not you stalking me?”

“I do wish.” J frowns. “Why would I stalk you? You’re not that friendly. And stalking entails lurking—correct me if I’m wrong—and there’s no lurking going on.”

“Great. No lurking.”

Then he wants to go out for a burger. I try to tell him how I can’t. How I’m agoraphobic, which I might have gotten slightly wrong.

But it’s obvious I want to.

It’s like my muscle memory of a come-on smile is too much to overcome.

Great.

I’m transforming backward. Turning right back into the self I can’t be anymore. The self who hops into the back of a guy’s car on a quiet country road because she likes him too much.

The self with no judgment and bad taste in boys.

J tilts his head. “If burgers are out of the question, do we want more ice cream?”

“Seriously, why are you here?”

He groans and looks put out. It’s not his worst look. “Because this is the only place other than Starbucks on Hill where I get any kind of reception.”

“What’s wrong with the Starbucks on Hill?”

J shades his eyes with his hand. Makes a big deal of surveying the parking lot. Looks cute. “Is this your personal domain? Cat-landia, is it? Should I have my passport stamped on my way out of the lot?”

“Stay! Jeremiah, I don’t want to interrupt you.”

“Jeremiah!” He hammers his right fist against his chest. “Shot through the heart. Remind me of my name, and you’ll have to make it up to me.”