If You're Out There(29)

Logan’s name flashes silently across the screen. I lift the phone to my ear, unsteady.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m downstairs.”

My shoulders slump. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m actually at my dad’s.”

“I know.”

“Huh?”

“Your mom told me.”

“What?”

“You said 911, so I biked over. And then she told me where to find you. So I’m here. Are you going to let me in?”

I slip Priya’s earrings into my pocket and walk out to the living room, feeling like I’ve just woken up. I peer down from the floor-to-ceiling windows and see Logan’s street-lit figure pacing in the glow.

“You still there?” says the voice in my ear.

I shake my head. “My mother is giving my coordinates to strange men in the night. She must really think I’m lonely.” I watch Logan laugh under the streetlight, and when his eyes lift they lock with mine. “I’ll buzz you in,” I say. “Come to the fourth floor. First one on the left.” I hang up. “Uh, Dad? My friend is coming up.”

“Oh,” says Dad. “Good.” He looks me over. “You okay? You seem pale.” I want to reassure him, but all I can manage is a nod. After a moment there’s a knock at the door and Dad answers, surprise registering faintly across his face. For a moment I see Logan as a dad might—towering over everyone with his messy hair and snug jeans. The long, flat sneakers and purple hoodie zipped to the top. He borders on intimidating when he’s serious.

He’s the best thing I’ve seen all day.

“Hello,” says Dad.

“He’s Logan,” I manage to spit out.

“Sir,” says Logan, extending an ink-stained hand.

“Please,” says Dad. “Just Chris.”

“Uh . . .” I’m struggling to click into the moment. After a pause, I gesture toward the couch. “This is my brother.”

Harrison glances up briefly from his show. “Pleasure,” he says, making Logan’s face break into an easy grin.

“Can we, um . . .” I point to the guest room. “I need to talk to you.”

I tell myself to keep calm as I lead Logan to the bedroom. “Nice place,” he says as I close the door. I shove past him toward the desk and turn on music. I don’t need Dad or Harr listening to whatever’s about to fly out of my mouth. But as I scroll through my playlist, each track makes me queasy. All songs Priya liked. I click at random. “Paper Planes” by M.I.A.

“Zan. What’s the emergency?”

I try to concentrate, struggling to string together all the words getting tangled in my head. I fly like paper, get high like planes . . .

The sight of Logan does calm me down a little. It’s weird, but I think I missed him.

“Zan?”

“Sorry,” I say. “Um. Okay. So the way I see it, there are two ways to interpret this. One—Priya is lying online to make her life seem more interesting than it actually is, or to cover up whatever it is that she’s actually doing.” I pace the room. “Maybe it’s embarrassing or boring or, I don’t know . . . super secretive? I’m honestly not an imaginative enough person to work out what that could be. . . . Or, two—” I swallow hard, flinching as the gunshots go off in the chorus. And take your money.

“Oh Jesus, this is insane.” I plop down on the edge of the bed and hold my head in my hands.

Logan takes a seat beside me and ducks down to meet my eyes. “Can we rewind for a second? I’m pretty lost.” He leans over to the computer and lowers the volume a few notches.

I peek up at him. “Promise you won’t think I’m crazy?”

He shoots me a reassuring smile. “Promise.”

“What if someone else is writing her posts?”

His face grows serious. “Zan . . .”

My hand trembles as I take my cell phone from my pocket. “This picture that she posted . . . It wasn’t taken on Saturday. I’m actually pretty positive I was there when she took it. Why would she lie about something like that?”

Logan nods slowly. “Okay . . . Well, is there any chance it’s just a similar picture? I mean, don’t selfies all kind of look the same?”

“They do. Only . . .” I pull her earrings from my other pocket. “She left these at my house before she moved. I gave them to her. For her birthday. I didn’t notice them at first.”

For a moment it’s as if I can see the thoughts moving across his brain. “Is it possible she replaced them?”

“Maybe,” I say. “But . . .” We sit there quietly together, thinking, our legs nearly touching. “All the other pictures she’s posted . . . They haven’t actually been of her.” I scroll through weeks of beaches and sunsets. “All this time I’ve been saying it didn’t sound like her.” An eerie feeling is creeping up my throat. “What if that’s because it wasn’t?”

“So you think . . .” Logan holds up both hands. “Okay, let’s back up. Why would someone post from her account? And why wouldn’t she stop it?”

“I don’t know.” I start to stand and then sit back down.

“All right,” says Logan. “Maybe this is too obvious, but have you tried calling her parents?”