If You're Out There(38)

I round a corner, relieved to find an empty hallway, and peek into the bio lab. Through the tiny window in the classroom door, I can see Logan in profile, slumped in his seat for a lecture. It appears he’s watching the clock too, perhaps mesmerized by that same torturous, slow-motion phenomenon that nearly killed me earlier.

I can’t seem to catch his attention. Look at me! Or your phone, you dummy! I’ve read somewhere that our bodies know when we’re being watched, so I stare extra hard at him, figuring it’s worth a shot, and it works. He’s staring back.

So are a couple people, actually. Skye from soccer meets my eyes with a tilted head, chewing a wad of gum with concentration. I duck out of the way before the teacher sees me. After a moment the classroom door opens and Logan slips out with a hall pass.

“You okay?” he asks. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he says, scratching at his jaw. “A girl?”

“Shut up. Why haven’t you texted me back?”

“Sorry, I had to turn off my phone. Long story. What’s up?” I pull up last night’s email. I’ve practically memorized it.

From: <[email protected]>

To: Zan Martini <[email protected]>

Date: Thu, Sep 13, 8:32 pm

Subject: <no subject>

ZZWelcome way in/d.344itspdfiiiihauhlep

Logan reads it, blank faced. “Am I missing something? This is gibberish.”

“Mostly, yes.”

“So . . .”

“Priya called me ZZ sometimes. In emails. She called me a lot of things, though, which is why I didn’t catch it at first. ZanaBanana, Mrs. Zantantic, Zanita, Ma Petite Zan . . . Priya had endless resources when it came to pet names for me. But in a rush, in emails, she would call me ZZ.”

“And the first two letters here are ZZ.”

“Yes.”

“So now you think she sent this. A gibberish email.”

“Yes,” I say again. “And it’s not all gibberish. There are three full words in the beginning.”

“‘Welcome way in.’” He blinks. “Does that mean anything to you?”

“Well . . . no. But look at the last part. The last few letters.”

He squints to read. “How-lep?”

“The last four,” I say, taking the phone back to shove it in his face. “H-L-E-P. What if she was trying to write ‘help’? Maybe she was trying to get the words out. Maybe she couldn’t.” Saying it out loud makes it more real, more possible. The knot in my stomach is screaming at me. “It was sent to my middle school email address. She’s the only one who ever used it.”

Logan contemplates this. “Weird. Who’s the sender?”

“Right! That’s the other thing. The Grissoms. Grissom! As in Ben’s last name.”

Logan leans in. “Wait. You don’t think . . .”

“I don’t know what I think! He said her phone was broken, right? Maybe she wrote it from his.”

“Have you seen this email address before?”

“Well . . . no. And the fact that it’s ‘The Grissoms’ plural is strange, for sure. I mean, it’s just him. No other Grissoms.”

“Is a ‘butt email’ a thing?” he asks.

I laugh under my breath as I gnaw on one fingernail. All of this seems crazy. And the this is still all fuzzy. Whatever it is, it goes from possible, to crazy, to possible all over again.

“I want to go to her house,” I tell him. “They were going to rent it out, but I don’t think anyone’s moved in yet. The other day I noticed a bunch of mail piled up. Come with me?” Logan appears doubtful. “It’s a feeling, okay? I need to be there. In her space. It’ll help me think.”

“Okay,” he says gently. “Well, how about after school?”

“Actually, you have work,” I say. “I meant to tell you. My boss texted me back this morning and asked if you could come in for some job training.”

“Oh,” says Logan, perking up. “Yes. Thanks. Okay, how about after that?”

He pulls my hand from my mouth, saving what little there is left of my nail, and I feel my breath start to slow a little at his touch. I don’t know what to make of that. “I was thinking now. Like after this class? We could stay through lunch and skip Spanish if we need to.”

He inhales through his teeth. “I shouldn’t. I’ve missed a bunch of classes already and the school year’s barely started.”

“You know what? It’s fine. I’ll tell you if I find anything.” I start to back away but grow dizzy. I have to balance against a locker, my vision filled with spots.

“Whoa there.” He holds my shoulders to steady me.

“I can’t stay here,” I say softly.

“All right. Meet me at the exit by the caf. We’ll take off after the bell.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he says. “Hey.” He comes closer, willing me to look at him. “If there’s something that needs finding, we’ll find it. Okay?”

I whisper, “Okay.”

The ride takes us all of five minutes on Logan’s bike. And because my nerves are shot, I even let him drive.