If You're Out There(64)

Logan offers a hand and I get up.

“Can I help?” asks la Se?ora, but I shake my head. I take a big breath and let Logan lead me out the door. “Hey,” she says. I turn around. “Whatever it is. You’ll figure it out.”

When the last bell rings, I head for my tree.

I drop my stuff and sit, the muggy air sticking to me. The school day is finally over. I should be relieved. And yet, I have nowhere to go.

You’ll figure it out, la Se?ora said. And people say that, sure. Because what else is there to say? But sometimes—no. You don’t figure it out! You only get more nothing.

I press back into the bark. No. No wallowing. No quitting! Priya wouldn’t flail like this. Priya would have a mother-flipping plan! Even if it was a flimsy one, she’d commit. She would ATTACK!

I just need something, anything, to latch on to. Maybe I can retrace my steps. . . .

I get up. Brush myself off. And soon I’m walking, running, sprinting down the path. “Hey . . . Hey!” It’s Logan’s voice calling at my back. I stop, panting, and he runs to catch up. “I was looking for you. Where are you rushing off to?”

“Priya’s house,” I tell him through a gasp. “I want to see it. Reggie said the phone was gone. The office was wrecked. Whoever broke in was looking for something. Or, I don’t know. Hiding something? I need to see it for myself.”

A cloud covers the sun, turning the sky an ominous purple in what feels like seconds. “Okay.” Logan squints up. “So, should we go now or . . . ?”

I smile. “Uh-uh. You need to stay here.”

He takes a step closer, a wiry eyebrow raised. “And why would I do that?”

“Hmm . . .” I stare back at him, reaching up to brush the hair out of his face. “Because you have a parole officer?”

He shrugs. “I’m not letting you do this without someone watching your back.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say. “Really. You’re very cute, and gallant and all that, but I can’t let you—”

He kisses me. “I’m coming with you.” So that’s that.

It thunders before the rain.

The air is warm and full of static, the raindrops fat and far between. Even in the storm, Priya’s tree-lined street remains a perfect, cozy picture. But there’s a feeling here—like something in this place has gone horribly wrong. It’s as stark as the water drenching me. We sneak around back and find the garage door open. The door to the house is open, too—which, I remember, is not how I left it. I suppose Reggie warned me of this, but it’s still creepy: I wasn’t the last person here.

We tiptoe in, and Logan jumps as a burst of lightning cracks, brightening the living room. I touch his arm. “You don’t have to stay.” But he ignores me and plows ahead, dripping all over the place.

I head for the office and see the phone has been cleaned up. At my feet, the desk is on its side. All the files from the cabinet are gone. I slide the closet door open along a track. No stacks of paperwork. Empty.

“Jesus,” says Logan, peeking in through the doorway at the mess.

“Yeah,” I say. He squeezes my shoulder—tight. I look up and Logan shakes his head, ever so slightly.

Somewhere in the house, a door opens, then closes.

And there are footsteps.

Neither of us moves at first, until the steps grow closer, and I point to the closet behind us. We tiptoe inside and I slide the door shut. In the dark, we stand pressed together, lungs filling up with the same air. In the quiet, our breathing is hot and audible. I can see out through the little downturned slats. The room is still, but my heart sinks at the thought of our wet footprints all around the house.

Someone walks in and I feel Logan tense up beside me.

The desk screeches against the floor. Then the file cabinet. A drawer slams open and shut. Another drawer. A crash.

“Christ!” says a familiar voice.

For a moment I see his face, and my body goes stiff. I wonder if he can see my eyes staring back at his in the dark.

The doorbell rings then, and Logan and I both relax a little as the footsteps trail off. After a moment, I hear a voice. “Shit!” The sound of running. Back door closing. The doorbell again. Once more. Again. And then it stops.

We’re silent for another minute. Until we’re sure.

Tentatively, I open the closet door and look around the room. The shock slowly wanes. Logan nudges me. “You okay?”

“That was Ben,” I say.

“Whoa,” says Logan. “So . . . Whoa.”

I gape down at the overturned desk. “What was he looking for? And why’d he flip out and leave like that?” I walk out of the office to the living room and peer out the window.

Logan lingers behind. “Maybe he—”

“Wait,” I say. Across the street, a man is getting in his car. I can’t be sure but I think it’s him. It’s the man from Priya’s house—from the zoo, and the show.

Just then, Ben’s white Prius goes racing by and the man pulls out from his spot, driving off in the same direction.

“Yoo-hoo,” says Logan, waving a hand over my eyes.

“Holy shit,” I say, pointing toward the cars as they drive out of sight. “That was . . .” I turn around to face him. “The man who followed me—I think he’s who rang the doorbell.”