Lies I Told(65)

“Then what?” Parker asked.

“We’ll leave the country,” my dad said. “It’s all arranged. But we can talk about that once we’re clear.”

Because it wouldn’t do to have one of us picked up knowing where the others were going. Better to wait until we were all free and clear before divulging our destination.

I reviewed each step, each piece of the plan taking me further away from Logan. From the first life I’d had that had seemed real.

“You’ll have to get yourself invited to Logan’s Friday night,” my mom said. “Can you do that?”

I nodded. I wouldn’t even have to ask. If his parents were out of town, he’d want to spend time alone with me. He always did. I’d played him to perfection.

There was no pride in the knowledge.

The rest of the week passed quickly under the duress of my impending good-bye. I wanted to hold on to it. To make every cafeteria lunch and gossip session with Selena last. To memorize the feel of Logan’s hand in mine, of his steady presence as we walked the Playa Hermosa campus on our way to classes.

By Thursday night I was in a state of emotional panic. Tomorrow I would say good-bye to Selena and the others, although they wouldn’t know it was good-bye. I would see Logan. We would cuddle on the couch and watch movies.

And then I would drug him and steal from him.

I was lying in bed, trying to coax myself to sleep, when I heard the voice outside my window. I held still, listening more closely, trying to figure out who it was. I thought it might be my dad or Parker, but a few seconds later I realized it wasn’t either of them.

It was the man next door.

I got out of bed and crossed to the window, careful to stand to the side in case he happened to be looking my way. The house was dark, and I turned my attention to the backyard, wondering if I’d imagined the voice. The outdoor lights were off, too, the yard empty.

I was just about to go back to bed when I saw a faint orange light glow in the dark near the trellis. A cigarette. And then, again, the man’s voice.

“Does it surprise you? He’s always left too much to chance.”

I leaned closer to the window, straining to hear.

“Patience is a virtue,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “And in this business, a necessity.”

I tried to imagine the kind of business suited to such a weird guy. Dealer of exotic animals? Manager of elderly musicians? Hot tub aficionado?

“Yes, yes. I’m aware.” The man’s voice was curt. “They’ll come to me when they’re ready. When they must.” A pause. “Good night.”

I moved away from the window and crept carefully back to my bed. As if the man were superhuman. As if he could somehow hear and see me through the walls.

I wished suddenly that I’d snooped closer to home. Now I would never know the identity of the man next door, never know why he spoke so cryptically to the birds or sang creepy old songs. He would always be the crazy guy who’d lived next door to us in California.

Just one more of Playa Hermosa’s unanswered questions.





Fifty-One


I moved through Friday in a kind of overstimulated haze. Everything felt both immediate and further away, like I’d already left it behind. When Rachel sat next to me in AP Euro, looking perfect as usual, I didn’t even have the energy to check my own hair, to worry about whether I was in character, whether I looked the part. I wasn’t even sure what that was anymore.

Or if I cared.

“Here’s the essay,” she said, handing me a stack of papers.

“Thanks. I have the board game, too.” I pulled it out of my bag and handed it to her. I scanned the essay while she looked over my part of the project.

“Looks good,” she said.

“Thanks. This too. Do you want to hand it in or should I?”

She shrugged. “Whatever.”

If I’d had a nickel for every time Rachel had said whatever, we wouldn’t have had to steal Warren Fairchild’s gold.

“You can do it,” I said, handing the essay back to her.

She stacked the essay on top of the cardboard I’d used to create our board game on the Reformation. Then she turned around and faced forward like I wasn’t even there.

At least there wouldn’t be any sappy good-byes with Rachel Mercer.

About halfway through lunch in the cafeteria, I made a show of taking off my sweater.

“Why is it so hot in here?” I complained.

“Um, probably because of the two hundred sweaty, hormone-ridden teenage bodies crammed together like sardines,” Selena said.

I laughed. It was more difficult than usual. “Good point. Think I can keep this in your locker until Monday?”

It wasn’t an unusual request. Selena’s locker was one hall over from the cafeteria. Mine—assigned later because I’d transferred in after the start of the school year—was halfway across campus and nowhere near the rest of my classes.

“Sure. Want me to take it so you can walk with Logan?”

“Nah, I’m seeing him tonight. I’ll walk with you.”

A few minutes later the bell rang, and Logan walked with Selena and me out into the hallway. He leaned down to give me a quick kiss.

“I can’t wait to see you tonight,” he whispered.