“Travis Keeping,” Oliver says. “We saw him talking to your mom. We were wondering...” He glances at Mason. “If he comes back, could you get him to sign our bike helmets?”
My whole body’s gone cold. Mason and Oliver are both staring at me eagerly. I force a rictus smile to my face. “When did you see Travis Keeping here?”
“A little while ago,” Oliver says.
“It was a snow day!” Mason adds.
A little while ago.
I try to sound casual. “Do you remember the date?”
They look at each other uncertainly, shaking their heads. Of course they don’t know the date. They’re kids.
But then Mason brightens. “Oh! I know! It was March fifth. ’Cause Steven’s birthday party was s’posed to be that day, but it got canceled ’cause of the snow. ’Member, Oliver?”
Oliver nods vigorously.
March fifth.
I flew to London on the last day of February. I saw Travis with that guy on March first. Which means he came to see meafterthat.
My heart is pounding hard in my chest. “You guys said you saw him talking to my mom?”
They both nod eagerly. “He didn’t stay very long,” Oliver says. “I was gonna get my helmet and ask him to sign it, but by the time I got it he was already gone.”
“Do you think he’ll come back soon?” Mason adds.
I force a thin smile, trying to hide the fury bubbling in my chest. “I don’t think so. But I’ll tell you what, if I see him again, I’ll ask him to sign something for both of you, okay?”
They both beam and thank me, then their mom appears on their front step, yelling at them to stop bothering me. I manage to smile and wave as they head inside, but I’m so mad, I can hear my pulse thudding in my ears.
I walk back into the house. My parents are both in the living room watching the news. I pick up the remote and turn the TV off.
“We don’t have to leave for another ten minutes—” my mother starts.
“Did Travis come here?” I interrupt.
She looks startled. “What?”
“The Hilton kids just said they saw you talking to Travis on March fifth,” I snap. “Are they lying? Or was he here?”
She glances at my father, visibly discomfited. “Well—I’m not sure—”
“He was here,” my father cuts in. “And he was extremely rude to your mother. He’s lucky I wasn’t here when it happened.”
I let out a cold laugh. “Why? What would you have done? Beat him up?”
“You think it’s okay that he yelled at your mother?”
My narrowed gaze moves to my mother. I can’t picture Travis yelling. Not unless the situation called for it. “Did he?” I demand. “Did heactuallyyell at you?”
“He made your mother cry,” my father snaps.
“Everything makes her cry,” I snap back. “I asked you a question. Did he actually yell at you?”
My mother’s mouth is pressed together tightly. “He called me childish,” she says.
I almost laugh. I can hear him saying it, in his flattest, most cutthroat media voice. My heart is racing, and my skin is thrumming with adrenaline.
