“Please don’t do this. Please.”
“Someone will be in touch with you when we have further information. We might need to bring you into the centre for a formal interview.” She pauses for so long I get my hopes up that she’s reconsidering. But then she says, “The police may also contact you.”
“Please.”
But I’m speaking to an empty line.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
LILAC
The next morning,I’m in a daze. No sleep. I couldn’t face breakfast.
My mind pokes and prods at every scrap of the telephone call that I can remember, mixed in with phantom voices chanting my worst fears.
I scrolled back through every text my sister and I exchanged and couldn’t find a trace of anything worrisome. My computer has performed a search for every spelling variation possible for Steven. In connection with the school, the suburb, my sister’s name. Nothing.
But nobody would publish a child’s name even if the ‘something’ they called about was serious enough to be reported. I’m in the dark; too much information to relax and too little to take action.
My anxiety is sky high as I walk into school.
And a different worry erupts the moment I see someone stare at me, then at their phone. It’s probably nothing. How many times a day does a pupil glance up from their phone at approaching footsteps, only to return when it’s not someone they know?
Yet it reminds me that although the incident involving Steven might not be on the internet, I am. In poses and positions that’ll get me into far more trouble than a few texts to Sierra.
Half a minute in and I can’t even glance up as I walk through the corridor, heading straight for my locker. Every muffled conversation I pass is mumbling about me. Every faltering voice is stopping while the video whore goes by, only to resume once I’m out of earshot.
Who needs the real world to rebuke me when I’m perfectly capable of chastising myself?
As I open the locker door, a large hand lands above it. Trent. His upper body twists around me, forming a shield between me and all the passing students.
“Saw your video,” he says in a such a low voice that I can barely hear him. “You do that for me?”
I stare at him, speechless. I don’t know who or how or why I did it any longer. Now my nerves are on fire and my shoulders are cracking under the weight of every imagined view.
I shrug, not trusting myself to speak even if I knew what I wanted to say.
“You know, you’re special to me.” His large fingers reach toward my face, stopping a centimetre away from actually touching. “Any time you need a favour, ask.”
“In return for what?” Anger breaks through my shell. “Another request? Another threat you can lord over me?”
“I’m not holding anything over you.” He frowns, but his gaze is still gentle. “Do you need help? I know Zach can be a… bit much.”
“Oh, can he?” A snort comes out of me, unbidden. “I hadn’t noticed.”
When I slam my locker and try to walk away, he blocks me. “I’m serious. If you need help, tell me.”
“I need you to get out of my way. I have class.”
“Not without your computer, you don’t.” He takes my arm and gently steers me back to my locker. “If you need me to go, I will. Just thought you might want a—”
“Morning,” Zach says, pressing me back against the bank of lockers and zeroing in for a kiss. I turn my face away, but he grips it in a pincer movement until it’s where he needs it. “Why so upset?”
I shake my head, but my body is a tight wad of tense muscles and anger.
“Anyone would think you weren’t enjoying yourself last night,” he says, tipping my head up by my chin. “And we all know you were.”
Trent bumps his shoulder. “Maybe we should—”
