I searched my nightstand for my clock, desperate to know how much time had passed, and when I found it, my eyes drifted to the beat-up copy of Fahrenheit 451 sitting beside it. My heart fluttered.
Someone did understand me. Someone who didn’t question where I’d been or how old I was now that I was back.
I eased away from my door so I could text him, knowing full well he was sleeping and wouldn’t get my message till morning. But there was already a message waiting for me.
Not from Tyler but from Agent Truman.
His message had been delivered at 12:01 a.m.: Were there fireflies the day you disappeared?
I dropped onto the edge of my bed, my breath coming in short gasps.
Fireflies. Why on earth would Agent Truman ask me about fireflies?
My dad had mentioned fireflies to me too. Surely it wasn’t a coincidence.
I squeezed my eyes shut and searched my memory for that night, because suddenly it seemed a zillion times more important than it had before.
We’d been driving on Chuckanut Drive, and I was purposely avoiding my dad, stubbornly staring out the window. There were blurs of light every now and then, flickers in the distance. I suppose they could’ve been fireflies, but I couldn’t say for sure since I’d never really seen one in real life before.
Then I’d yelled at my dad to stop the car, and when he did I fled, and there was a flash. . . .
I pounded my fists against my thighs. Why couldn’t I remember more?
And why was Agent Truman so interested in whether there were stupid glowing bugs out that night?
What if my dad wasn’t as crazy as I thought he was?
A weight settled over my chest as I made a decision. I had to figure out what happened that night, but I couldn’t do it on my own, and I wasn’t about to go to my dad until I knew for sure how this was gonna play out.
There was only one person I could count on right now.
I picked up my phone and punched in a message: Any chance I can talk you into ditching school tomorrow?
I started to hit SEND and stopped myself. Adding another line to the text: I need an accomplice.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Day Six
I STAYED IN MY ROOM UNTIL MY MOM AND Grant had taken Logan and left for the day. I was proud of myself for giving The Husband and “my brother” their names back. It was a big gesture on my part, even if they had no clue I’d taken them away in the first place.
By the time they were gone, I’d already changed my outfit three times. I chewed the side of my nail as I triple-and quadruple-checked the time. It was only 7:43.
I don’t know why I was so nervous all of a sudden. I’d made Tyler a generous offer, hadn’t I? Giving him the chance to risk truancy, and possibly restriction, just to hang out with me for the day. Clearly, my selflessness knew no bounds.
The drumming at my window made me realize I’d been wrong to doubt whether he’d show, and I rushed to meet him.
“Hey,” I exhaled, sounding way more relieved than seemed warranted.
“Hey yourself. So what do you have planned for us? Bank heist? Jailbreak?” The way he looked at me, with that grin and that glint in his eyes, made me smile. But it was his touch, when I let him help me out the window again that made me beam from the inside out. He deliberately pulled me into him, practically yanking me to make it seem as if I’d lost my balance. My cheek smashed into his chest, not that I was complaining exactly. It wasn’t the worst place to be. “Or maybe you have something more . . . interesting in mind,” he suggested, his voice all gravelly sounding as it rumbled against the side of my face.
Grudgingly, I shoved away from him. “Jeez! Don’t you ever get tired of trying to seduce me with your sorry pickup lines?”
Undiscouraged, he smiled down at me. “Trust me, if I was trying to seduce you, there wouldn’t be anything sorry about it.” He reached for my hand, and his fingers linked through mine the way they had the night before as we started walking.
There was something so endearing about the way he held my hand, the way it felt like something we’d been doing forever while at the same time it felt shiny and new. My stomach quivered, and I liked it.
When we were in his car, he raised an eyebrow at me, and I realized I’d never told him where we were going. I loved that he was willing to go along with whatever I had in mind, no questions asked.
“Oh, uh . . . to Cedar Lake High School.” I paused when an expression I didn’t recognize passed over his face. “Do you know where that is?”
“Uh, yeah. In Bellingham. It’s the school you were playing the night you vanished.” He frowned. “Are you sure you want to go back there?”
I nodded, more sure than I’d ever been. “I need to retrace my steps. I want to see if I can remember anything.”
“Why? What good’ll it do? The past is the past. You’re here now. Shouldn’t you be moving forward? Forget about what happened all those years ago?”
I hesitated, wondering how much I should tell him about my dad and his crackpot theories, and about Agent Truman, and the way they’d both asked me about fireflies.
“I wish I could,” I started as I smoothed my hand nervously over my jeans. “But there’s more to it than just that. There are things . . . people who are making it hard to let the past stay buried in the past.”
He winced, and I wondered if the pained expression meant he thought I was talking about his brother again. I reached across to where his fingers gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. But I stopped myself because I felt self-conscious all of a sudden.