Found

CHAPTER 10

I wanted to go back to the Bat Lady’s house that night, but here was the problem: I had too much homework. I’d been blowing it off for days now, and if I didn’t start working on the essay for history and study for the math quiz, I’d be in huge trouble. I turned off my mobile phone, sat at the kitchen table, and got to work.

First thing Tuesday morning, I had history with my favorite teacher, Mrs. Friedman. Rachel’s desk was empty. I didn’t know what to think, but it really wasn’t a huge surprise. There had been a shooting at her house. Her mother ended up dead, and Rachel ended up hospitalized with a bullet wound. The wound ended up being minor. Physically she was okay. Mentally, well, that was another story.

I had been the one to tell Rachel the truth. I had been warned by her father not to, but Uncle Myron had given me other advice, warning me that if you lie, it never leaves the room. It haunts the relationship forever. That made sense to me, so I ended up listening to Myron.

Rachel and I hadn’t communicated since, and yet if I had to do it all again… I don’t know.

The vibe in the school cafeteria was decidedly somber today. Ema and I sat at our usual table in what is often dubbed “Loserville.” Our table could sit twelve, but today there were just the two of us. Usually we were three, and staring at the spot where Spoon normally sat made my chest hurt.

“I’m worried about him too,” Ema said. “But he wouldn’t want us moping around about it.”

I nodded. I had met Spoon in this very cafeteria. He had walked up to me and offered me his spoon for reasons I still didn’t get. In my mind I had started thinking of him as “that spoon kid,” which had been shortened to Spoon. Spoon loved the nickname and insisted that we use it always and forever. If someone called him Arthur now, he ignored them.

The tables with the kids we deem more popular for whatever dumb reasons were usually an active beehive of varsity jackets, blond highlights, loud voices, big laughs, and enthusiastic high fives. But not today. Troy was still there, at the head of the table as usual, but he was quiet. The rest of the table followed his mood. In fact, it seemed as though the whole cafeteria were in silent mourning over the recent fate of their fallen leader.

“It’s so quiet in here,” Ema said.

She and I were always on the same wavelength.

“Too quiet,” I said, arching a joking eyebrow.

I wasn’t suicidal enough to smile or laugh out loud, but I didn’t want to be a hypocrite. I hated Troy with pretty good reason, and that wasn’t about to change over this. Yes, I understood how painful it must be to lose a season of basketball, especially now, in your last year of playing with your buddies. But then again, some of us had never had a steady group of buddies to play with. Some of us hadn’t been handed those opportunities, just to toss them away.

I didn’t feel sorry for him.

Troy had cheated by taking PEDs-performance-enhancing drugs. I didn’t buy Brandon’s defense. That was what every athlete said when they were caught-it was a mistake, it was a fix, it wasn’t me. I would probably admire Troy more if he just admitted it. Whatever. It wasn’t my business.

Troy’s table was usually full, but the seat next to his, the one where Buck always sat, was empty. I could usually count on Buck to be staring me down, mouthing that I was a “dead man,” emphasizing the point by making a slashing motion across his neck with his finger. Buck would then make fun of Ema in some cruel way, call her “fugly” or moo at her, a classic insecure bully idiot. I wouldn’t miss him either.

But I did find it odd.

Troy and Buck had been best friends since elementary school. Suddenly, within a few days of one another, Troy had been caught up in a drug scandal and Buck had moved away.

I lowered my head to start eating when I realized that the room had suddenly gone even quieter if possible, as though everyone had decided to hold their breath at the same time.

Then I heard Ema said, “Whoa.”

I lifted my head and felt the familiar jolt.

Rachel Caldwell had entered the cafeteria.

The silence was for a few reasons. One, this was her first return to school since the shooting that had left her mother dead and Rachel wounded. That had been our last… I don’t know what the word is… case, I guess, for the Abeona Shelter. We had solved it, but the answer remained a carefully guarded secret.

I hadn’t even told Ema.

I felt bad about that. Ema and Spoon had risked their lives and done everything anyone could have asked. They were my best friends and I hated the idea of keeping secrets from them, especially Ema, but in this case, the secret wasn’t mine to tell. It was Rachel’s. If I tell Ema, I betray Rachel. But then again, by not telling Ema…

In the end, I hoped and believed that Ema would understand. But I could be wrong about that.

I had not seen Rachel since the day I flew to California, when I showed up at her door and blew her world apart.

Reason Two for the cafeteria silence: Rachel was a popular girl. More to the point, she was captain of the cheerleading team, the hottest girl in school, the girl everyone talked about-you get the drift. People paid attention to a girl like that.

Reason Three: Rachel and Troy had been-I start gagging when I even think of it-an item. Rachel made it clear to me that she’d been young and dumb and that it was way, way over, though maybe she should make it a little clearer to Troy.

Still, I couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t coming over to say hi to Ema or me. She was heading for Troy’s table. She took Buck’s seat-the one next to him-and forced up a sad smile for Troy.

My face felt hot.

“Stop it,” Ema whispered to me.

“What?”

She just frowned at me and shook her head. “Troy was just kicked off the basketball team. She has to show some kind of support for him, don’t you think?”

I didn’t. But that wasn’t the point. Rachel hadn’t so much as glanced in our direction. Ema wouldn’t understand why. But I did. Uncle Myron had warned me that there would be a price for telling the truth, but how had he put it?

The ugliest truth is still better than the prettiest of lies.

She was avoiding me. I don’t know what advice someone would give me about that. Give her time, probably. I had done that already. Not a lot of time. But enough. Besides, I had learned that “giving time” often meant “time to fester.”

I needed to confront Rachel. The sooner, the better.