As soon as the alarm goes off, my eyes spring open with a start, a sensation like static electricity buzzing through my limbs.
Just beyond the curtains, a vibrant orange hue creeps across the horizon, the teasing hint of sunrise hitting me at an angle different than what I'm used to. I rub the sleep from my eyes and struggle to orient myself.
It's early morning, and I'm in Mom's bed. I can't believe I finally fell asleep. The last time I looked at my phone, the clock read 4:12. Mom always gets up at 6:00. If I'm lucky, I slept for maybe an hour and a half. But I'll take it. A little rest is better than no rest at all, and I have a busy day ahead of me.
Mom reaches for her phone and silences the wail of beeps. Once it's quiet, she lets out a low groan and falls back into the pillow with a thud, the fluff and silky fabric concealing her face.
She didn't sleep much either. We both took turns repositioning ourselves throughout the night, a shift from one person triggering a roll from the other, all the while pretending like we weren't wide awake. Other than the continuous restlessness, the hours stretched by without incident. No sign of Emma breaking into the house. No sign of her looming over the bed.
I reach for my cell to check the notifications but there's still no call or text message from Jordan.
A sudden thickness engulfs me.
Something must be wrong, or she would have contacted me by now. I take a breath but my lungs feel depleted no matter how much air I suck in.
I close my eyes, try counting to ease my nerves, but the numbers jumble into nonsense behind my lids.
My imagination is getting the best of me. Images spin through my head of Emma sneaking into her hospital room and suffocating her with a pillow, or pushing a deadly substance through the line in her vein. And the more I dwell, the more ominous scenarios invade my brain.
"Honey?" Mom rolls onto her elbow, blocking out the haze filtering in through her window. "You're breathing funny. Are you feeling alright?"
The sting of bile crawls up the back of my throat. I swallow it down and try not to gag. "I'm fine," I lie, setting my phone on the table. "How did you sleep?"
"Great," she lies back. "And you?"
"Like a baby."
We stare at each other, two silhouettes in the murky darkness, refusing to turn away. Finally, her shoulders sink and she lets out a sigh of resignation. "I need to shower. I have a lot to get done before your appointment this afternoon."
"But you showered last night."
"So call me obsessive compulsive," she shoots back. "It's not like cleanliness ever killed anyone."
This is my chance. If I can convince her to reschedule, it will buy me more time with Jordan before going to the police. "Maybe we should see Dr. Wilder next week? That way you and Dad don't have to readjust your schedules."
"Don't you worry about our schedules. Your father's already at the hospital making rounds, and I pushed back a meeting I didn't want to go to anyway. See? Everything's taken care of." She swings her legs over the side of the bed and flips the switch on her lamp. A cone of pale light illuminates the room.
I squint and look away. "It's not a big deal. I'll even stay home from school until we can make a new appointment."
Mom lets out another breath. "We're not rescheduling. The sooner we can address this, the better." She readjusts herself until she's facing me, and her voice grows softer. "Are you nervous? Is that what this is all about?"
"No." I push myself to a sitting position and brush back the tangles of hair from my face. "I just don't think it's an emergency, is all. You and Dad have important jobs and I think that should come first."
"You come first." Mom leans closer and squeezes my knee. "But I do need to get moving. If I hurry, I can make you breakfast before I leave. Would you like that?"
Something inside me sinks. Tears press against the back of my eyes but I blink them away before they can fall. "I'm not hungry."
"Make sure you eat today, okay? It's not healthy to skip meals. You need to keep your strength up."
Mom rushes into the bathroom and closes the door behind her, leaving me alone with my thoughts. When she turns on the shower, the sound of running water sails across the room.
My heart flutters, a rapid movement behind my rib cage that refuses to let up. But this isn't the time to panic. I need to keep my head straight, not let the anxiety control me. Stick to the plan.
The mattress dips as Cooper jumps onto the bed, his white fur standing on end as he brushes himself along my leg. When I give him a scratch behind the ear, a purr rumbles inside his throat. "Sorry I took your spot last night. Where'd you end up sleeping?" He usually follows Mom to bed, but this is the first I've seen him since before I came upstairs.
The purring grows louder as I continue his massage. "Are you hungry?"
I scoop Cooper into my arms and stand, when a vibration against the bedside table makes me pause.
A text message.
Tingles rush over my scalp as I set Cooper back on the bed and swipe up my phone. Jordan Pacey's name hovers on the screen.
omg, im sry!!! call me as soon as u wake up
My eyes dart to the bathroom door, my ears honing in on the steady rush of water. Mom's still in the shower. She doesn't usually take long, and there's no way I want her eavesdropping on my conversation.
I race down the stairs as Cooper trails after me, the tiny bell on his collar jingling with every step. The phone rings twice before Jordan answers.
I don't even give her a chance to say hello before I bombard her with questions. "Are you okay? Where the hell have you been? I thought something happened to you!"
"I'm so sorry! My doctors released me last night to a rehab facility. We barely had time to pack before the ambulance picked me up." Her voice is a loud whisper, her tone apologetic and pleading. "My phone ended up at the bottom of my suitcase and we couldn't find the charger. Dad dropped off a new one this morning on his way to work. Is everything alright?"
As my heart struggles to resume a normal rhythm, I pace across the kitchen floor, the tile cold against my bare feet. "You were right all along. Emma wasn't kidnapped. She ran away with that girl."
An eerie silence stretches between us, my breath growing ragged as I wait for her to respond.
"Did she write anything about me?" Jordan finally asks.
"She mentioned you a few times." A prickly heat swamps my face as I struggle to change the subject. I don't want her to ask what Emma said. She can read it for herself. "I have a name. It's Stefanie Colin."
"Stefanie Colin," she repeats. I wait for her to say more, but she doesn't.
I clear my throat, fighting the urge to guzzle down a glass of water. "It's Stefanie with an 'f'. I did a Google search but nothing came up with that spelling," I explain. "I think she might be some kind of nomad, or something. Always moving around. Emma said she lives in New York, or at least she did last year when she kept the journal. Who knows where she is now."
Footsteps creek overhead. Mom must be out of the shower. I tiptoe toward the stairs to make sure she's not listening and find the coast is clear.
Jordan still hasn't said anything. I don't like not knowing where her head is. Right now, I need her to focus on what we have to do. My livelihood depends on it. If I can prove Emma lied, I also prove I'm not crazy.
"When my mom leaves for work, I'll drop it off so you can read it. Then, I'll take everything—the journal, her license, and the drugs—to the police, just like we discussed. You're still okay with that plan, right?"
Silence.
Come on, Jordan! Don't flake out on me now. We're in too deep.
There's a shaky breath in my ear. "I'll text you the address and let my nurse know you're stopping by. She said I'm supposed to work with physical therapy after breakfast, but I'll tell her we have to go over important school work first. Maybe the therapist can work with another patient before me."
I lean against the kitchen island and press my fingers to my temple, letting the tips sink into the soft depression. "Good idea. But just so you know, we don't have much time. I need to go to the police station before my parents pick me up. My doctor's appointment is this afternoon," I remind her, a knot of dread tightening in my gut.
Jordan releases another soft breath. "This is going to work, okay? After the police have the evidence, they'll put the puzzle together. And in the meantime, you can tell your parents what's been going on."
Even though Jordan can't see me, I give her a nod, not trusting my own voice.
I have to pull this off. My entire future depends on it. If Dr. Wilder thinks I'm having a relapse, that could kill my chances of playing soccer at North Carolina—the one goal I've been working on for years. I'm not going to let Emma steal that from me.
"I'll text you when I'm on my way."
It takes Mom forever to get ready, or at least that's what it feels like. The minutes ticking by as she dresses in a scarlet dress suit, smooths her hair into a sharp bob, swallows down her favorite yogurt with the mushy chunks of strawberries that always sink to the bottom of the container.
The moment she's out the door, it's my turn in the shower, where I rush through attending to the most important parts. Afterward, I pick the lock to my room, rendering it useless in the process. If Emma did break in last night, nothing's out of place.
Everything's ready. Along with the pills, Emma's journal and driver's license are in a tote next to the front door.
Before long, all this trouble Emma caused will be behind us. The truth will come out, Emma will get the help she needs, and the rest of us can move on with our lives.
I throw on a pair of black leggings and top it off with my favorite sweater, my hair hanging in a damp, blonde curtain down my back.
When I reach for my phone, it vibrates in my hand. I stop dead in my tracks as a woozy sensation whirls inside my skull.
Smith.
I haven't spoken to him since that afternoon in the parking lot, when he pulled out the baggie from my glove box.
Finally, he's getting in touch with me—and not just by text, but an actual phone call. I'd given up on hearing from him, at least until I cleared my name and he'd realize I'm not crazy. That what I've been saying is true.
I thought I'd be thrilled to speak with him, but standing here now, I'm not sure how to feel. Nervous. Elated. Betrayed.
I pull in a shaky breath, and let it out through my nose. "Hello?"
There's a hesitation on the other end, an inhale of uncertainty. And then, "Arbor?"
"Yes?" My hand shakes as I hold the phone to my ear, but as long as my voice is steady, I'm considering it a win.
"You haven't been to school."
"I'm shocked you noticed," I respond, my tone filled with a reserve I didn't know I had—especially when it comes to Smith. "Is there something I can help you with? I'm kind of busy."
"Oh. I just—" There's a swallow on the other end, an uneasiness in his words. "I wanted to see if you were okay. Mey said she called you last night but you never answered. She was worried. I was worried. I mean, I am worried."
I completely forgot Mey called, and for a split second, my tough facade falters. My friends are worried about me. I know how difficult this is for him, admitting how he feels. To see him stepping out of his comfort zone is almost enough to make me cave. Almost.
"I must have been busy then, too."
"Look, Arbor. I know you're upset with me after—well, after what I found. But I needed time to sort things out."
"You mean, you needed time to strategize with Emma?"
"What? No!" His breaths quicken like he's in shock. "I've barely spoken with her since she told me where to look."
A wave of anger crashes into me, nearly knocking me off my feet. To hear him say that out loud, that Emma's lies guided his actions, reinforces my stance.
"I'm just surprised you believed whatever bullshit Emma came up with, even though I've told you over and over how much she's changed. You said you didn't want to be with her, you wanted to be with me, and yet look how quickly you turned on me."
"I didn't turn on you," he says diplomatically. "Please try to put yourself in my position. Emma said she was worried about you—that you've been acting paranoid like before. She said you didn't want to see your doctor so you were self-medicating the anxiety on your own."
A gaggle of laughter echoes in the school background. I picture him standing in the concave of a closed doorway in an attempt to cancel out the noise.
When he speaks again, his voice is lower. "We need to talk about this, but not over the phone. Can I come over?"
He's offering to skip out on school. That may be an olive branch, but I'm not taking it. He still hasn't apologized for acting the way he did, and that's the part that hurts most.
But then, maybe he's not sorry? Maybe Smith still believes Emma's story, and this lame attempt at reconciliation, or whatever it is, is a way to clear his conscience?
Tears blur my vision and spill down my cheeks. I wipe them away with the heel of my palm. I want to be strong, but the boy I've been in love with since second grade obviously doesn't feel the same way.
The realization hits like a kick to the gut. "I don't want to talk. You should go. You're going to be late for class."
I hang up before he can respond and my phone falls to the floor, clattering against the hardwood. I can't stop the sob that explodes from my mouth. My entire body convulses in a series of hopeless wails.
I can't fall apart. Not now. There's too much at stake. These emotions will have to wait until after the police confirm I'm right, that Emma staged her own kidnapping and everything she's said since she's been home is a lie.
A heaviness drapes over me as I drag myself to the bathroom and peer into the mirror. It's not a pretty sight. The whites of my eyes are bloodshot, my cheeks swollen and blotchy. I blow my nose and splash cold water on my face, but by the time I'm finished, I don't look much better.
At least these battle scars are temporary. I'm not sure I can say the same about my heart.
But it's okay, I'll get through it. I'll focus on one thing at a time. And right now, that's meeting up with—
The doorbell interrupts my pep talk. Prickles shoot up the back of my neck.
Everyone I know is either at work or school, and there's no way Smith would have had time to get here so quickly. Besides, I told him I didn't want to talk, and it's not like him to show up uninvited.
I step away from the bathroom and try to push down the unease blossoming in my chest. As I inch down the hallway, the doorbell rings again and then again, the insistent peal blaring throughout the house.
I fight to make sense of whoever's on the opposite side of the door, but the glass that separates us is opaque, and all I see is a dark-colored blur. When I'm close enough to the front window, I catch sight of Meredith's car parked behind my own in the driveway.
A relieved breath seeps from my lungs.
When I open the door, Meredith and Rowan are standing on the porch like rigid statues. "Thank God you're here!" Meredith slips into the foyer, her arm around my sister's shoulders. "I tried to call but it went straight to voicemail." Her eyes linger on my phone still lying on the floor before reconnecting with mine. "Is everything okay?"
"It's fine." I grab my cell and tuck it into the pocket of my sweater. "What's going on?"
Meredith runs a hand through her hair, and it's then that I notice how frizzy it is, like she never bothered to brush it after rolling out of bed.
She shakes her head, closes her eyes. When she opens them, they're shining with tears. "My mom had a heart attack this morning. I had to book a flight to Utah, but it's leaving in a couple of hours. Your dad said you were home and that I could drop Rowan off here. I'm sorry, I know this is sudden, but I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't get a hold of anyone from our homeschooling co-op..." She lets out a frustrated laugh. "I guess today's not a good day to have a heart attack."
Today is the absolute worst day to have a heart attack.
My gaze drops to Rowan. Her face is flushed, her lips pinched together. Despite my own problems, my sister's troubled expression tugs at me. "Hey, munchkin. Do you want to hang out with me today?" I say, reaching for her hands. They're clammy to the touch.
A grimace works its way across her face. "If it's okay?"
"Of course it is." I bring her to me for a hug and glance up at Meredith, mouthing the words good luck so Rowan can't hear.
With that, Meredith drops the charade. Her face falls and a single tear spills down her cheek. Thank you, she mouths back before wiping her eyes.
She clears her throat and spins Rowan to face her, crouching down so they're on the same level. "As soon as I get off the plane I'll call you, okay?" When Rowan nods, Meredith cups her face between her hands. "Everything will be fine. The doctors just want to run some tests to make sure Grandma's heart is healthy."
This time, Rowan lets out a strangled sob. Meredith envelopes her in a tight hug, doing her best not to cry. "Her doctors are every bit as good as Daddy—I promise. I'll bring you back a little surprise, okay?" She gives Rowan one last squeeze. "I love you so so much."
"I love you so so much, too. Tell Grandma and Grandpa I love them."
"I will, honey. I know they're sending their love."
Meredith gives me a hug next. "Thank you. I owe you one."
"No you don't. We're family, and this is what families do." I bury my face in her hair, still smelling of coconut shampoo. "I hope everything's okay with your mom," I whisper in her ear.
"That makes two of us." She leans back and gives me a grateful smile.
When Meredith leaves, I close the door behind her and rest my forehead against the wood, trying to refocus.
Shit. This new development will put a serious damper on my plan of attack.
I can still get the journal to Jordan and stop by the police station before my doctor's appointment. The only problem is ... how am I supposed to have these serious conversations with my innocent, little sister around?
I need a new idea, one that's child-friendly.
"When is Daddy going to be here?" a tiny voice interrupts my train of thought.
I blow out a breath and push away from the door. "Not for a while, I'm afraid." My heart sinks to my toes. Rowan looks so tiny and sad, standing in the foyer and clutching her cane. I bring her in for another hug. "Everything will be okay. You'll see. Your grandma's lucky to have your mom as a daughter. She'll take good care of her."
"I know." The words muffle against my sweater.
I step back and ruffle her hair. "I need to make a quick phone call. Why don't you wait for me in the kitchen, and when I'm done I'll make you a snack. Okay?"
Rowan nods and turns away, using her cane to guide her. I watch until she's settled in a kitchen chair, then I pull out my phone to locate Jordan's number. But before I can call her, the doorbell rings again.
A frustrated breath escapes me. When I open the front door, Emma is standing there, the morning sun radiating around her like a halo, her gaze fixed on mine. It's the first time I notice how flat her eyes look, her pupils like pin-pricks in the center of a stagnant brown.
Before I can shut it in her face, she lets herself in. My mouth hangs open, but whatever I'm about to say is glued to the back of my throat.
This must amuse her, and a slow sneer stretches across her face. "Hey there, Hayes. Long time no see."
Emma closes the door behind her and locks it in place.