Following Page 2

  “Greg was holding his backpack. It looked heavy, like it was filled with a ton of books. He must have hit her with it. Swung it like a sledgehammer. I think there was…blood…on it.”

  “You think.”

  I stare at her. “There was blood.”

  Charlie stares back at me, then walks a couple of steps. She turns back to me. “She might have been dead,” she says. “Or she could have been unconscious. Or even awake. You don’t know. You didn’t check her.”

  “How could I check her? Greg was right there.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “No, I…I just ran.”

  “Did he see you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “I’m not sure, okay? I was too busy running. I…” I look down, ashamed. “I panicked, okay? I’m sorry. Maybe he saw me. I don’t know.”

  Charlie stares at me, thinking. When she’s quiet like this, I know it’s best to stay silent. Charlise Walker—everybody calls her Charlie—can be intimidating, with her buzz cut, muscular arms, and eyebrow piercings, a small stud on each one. She had to prove to her dad she could get a C in math for one grading period before he let her do it.

  Charlie is stronger than 90 percent of the students at Milton High, not to mention taller. We are a pair of opposites, dark and light, strong and scrawny, though at five feet nine I still have hope I might one day catch up to her six feet. I don’t know what drew us together, I just know she’s always been there, both while growing up and after my parents were killed last summer.

  The way she’s looking at me reminds me of her father. Matt Walker is a solid guy, firm but fair. After my parents died, he and his wife took me in until my uncle came forward. Charlie’s dad takes being a cop very seriously, so she’s never told him about my predilection for following people. He wouldn’t like it, nor would he be pleased to learn his daughter has kept it from him. But she keeps my secret, just like I’d keep hers—if she ever had any.

  I look down at my hands. After another minute, Charlie crosses to the couch and puts her hand on my shoulder. “You were right to run,” she says. “If Greg really hurt her or…worse, who knows what he might have done to you. But you need to call the police.”

  I start to pull out my phone, but I hesitate. “Do I have to use my cell?”

  “You want to place the call anonymously?”

  “If I leave my name, it means getting involved—”

  She looks at me. “You’re already involved! What happened to not following anybody for a little while?”

  I don’t say anything, guilt and anxiety battling for supremacy. Charlie sighs. “My dad may be suspicious after getting burned by those other prank calls the past several months. But if this really happened—”

  “What do you mean if?”

  “If she needs help,” Charlie says, talking over me, “the police need to get there. Right away. If you need to, you can give them your name later.”

  “Sound goods,” I say.

  “I still think there’s a pay phone a couple of blocks down and one street over. We’ll use that. If you don’t give your name and the police just track it to a phone booth, it won’t matter.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Let’s go,” Charlie orders.

  As we’re about to leave, I ask Charlie, “You believe me, don’t you?”

  The flash of doubt I see in her eyes is gone before she says, “Yes.”

  We hurry outside. After reaching the phone booth I realize I have no change. “You’re calling 911, dummy,” Charlie says. “You don’t need any.” Her teasing smile helps me relax a little.

  I don’t see anybody on either side of the street as I place the call. No passing cars, either. I can’t speak to who might be home, though, looking out their front window.

  I dial 911 and wait until someone answers. I keep the call short. To the point.

  “Two people were fighting. At the old Miller’s Park. I think a girl’s been killed.” I hang up, out of breath.

  “Did you have to say ‘killed?’”

  “I…”

  “You could have just said she was hurt.”

  “Maybe you should have called,” I tell her.

  “And you didn’t say a name.”

  “The plan was not to give my—”

  “Amy’s name. Greg’s.”

  “You think I should’ve?”

  “I don’t know,” Charlie says after a moment. She looks around. “Let’s get out of here.”

  We hurry back to Charlie’s house without trying to look like we’re hurrying. Once inside, I collapse back onto her couch. “Now what?” I manage to say.

  “Go home.”

  “Home?” I ask as if I’ve never heard the word before.

  “Yes,” she answers. “And just act normal.”

  “Why can’t I be normal here?”

  She thinks about it. “No. If the police do figure the call came from that phone booth, better you weren’t here.”

  “Normal,” I say. “I can do that.” Then I look at Charlie. “How are we gonna know? Will you ask your dad about it when he gets home?”

  “I can’t just ask him, that’d look suspicious. But if something’s really happened to Amy, Dad’ll be talking about it. I’ll call you later tonight.”

  “Okay.” I hesitate though, then say, “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For getting you into this.”

  “What are friends for?” she says. “Don’t worry about it. You did the right thing, calling.”

  I nod. “And I’m sorry for lying.”

  Her brow furrows. “Lying?”

  “Telling you I was going to stop following people.”

  “If the police get there in time, you following Greg might have saved Amy’s life.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. For some reason, it doesn’t make me feel any better.

  As I’m about to walk out the door, Charlie stops me and asks, “Did you take any notes about what you saw yet?”

  The question surprises me. She’s never asked me about this before. “No,” I say. “Well, just a few notes before I ran.”

  “Don’t write anymore,” she says. “Rip out the page with the notes and hide it.”

  “Hide it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “If it’s nothing, you can burn it later so nobody knows it was you who made the call. If it’s something, you don’t want to—”

  There’s that word if again. “Want to what?”

  “Just do what I say. Please.”

  “Okay,” I say after a moment, a little angry she still has doubts.

  Walking home, though, I can’t help but feel like I’m being followed.

  Chapter Three

  Charlie may not like me following people, but at least she knows why I do it.

  It’s hard to stop. People are strange. I learn a lot.

  And if I’d been as observant last summer as I am now, my parents might still be alive.

  I’m always watching, listening. If someone becomes interesting enough, I add him or her to my list of people to follow.

  Following is fascinating and daring and sometimes a little dangerous. But I have to do it. It’s important work. You never know about people; what they show on the outside is often not what’s on the inside. You’ve gotta watch for those brief moments when the hidden part slips out.

  Studying people so I can understand what makes them tick is a good skill to have if I really am going to be an investigator. So what I’m doing now? It’s all just practice.

  The tricks I’ve picked up following people worked for me while I was trailing Greg. But, really, following is easier than you might think. People are oblivious, to
o caught up in their own stuff to pay attention to what’s around them. It makes it easy for me not to be noticed.

  It’s how I learned my science teacher is dating my gym teacher, though they go out of their way to hide it from everyone in school, and how I found out Milton bad boy Steve Latimer, who spends more time in detention than he does in class, finds time two afternoons a week to volunteer at a day care for kids with special needs. And I discovered that Rick Kellerman, star of the school’s wrestling team, is really into fashion magazines.

  It’s amazing the things I learn. People and their secrets.

  Despite what Charlie recommended, I finish my notes after I get home. Not doing it feels dishonest somehow. They’ll be safe. I always keep my notebook close by. Nobody’s ever going to read it but me.

  By the time my uncle gets home from work, I’m almost finished with my homework. Uncle Bill works construction, does a lot of overtime, and he’s always bone-tired when he gets home. He’s a nice guy; he didn’t have to uproot his life to become my guardian, move to Milton, and get a new job so I could keep living here. For someone who was never married or had kids of his own, and who suddenly became responsible for taking care of a teenager, he does okay. But he’s not much for long conversations. He’ll ask me the usual questions: “How was school?” or “Got any homework? Need any help with it?”

  I’ll fill him in on basic stuff about the school day, and when I tell him I don’t need help with homework, he always seems grateful. Once dinner is over, not long after he’s planted himself in his armchair in front of the TV, beer in hand, he’ll be out like a light. At some point, he’ll wake up and get himself upstairs to bed, but I’m usually long asleep before that happens.

  He’s not mean and never gets angry. I get good grades, and whenever I come home with another A on a paper or test, he’ll tell me how smart he thinks I am, just like my dad. Hearing him mention either of my parents makes my heart ache.

  We don’t usually talk about them, my mom and dad. Though lately he’s been bringing them up more and more, especially Dad. There have been times when, on the nights he’s had an extra beer or two, I’ll hear him mumbling to himself. And I’ll hear my dad’s name.

  Reminding me he must miss him, too.

  The early evening news has nothing about a body found in old Miller’s Park. Dinner tonight is chili, one of about six meals my uncle knows how to make. I like his chili, but my stomach is too tied up to eat. He’s not too tired to notice.

  “You’re not eating,” he says. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” I manage to wolf down enough spoonfuls to satisfy him. I think he might say something more, but he just returns to his food, and we both go back to a quiet meal.

  Later, I’m in my room upstairs, finishing up what’s left of my homework, when my cell phone rings.

  Charlie.

  I don’t even say hi. “What’d you hear?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Your father didn’t talk about it?”

  “Oh, he talked about it,” she says. “A lot. I mean they found nothing at Miller’s Park. No Amy, no Greg, no sign of a fight, nothing. He spent half of dinner complaining about kids that make prank calls to the station. Three now in the past ten months. The other two were bad enough, claiming someone had a gun. But this one he called particularly bad because the caller claimed someone might have been killed. My dad says he’s not going to let this one slide. He’s going to find the kid who did it.”

  “I shouldn’t have called. I should have just—”

  “You were right to call,” Charlie says. “You did the right thing.”

  “But your dad—”

  “Relax. He’s just blowing off steam. They don’t know where the call came from. They’re not going to find you.”

  “What if someone saw us in the phone booth?”

  “Take some deep breaths, Alden.”

  I take two deep breaths, but they don’t do much to settle the fluttering in my chest.

  “This isn’t a TV show where they trace the call before the commercial,” Charlie continues. “Our little community police department isn’t big enough to track down one phone booth. There’ll be the article in the paper tomorrow, then things will die down. Don’t worry. Besides, this is good news.”

  “Good news…”

  “This means Amy’s alive. She just fell or something. That’s probably why you saw her lying on the ground.”

  I say nothing.

  “Or they were making out together on the grass,” she continues, “and when you saw them, Greg had just gotten up. If you’d stayed a little longer you probably would have seen Amy get up, too.”

  She pauses.

  “Alden? You there?”

  “He could have moved Amy’s body,” I say.

  “Jeez, Alden. Greg Matthes isn’t some criminal mastermind. And besides, you told me he walked there, didn’t have a car. You think he dragged her somewhere? No way.”

  After a few seconds, I say, “I guess you’re right.”

  “You bet I am. Tomorrow you’re going to school, and you’ll see Amy there. Then you’re going to breathe a big sigh of relief, and everything will get back to normal.”

  Another deep breath. “Okay.”

  “And then you’re going to stop following people.”

  I don’t respond.

  “It’s creepy,” she says.

  I still don’t respond.

  “Promise me you’re going to stop following people, Alden. And mean it this time.”

  Silence.

  Then I let out a big sigh. “Okay.”

  “Promise?”

  Another sigh. “Promise.”

  “Okay.” Then she adds, “You big goof.”

  “You’re bigger than I am.”

  “Bigger and stronger. But not goofier.”

  We both laugh. This is a familiar refrain between us. I’m sure most people would think it sounds dumb, but we’ve said it for years.

  “Good night, Alden.”

  “Good night.”

  Charlie ends the call.

  She has a way of making me feel better when something’s bothering me. I like to think the rare smile she reserves for me is not one she shares with others.

  As I try to drift off to sleep, I tell myself she’s right. I’ll go to school tomorrow, and Amy will be there.

  Except what if she isn’t?

  Chapter Four

  Uncle Bill is up drinking coffee and reading the newspaper as usual when I come downstairs in the morning. “Breakfast is on the stove,” he says in his gruff voice, over the edge of his paper.

  I expect my uncle to just go back to what he’s doing like he did the night before, but to my surprise, his eyes stay on me as I walk over to the stove. “You’re not coming down with something, are you?” he asks. “You don’t look good.”

  I must really look like crap if I’m keeping him from reading his paper. “I’m fine.” I make sure to smile. “I was just up later than I thought I’d be, doing homework.”

  “Do you need to stay home? I can write you a note. Nothing wrong with a day off every now and then.”

  “My homework’s due today. And I…I have a test.” I try to remember if I actually do.

  Uncle Bill grins. “When we were kids, your dad liked to try and talk Mom and Dad into giving him a day off. It never worked.”

  There it is again—bringing up my dad out of nowhere. Does he expect me to respond? My heart suddenly pounding into my throat, I turn to the stove and serve myself some eggs and bacon.

  He returns to his paper.

  I force down the food to hold off any more questions. My uncle points to the front page and says, “It says here somebody called the police, claimed a girl was killed.”

  My heart leaps into my throat, and I almost
choke on my eggs.

  Uncle Bill doesn’t seem to notice as he continues. “It says when the police got there, there was nothing. No body. It was a prank call. Did you hear about this?”

  I carefully wipe my mouth. “Uh…no.”

  “Well, the police chief sounds pretty upset. He’ll probably find out who did it.” He puts the paper down and checks his watch. “Gotta go,” he says. “Have a good day at school, Alden.”

  As soon as the door closes behind him, I grab the paper and pore over the article. Charlie’s dad does seem pissed. He’s quoted as calling it “reprehensible,” and mentions other prank calls made in the past. Then he goes on to say, “I promise we will do our best to track down the people responsible and make sure they are arrested and punished to the full extent of the law.”

  For someone whose department supposedly doesn’t have the tools to track me down, he sure sounds determined. I expect police cruisers to drive up to me any minute, sirens blaring, as I walk to school.

  * * *

  At school, Amy is a no-show. Every worst-case scenario plays over and over in my mind. I’m practically jumping out of my skin by the time I see Charlie at lunch.

  “Yeah I know. Amy’s not here,” Charlie says before I even open my mouth. “She’s at church camp.”

  “Church camp? How do you know?”

  “I know people who know Amy,” she says.

  “You asked around?”

  “Don’t worry, I was subtle. I can be subtle, you know.”

  Charlie is friends with the jocks who use the weight room. It makes sense she would know a lot of the same kids Greg does, though Charlie doesn’t play any sports. What doesn’t make sense to most of my classmates is her friendship with me.

  “It’s a three-day camp,” Charlie continues. “She got today off from school so she could go.”

  “How do we know she’s really there?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe she never made it to camp. Her friends think that’s where she is, so no one’s suspicious. It gives Greg plenty of time to get rid of her body and any evidence.”

  Charlie gives me a funny look. “Greg’s in school today, you know. Don’t you think he’d at least call in sick if he needed to get rid of a body?”