Identity Crisis (19 page)

DecOlan
: i don't deserve that much but you do.

DecOlan
: i promise i'll make it up to you.

I wait for her reply. I know it's a long shot, but if I can just convince her to meet me, maybe I can make this right. Maybe, just maybe, I won't have to lose her. Because if I finally know my one true desire, I also know Annalise's: to meet Viggo Witts.

And I can give that to her. But only if she'll agree to come.

I stare at the screen, willing her to answer yes.

I wait and wait and wait and wait. An eternity tumbles by. Then finally, I see she is writing her response.

KnuckLise99
: i'll see you there.

My heart collapses in relief. She will. She will meet me. I reach out to thank her, to promise her this time, I will keep my word. Then all of a sudden, up pops an error message I've never seen before. Something's not right. I don't need someone from the Genius Bar to tell me something is very, very wrong. I hit refresh and this time, am bounced back to the homepage.

“No!” I pound the keyboard in frustration.

I attempt to log in as Declan half a dozen times, frantically, pushing shift, caps lock, number lock, and anything else I can think to try to get back to Annalise, to confirm that I will see her there. But each time, I only get this response:

User Name Unknown.

Password Incorrect.

Please Try Again.

Meet him? Is he insane? And he thinks he can make this up to me? Part of me wants to tell this so-called “DecOlan” that there's no way I'm meeting him anywhere, ever. But halfway through our conversation, the truth hit me: I'll never believe what I read on my screen. What if this is my only chance to find out who he actually is? The only way to know for sure is face-to-face. My fingers race across the keyboard.

KnuckLise99
: i'll see you there.

Silently, I finish the sentence to myself:
But you won't see me
.

But before he can reply, our entire conversation suddenly disappears. I scroll up but it is gone. All of it. I click over to Declan's profile, but he is gone, too.

Vanished. Into cyberspace.

Weird. I sit there for a minute, refreshing the screen, trying to figure out what could have happened. Slowly, it dawns on me that maybe that's my answer. Whoever “DecOlan” was has freaked out, bailed, gone rogue. That apology, that promise to make it up to me, all just a sham. Buying time to go delete the account. Why hadn't I just kept demanding his name? Threatened to turn him in? Maybe he—or was it a she?—would have finally confessed. Now it was too late.

The adrenaline from our online shouting match slowly drains from my system. Probably it was just some crazy troll. Some creepy forty-year-old pedophile, trying to lure me in. Maybe I'd dodged a bullet. Good thing I'd refused to have him come over here, to an empty house.

Then, all of sudden, my phone rings. I look at it, startled. My caller ID reads: O'Keefe. Impossible. Freaky.

“Hello?” I say warily. My throat is tight again. Breathless.

A boy's voice on the line. Familiar.

“Annalise?”

“Yeah?”

“This is Declan. Declan O'Keefe?”

His voice is high, nervous, as if he's never called a girl on the phone before. “Maeve's friend. From Worcester?”

Oh. Him.

“Hey.” My hopes come crashing down. Why is he calling me? After all, isn't he supposed to be all into Maeve?

“I'm sorry, but I thought you should know—I contacted tech support and reported that account fraudulent.”

What the what?

“You did what?” I nearly shout.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says. “Look, I know you didn't want me to tell my parents or Eva, and I didn't, but I really hated the idea of someone impersonating me online. Freaks me out. I mean, identity fraud is a serious issue and I just wanted you to know, in case you were still getting messages from that impostor, that it's over. I just got an e-mail from tech support. They've deleted the account.”

I don't know whether to be irritated or relieved. So it was the real Declan, not the fake one, that just cut the cord. That means whoever it was is forever lost to me now. No way to find out who they were, what they wanted to tell me, why they did what they did. Unless they really do show up at Will Call.

I try to focus on what Declan is telling me: that online identity fraud is actually a misdemeanor in our state, and the site administrators would investigate who was behind it and he could even press charges, but since it's his cousin, he'd rather not, if that was all right with me.

“Actually,” I interrupt him, “I don't think it's Eva.”

He sounds startled. “It's not? Then who?”

That's what I'd like to know. “I don't know. Wait.” I realize this might be a chance to find out the difference between the real Declan and “DecOlan.” I doubt anyone could just make up all that stuff on the spot—some of it was probably taken from the person's own life story. Was any of it real?

“Can I ask you some questions?”

“Sure,” he says cautiously.

“So, you're Declan O'Keefe, and you really won the Worcester County Chess Tournament when you were eleven, right?”

“Um, yeah. How'd you—”

“And your dad Patrick is a software engineer.”

“Correct.”

I mentally scroll through all the other stories “DecOlan” had shared with me.

“And you used to sing chorus and one time you got so nervous during a solo that you choked?”

“Um, what?”

“You used to do chorus?

“Uh, no.”

Bingo! Gotcha! So that might be something real. What else?

“And did you ever push your mom and accidentally break her wrist?”

“What? No! Of course not,” he says indignantly. “Why?”

“I'm just trying to sort out the truth,” I tell him and explain what I'm doing.

“Look, what that person did was crazy town. Who knows if anything they told you was fiction or fantasy? It'll probably never make sense. I think you should just forget it. So does Maeve.”

Maeve. So clearly, they've been in touch.

“What did she say?” Had she told him we'd fought? Over him?

“Nothing. I don't know. You should talk to her,” he stammers. “She said you're still going to that concert together, right?”

“I'm not sure.” I realize I haven't even told Maeve about Cooper's invitation and my acceptance. “I actually may be going with someone else.”

“Well, that's too bad, she's a great girl. She used to talk about you all the time, at camp, you know. My best friend, Annalise. The future Olympic gymnast.”

“She did?”

“Yeah. She said you used to put on shows for all the neighborhood kids.”

It was true. I'd perform flips and back handsprings in our backyard for anyone Maeve could round up, acting as my coach, sports agent, and publicist all rolled into one. But that was pre-boobs, pre-boys, back when life was a whole lot less complicated. Sometimes, I wish the carousel of time would just stop and let me off.

“I can't believe you remember that,” I say, a little embarrassed.

“Well, I guess I remember everything Maeve said.” He pauses, and coughs, and I can figure out the rest for myself: how he has been crushing on Maeve since forever but was all elbows and knees. “She never really noticed me,” he says quietly. “She was obsessed with Aiden Sylvester.”

That was true. Every summer, it seemed, Maeve came home having gone one base further with Aiden.

“Not anymore,” I inform him. “He hooked up with Faye Snowe the last night of camp.”

“Really?”

“Um, yeah.” Wow was this guy clueless. How could anyone go to Camp Chicawawa and not know this? Maeve and I had only dissected the cheating episode nightly for all of Labor Day weekend.

But his words remind me what a true friend Maeve has always been. Why had I stopped valuing her and turned to some online surrogate friendship? Because she was busy with volleyball? Because she had a life? She was still always there for me. Going to a concert she had no interest in seeing. Traveling to smelly old Worcester. Helping me concoct my crazy revenge scheme. And what had I done? Been judgy about her little sister's dumb decision. Jealous that she was interested in a boy I had no legitimate claim on. Which, in a way, made me no different than Eva Winters. It's like I was so scared of losing her, instead, I starting pushing her away first. Lately, I've been completely in my own head. Having an identity crisis. Obsessing over the band and their music and . . . hello!

Something in my brain clicks. Why didn't I think of it before? There is a way to help Samantha. And to make it up to Maeve.

“Listen, Declan, I gotta go,” I say breathlessly, my mind tallying up what I will need. Some red lipstick. A mirror. My digital camera. Will it work? Will it be enough to make her forgive me? Maybe. But there's one thing more I can do. “But it's fine with me if you want to ask Maeve out.”

“Sweet!” He cackles a weird laugh, and my resentment towards Maeve instantly dissolves. No, I definitely don't want to keep Declan to myself. Besides, Cooper Franklin just might turn out to be more than meets the eye.

“No, you two are made for each other,” I say firmly. “Plus, I've got the perfect first date in mind.”

I've called a Code Red, texting for Eva and Tori to meet me in the girls' bathroom before first period so I can tell them in person what happened. This emergency can only be conveyed in real life. From here on out, we're going off the grid. I'm paranoid that any more online communication could be tracked and used against us.

“You guys. She knows.”

“What? Who?” Tori asks, unable to resist stealing a glance at herself in the grimy mirror. “Who knows what?”

But Eva understands exactly what I am talking about.

“How?”

“I don't know. But she's definitely figured out Declan's a fake.” I tell them how Annalise had seemingly discovered the truth and demanded I tell her who I am, but then the account froze and disappeared.

“Well don't look at me. I didn't do it,” Eva says, implying I thought that she was the one this time who somehow locked me out of the account. “You said you could handle it without us, remember?”

Tori looks panicked. “Does she know it's us?”

“Not yet.”

“Thank god.” Eva sighs in relief and Tori's frown fades.

“But I'm going to tell her the truth.”

They both stare at me and Eva finally asks, “Are you high? Seriously, Noelle. Why would you do that if she has no idea it's us?”

“Tell me what really happened, the night Amos and Annalise hooked up,” I say, brusquely changing the subject.

“What?” My question catches Eva off guard. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It does, just answer the question.”

“Why?” she grimaces. “Was she talking about that? Did she tell you something different? I knew you were—”

“No. He did.”

She frowns, quickly figuring out who I mean. “You spoke to Amos? Behind my back?”

“I had to. It was obvious you hadn't told me the whole story. He said to talk to you. Did you tell him the two of you were done?”

I've thought and thought about what Amos said, what he was hinting at, and only one thing makes sense. But I need to hear it from her.

And she starts to explain. “I don't know what I told him. I was, like, mad at him, over something stupid, I don't even remember, and I walked out of the dance. Next thing I know, I'm getting texts that he's in the stairwell, hooking up with someone else. That skank.”

“Wait. Back up. So, you, like, broke up with him that night?” Tori asks. I stare at Eva, waiting to hear her reply.

I flash back to Annalise's words that never made sense to me, until now:
i'd see that asshole crying and keep on walking
. And Amos's words:
nothing even happened
. If that was all true, if Eva had dumped him, if he was crying, if Annalise was just trying to comfort him? If maybe she had never even hooked up with him at all, then really, she had done nothing wrong. All of Eva's anger toward her was understandable, sure, but somewhat unjust. Maybe I could even convince Eva to let it go already. To understand why we owed Annalise an apology.

But she is not giving up that easily. “I might have told him we were done,” Eva says testily. “So? That doesn't mean it was okay for her to come up and make a move on him. Like, the body wasn't even cold yet. Right guys? I don't get what this has to do with anything.”

Tori is nodding slowly, like she sees Eva's point, but I don't agree.

“Because it changes things, Eva,” I say, summoning up my courage. “It's not the same, if she thought you guys had broken up, if that's what Amos was telling her.”

But Eva digs in her heels. “I don't care what she says. He was still with me. We were just fighting, like couples do. She should have known that. She took advantage of him, all drunk and upset. And she's been playing the victim ever since, like he took advantage of her virtue. Puh-leeze.”

“So you let everyone believe the worst? Even though Amos says nothing even happened. That they were just talking.”

Her face flushes with anger. “My ass they were just talking. I don't care what he says. Amanda said they were practically all over each other. Or would have been, if they weren't interrupted. Besides, what was I going to do? Let the whole school find out I dumped him, but he's hooking up one second later with someone else. Humiliate me like that? No way.”

I can't believe I had ever swallowed that this was at all for my benefit, to help me with Cooper. This whole stupid vendetta was always about one thing: her pride.