Never Missing, Never Found (10 page)

“You’re saying that she just…forgot you broke up with her?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think she forgot. I think that with everything going on with Monica, with all the grief coming from that, she just…decided to ignore it.”

“But she can’t ignore it,” I say heatedly—probably too heatedly. I take a mental step back.
Casual.
Stay casual.
“Can’t you remind her?”

Connor sighs again, and I try not to imagine the way his breath would feel brushing against my ear. “I did, once, but it didn’t change anything. Her best friend just went missing,” he says. “We both know the relationship is over, but I don’t want to be cruel to her. She needs me.”

I need you.
“You’re a good person,” I say.
Better than me.

He looks me straight in the eye. “It’s just that—” His radio crackles, and we both jerk in surprise. “Sorry. One second.” It crackles again, someone—a robot, perhaps—saying something indistinguishable, but he frowns, and the crease between his eyebrows deepens. “They want me back,” he says. “It’s difficult, Scarlett. To be so beloved.”

“I’m sure,” I say drily. “What were you going to say?”

He shakes his head. “I forget,” he says, and fiddles with a fry. I keep waiting for him to pop it into his mouth and put it out of its misery, but he only continues toying with it, picking it apart the way a cat plays with a mouse. “It’s just about time for us to be heading back anyway.”

We toss our food and leave the Canteen. The cops are still waiting outside; I feel suspicious eyes trained on my back, but when I turn around to check, I see the cops are looking in the opposite direction. When I turn back around and trot after Connor, though, my back still prickles.

Halfway through the secret passage, Connor’s radio crackles again, and he swears. “They’re saying they need me in the north right away.”

“Why do they need you in the north?” I say. “You work in the south.”

He doesn’t answer. “Quick. We can run back to your store and then I’ll run up to the north.” He pretends to flick sweat off his brow. “It’ll be good exercise.”

His radio crackles again, and I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t they need you right away?”

“I can walk you back,” he says, and he smiles. There’s nothing patronizing or impatient about his smile, but I can’t help feeling silly that he thinks—no, he knows—that I can’t walk the secret passage alone. Which is ridiculous. Because there are plenty of people around and it’s the middle of the day.

I don’t want Connor to think I’m a coward.

“Go,” I say, waving toward the north. “I’m fine. I can go the rest of the way by myself.”

“You sure?” he asks.

I nod vigorously, like that’s going to convince me. “It’s stupid for you to have to go all the way to the south with me and then run all the way back. I’m okay. Anyway, it’ll be nice to enjoy the fresh air without your stench getting in the way.”

His mouth falls open in mock dismay. “If I didn’t have to run, I’d so tell everybody about you, you Sky-fanatic.”

“Blackmail doesn’t become you, Mr. Wallace.”

He’s already moving backward; he’s remarkably graceful, fluid like an ice-skater. He doesn’t so much as look behind him. If I tried to walk backward without looking, I’d probably manage to walk off a cliff, and there isn’t a real cliff around here for miles. “You just wait,” he says, and then he’s gone.

I take a deep breath. There isn’t any other option but for me to walk the rest of the secret passage alone; if I go into the park, I won’t make it back to my store on time. At Five Banners, if you’re late, I’m pretty sure your supervisor is allowed to eat you, and Cynthia looked pretty hungry, even after lunch.

So I walk alone.
It’s fine,
I keep telling myself.
Look, Scarlett, at all the people walking beside you. Listen, Scarlett, to all the tourists being cheerful on the other side of the fence. Bask, Scarlett, in the rays of the beaming sun. Bad things don’t happen in sunlight.

I conveniently ignore that I joined the club under rays of beaming sun.

I was alone then, though, and now there are people streaming around me everywhere I can see. I let myself melt into the crowd, lose my identity. It’s nice not to be Scarlett for a little while.

Until I hear “Scarlett?” that is. Then everything comes crashing back. I turn to the voice, which is coming from the open door of one of the metal buildings, and see Katharina.

I could run. I could. But I don’t.

“Scarlett?” Katharina says again. “Can you come here for a second? I want to talk to you.”

I take a step toward her but don’t go any farther. Over her shoulder I can see the inside of the shiny metal building stuffed with boxes and shelves labeled with things like
T-SHIRTS,
2013
or
BROKEN SNOW GLOBES,
2015.
(Why in the world would Five Banners need to keep around a full box of broken snow globes?) The corrugated metal walls practically bow out with the strain of keeping all this crap inside. Everything, from the vacant-eyed old action figures to stacks of Wonderman-emblazoned light-up sneakers, is covered with a thick, plush-looking layer of dust. My eyes itch just looking at it. What in the world is she doing in there? “What is it?”

Since I’m not moving toward her, she moves toward me, closing the door behind her. “I just wanted to talk to you and apologize for what happened at the vigil,” she says. “I don’t know what I did, but I clearly did something to really freak you out.”

I don’t know what to say to that. If I say,
Yes, you did,
she’ll ask me what, and I’ll have to spill everything. Ask her if she’s a dead girl.

So I go for no. “I just wasn’t feeling well,” I say. “It had nothing to do with you.”

“Oh, good,” she says, though she’s still eyeing me like I’m a radio that could burst into the Wonderkidz sound track at any moment. “Melody thought I might have done something.”

“She talked to you about me?” The words burst out before I can stop them.

She shrugs. “Your sister’s a cool girl,” she says. I want to ask her why she’s so cool, what they were doing without me, when Katharina snaps her fingers. “That’s what I wanted to ask you. We should do something sometime. Are you working the night shift tomorrow?”

I might have absolved Katharina of her guilt—as far as I know—but that doesn’t mean I want to spend time with her. “I can’t,” I say. “I have a…thing.”

She cocks her head. Waves of hair flow over her shoulders. I didn’t realize a human head could grow so much hair. “Melody said you’d be free,” Katharina says. “She’s the one who suggested the three of us get together. Oh well. Another time, then.”

I perk, feeling like a dog who’s just heard the can opener click. “Melody wants to hang out?”

“Yeah,” Katharina says. “It was her idea. She thought it would be fun.”

My heart is racing. “I might be free,” I say. “I have to…check my schedule.”

“Good,” she says. “Check it and let me know.”

My heart races the whole walk back to my store, and not just because I have to run to make it there on time.

I slide into my store in the nick of time; the digital clock on my register screen tells me it’s been exactly one hour since I left. Cynthia, who’s there to take my replacement off the register and send her to cover someone else’s lunch, doesn’t even give me side-eye.

“I just ran into Katharina,” I say, making conversation as she signs me on. Maybe trying to prove I’m a normal person. “We had a normal conversation.” Way to go, ace.

Cynthia squints at the register. “That’s weird,” she says. “Katharina’s not scheduled to work today.”

My breath catches in my throat. I want to ask her if she’s sure—absolutely, positively sure—but I’m not sure I want to hear the answer. So I say nothing.

Why would Katharina be hanging out in the park, in uniform, if she’s not working?

I think it over, but it’s difficult, considering the number of distractions surrounding me.

I’m working alone in a south-side candy store today, which is both the best and the worst. For one thing, there’s no sound track, and after Wonderkidz, I can’t help but note the music (or lack thereof) every time I step foot in a new store. Also, it smells like heaven: my register is right next to the fudge counter, where rolling acres of fudge stretch toward walls lined with giant, swirly neon lollipops and strips of button candy. The store has stations where guests can fill superhero- or supervillain-shaped plastic bottles with candy sand all the shades of the rainbow.

The worst part? I’m surrounded by all this mouthwatering sugary goodness, all this fudgy, chocolatey perfume, and I’m not allowed to eat even a single tiny sliver. I’m not sure if I’d want to, honestly; flies tend to hang out on the fudge’s surface. That doesn’t stop it from smelling amazing, though.

There’s a brief burst of after-lunch sugar buying, and then the store quiets down. I should wander the store and straighten items on shelves, make sure nobody’s opened a package and left the wrapper crumpled on the ground. But I’ve done enough cleaning for a lifetime, so I don’t think any god would penalize me for being lazy this one time. Instead, I find myself having a staring contest with the peanut butter–chocolate fudge.

“Do it.” Connor strolls in the front door. “No one will know.”

All thoughts of Katharina vanish. I gaze wistfully at the bricks of candy. “You will.”

“I don’t count,” he says. “Go. Do it. Do it. Eat it. Eat it.”

“The cameras will know too,” I say. I don’t even have to look up to know there’s a camera lens aimed right at my register, ready to document any rule breaking or idle behavior.

“Most of the cameras don’t work,” Connor says. “It was a big deal when…you know. When Monica…because the cameras were supposed to be on, but all the cameras in her store and on the way out were broken.”

“Oh,” I say. “That sucks.”

“Yeah. They’re in the process of getting them fixed, but it takes time. This one’s still on the list, since there are other cameras right outside. So go. Do it.”

I sneak another glance at the fudge. It glistens with its sheer deliciousness. “It’s stealing.”

“Delicious stealing.”

“True.” I look again at the fudge, then at the camera. “A tiny sliver would probably be okay.” I use the fudge tool to slice a tiny sliver from the end of a piece of fudge (the next guest to be rude will get the smaller piece), but Connor stops me with a touch to my elbow. Sparkles shoot up my arm to my shoulder.

“Scarlett,” he says with utter seriousness. “Go all in. Do it.”

I swallow hard. Before I can think about it, I grab the entire piece, shove it in my mouth, and chew. And choke. It’s like paste, with a note of chemical and a burny aftertaste. I scrabble for an abandoned strip of receipt paper and spit it out. “God, that’s awful,” I say. My face is squinched tight. “Are you sure that’s fudge and not rat poison?”

“That’s a good question,” Connor says. “The answer is no.”

I spit into the garbage can, but I can’t get the taste out of my mouth. “Do any of the others taste better?”

“Afraid not,” Connor says. “Here, have some sand.” At some point while I was stumbling around in half-real agony, he filled a water glass with the sugary sand. “Cheers.”

I tip it back and let the sugar dissolve in my mouth. It tastes like chemicals too, but at least it gets the taste of the fudge out. No, “fudge.” I can’t in good conscience refer to what I just ate as fudge. “Good God.” I run my tongue over my teeth, feeling the grit dissolve. “How could you do that to me?”

“Do what to you?” Connor says innocently. “I just urged you to follow your heart.”

“Oh really?”

He acknowledges me with a tip of his head. “Also, it was really funny.”

“I’m sure it was,” I say. I sigh. The door jingles open and I turn to greet the customer, but when I give the family my usual smile, they give me an odd look and retreat to the wall of fruit snacks. I realize too late it’s probably because my teeth are stained blue from the sand. That’s just wonderful. “You owe me.”

Connor waits for me to help the family with their afternoon treats, then leans back against the counter, propping himself up on his elbows. “I owe you, do I? What is it that I owe you, exactly?”

My cheeks and forehead are on fire. If I were in a movie, I’d tell him he owes me a kiss, and he’d kiss me, and it would sweep me off my feet both literally and figuratively, and we’d depart the next day on a journey to ride the tallest, fastest roller coaster in each Five Banners park across the U.S.

But it’s not a movie, and just the thought of asking him for a kiss makes my throat close in on itself and sweat prick cool on my forehead. “You owe me your hopes and dreams.”

“All of them?” He raises an eyebrow.

I cross my arms. “Every last one.”

His sigh gusts across the room. “In a fantasy world, in a few years I’ll be leading the U.S. men’s soccer team to a World Cup victory,” he says. “In the real world, I’ll be doing physical therapy. Exercise science.”

“I wouldn’t write off your soccer dream,” I say seriously. “Given the number of people who care about soccer over here, you might have an actual chance.”

A package of candy buttons bounces off my head. I rub the spot in mock pain. “Nice throw, but I’d be way more convinced of your ability to follow your dream if you’d kicked it.”

“You should come see me play sometime,” he says. “We have practice over the summer. At Riverside.”

The fire spreads to my entire face. “I don’t know anything about soccer.”

“So I guess your dream isn’t to head the U.S. women’s soccer team in the World Cup,” he says, sighing. “What is it, then? Don’t tell me—president of the Sky-fanatics?”

My dream. I don’t have a dream, not like that. I didn’t have time to dream when I thought I’d die in that basement. “I just want to be happy,” I say. “That’s all I want.”

“So profound.” One of his elbows slips, but he catches himself before he hits the counter. “You put me to shame.”

“Yeah?” I can’t see how; he knows exactly what he wants to do with his life, and the only thing I know is that I want my life to make me happy. I have no idea how I’m going to do it.

“It’s a good thing to want. I wish I could be more like that. Less about the planning.”

“You think so?” I say. “It makes me nervous, not having any kind of plan. Or even an idea.”

He squints at me and presses his lips together. “Well, what do you like to do? What kind of activities do you do?”

A laugh bubbles in my throat. This is a question for Melody. I like being free. Being free is my main activity. “I don’t know,” I say. “I’m still trying to figure that out.” I chew on the inside of my cheek. “I like math.”

“That’s practical,” he says. His eyes are almost golden in the light.

“Much more practical than soccer.”

His elbow slips again as he laughs, which makes him stand up and adopt a mock frown. “What about the rest of your life? You know that my brother plays the bari sax in the jazz band, which is really all you need to know about me. It’s your turn.”

I laugh again, but this one is plastic. “What do you mean?”

“Siblings, parents, school, pets, innermost secrets.” He ticks his words off on his fingers. “I want it all. Ready, set, go.”

I’m suddenly unable to swallow. This is where, in the past, I’d cut the friendship off.

But I can’t imagine losing Connor, so change-the-subject time it is. “Speaking of secrets, I’m glad to see you survived the secret crisis on the north side.”

Connor visibly shrinks; his shoulders fold in upon themselves, and he leans up against the counter, doubling over, so that his hands rest on his knees. “It was Cady,” he says. “She had a meltdown.”

“Oh,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“She was working in one of the stores where she and Monica always worked together, and I guess she kind of lost it,” he says. “They called me in to help calm her down.”

“Is she okay?”

Connor shrugs. “She’s functional,” he says. “She’s doing her job. I think that’s all they can ask at this point.”

“Yeah,” I say. “It must be really hard.”

“Yeah,” he says. “But enough of that.” I worry he’s going to go back to the whole innermost-secrets thing, but he continues with, “What are you doing this weekend, Scarlett?”

I hope I make it to the weekend after going somewhere with Katharina tomorrow. “I don’t know,” I say. “Working.”

“That sounds exciting,” Connor says. “Just kidding, it doesn’t. Are you free Saturday?”

“If I’m off,” I say. “I haven’t checked my schedule yet.” This time I’m actually telling the truth.

Connor waggles his eyebrows. “We’re all off,” he says. “As in, all of Merch. The park is closed for a private event on Saturday night, and most of the stores will be closed. So we’re having a special bonfire.”

“Yeah? Special? What makes it so special? What are you burning?”

“You know, the usual,” Connor says. “Effigies, animal sacrifices, the occasional young child.”

“Sounds like my kind of bonfire,” I say.

“We’ll be burning some of the hay I suffered to bale,” he says. “Don’t worry if you hear the smoke screaming. That’s just my spirit.”

“So it’s at your barn?” I say.

“At my house,” he says. “Well, in the fields behind my house.”

“I don’t get it,” I say. “I thought you lived in a barn.”

He picks up a chunk of fudge and tosses it up and down a couple of times for effect. “You’d better watch it, you,” he says. “Or I’ll make you eat an entire brick.”

“I feel like it would burn through my stomach and set my insides on fire,” I say. “On the bright side, I’d be a great fire starter on Saturday.”

“Very true,” he says. He puts the piece of fudge back. “Don’t worry. Just give it to the first person who’s mean to you. No one will know.”

A few months into our captivity, Pixie still hadn’t learned. She didn’t try to run three times a day anymore, but I could tell she was always looking for a way to escape.

I woke one night not to Pixie elbowing me in the stomach or kicking me in her sleep (that, I was used to), but to something rattling. I blinked, drowsy, and realized that my stomach was cold. Pixie wasn’t there. I sat up, suddenly awake. “Pixie?”

“Shhhh!” Her voice was rushing water. I squinted into the dark to see her hands silhouetted against the tiny barred window; she’d pushed the table underneath and was standing on it, one of the legs teetering just off the ground. Even with this extra height, she could hardly reach. “Someone will hear!”

I pushed myself to my feet and padded over. The floor felt like ice under my bare soles, and I shifted from foot to foot, trying to keep warm. “What are you doing?”

My eyes had adjusted enough to see the look she shot me. She looked like she thought I was an idiot. “Trying to see if I can get through the window, duh.”

“It’s too high,” I said. “I tried when I first got here.” And then I clamped my mouth shut, because what if Stepmother heard me?

“If I stack a chair on top of the table and climb on that, I should be able to reach,” she said.

“You’ll fall,” I said. “And anyway, there are
bars
on the window.”

“But maybe I could get the bars off,” Pixie said heatedly. “And if you hold the chair so that it doesn’t fall off…”

I blanched. Hold the chair? So Pixie could escape?

No one would be here to hold
my
chair.

Not that I could escape anyway. I had nowhere to go back to. My parents didn’t want me anymore. Stepmother was the only one willing to take me in.

“I’ll run and send someone back for you,” Pixie was quick to add. “I swear.”

“It won’t work,” I said. “And anyway, you—”

We hadn’t realized how loud we were getting. The door at the top of the stairs banged open, and I jumped. Pixie jumped too, right off the table. She landed with a shriek, her ankle folding beneath her.

“What’s going on down here?” Stepmother took a step down the stairs. She was all done up for bed, silver hair piled into a bun on top of her head, the skin under her eyes ghostly white with cold cream. Pixie whimpered. “What are you doing, girl?”