Don't Fail Me Now (15 page)

• • •

When we make it back to the block where we parked, there's a little crowd gathered, and my first chilling thought is that maybe Tim's dad was just baiting him to call so he could trace our location, and that he already sent the cops straight to us.
But as I get closer I hear clapping, and then I can see Tim standing under the theater marquee with a rolled-up paper bag at his feet, doing some sort of white boy shimmy as he sings an a cappella rendition of “San Antonio Rose.” His voice is smooth and sweet, like a dorkier Bruno Mars.

“Oh no,” Cass says, instant humiliation draining even more color from her face. She hangs back while Denny and I move in closer. Just as he's finishing, I see Tim see me, and he smiles wide and wiggles his eyebrows, like,
top this
. That sneaky bastard. This was supposed to be a battle of wits, not
American Idol
.

After the last note, the onlookers clap and holler, and a few of them step forward to drop coins and dollar bills into the bag. Leah is leaning on Goldie's hood, arms crossed tightly on her chest, looking reluctantly proud but sitting far away enough to safely deny any association with him.

“Thank you so much,” Tim says. “This next one goes out to a girl I know.” Someone whistles, and he laughs. “No, it's not like that. She once told me to buy a taco or step aside. But”—he pauses and winks, to the crowd's delight—“I think I'm growing on her.” And then he launches into a song I haven't heard in so long, it takes my breath away—“Michelle,” by the Beatles.

Buck used to sing that to me all the time when I was little. He doesn't get too many points for creativity—it's the only popular song with so much of my name in it—but I didn't know it was a real song back then; I thought he made it up for just me, and it always made me feel special and safe. I find myself blinking back tears.

I want to meet Tim's eyes, but I can't. It's too dangerous, what I'm feeling right now, this combustible concoction of new euphoria and old, aching rage. On the one hand, this is the first
time a guy has ever sung to me—in public, no less—and it makes me feel dizzy and hot, like my plasma has been replaced with champagne bubbles. But then, the song also reminds me of the man who took away my trust, who's at least half the reason I've spent the past decade avoiding getting close to anyone. Your parents are supposed to teach you how to love, so what the hell are you supposed to do if they leave you hanging? How are you supposed to know what to feel or even how to express it? I stare at the pavement sparkling under my shoes in the glow of the streetlamps and try to let whatever this is—this song, this boy, this moment—wash over me, and when he's done I clap so hard my palms sting.

“Thanks,” I say when he comes back to the car clutching the bag filled with bills.

“Not bad, right?” He smiles nervously and searches my face for a reaction.

“Not bad.” I try to smile, but I'm afraid it looks too fake, like I don't mean it.

“So what did you get?” he asks.

“Nothing.” I hold my hands out to prove it. “It's all you. You win.”

“How much did you make?” Leah asks, grabbing at the bag. “Is it enough for sushi?”

“Yeah, got your fishing pole?” He laughs, holding it over her head. His arm brushes my waist, and I jump back like he's on fire.

“We should probably get back on the road,” I say. “I want to make it into New Mexico before we camp.” Tim nods but doesn't say anything. Now he's the one staring at the ground.

You're great
, I think.
I'm sorry.
I'm just no good at this
. But my
telepathy only works on Cass . . . and maybe not even on her anymore.

“Hey,” I say, grabbing his hand. I notice that each nail has a perfect half-moon beneath it, not waxing or waning—just constant. Tim looks up, and our eyes meet. My heart beats in my ears like a snare drum.

But the words, whatever they are, die in my throat as I see the bald man emerge from the crowd and make a beeline for Leah. He's broad-shouldered and over six feet tall but must be pushing sixty-five and moves like he doesn't have all of his original parts.
I could outrun him
, I think wildly.

“Hey!” Now I'm yelling it. I drop Tim's hand, push past him, and instinctively step in front of Leah and Cass, who are pawing through the crumpled ones and piles of quarters like winos. “Get in the car, let's go,” I say. But physics fail me this time; he's in motion and we're standing still, and he closes the distance before the last word is out of my mouth.

“Excuse me.” His voice is raspy and thin like a rusted-over flute.

“What?” I ask, a little too sharply. He frowns in my direction but doesn't seem to see me; he's looking back and forth between Tim and Leah, finally settling on Tim.

“Can I speak to you for a moment, son?” he asks.

Tim looks confused but offers up a tentative half-smile. “I guess so. What about?”

“Maybe he wants to give you a record deal,” Leah quips.

“No, nothing like that, I'm afraid.” Baldy smiles, but his eyes are steely. I feel Denny's hand close around my wrist. “I was just wondering . . . is your car an old beige station wagon?”

Tim looks at me and furrows his brow. “Yeah,” he says. “Why?” I can see Goldie about fifty feet down the block, slumped against the curb. Apart from her general appearance nothing seems amiss.

“I thought so,” Baldy says.

“Is there a problem?” I ask.

“You tell me.” He sounds angry now. The glare is back with a vengeance.

“Hey, man,” Tim says. “There's no need to talk to her like that, she didn't do anything to you.”

Baldy ignores him and turns to Leah. “Where are your parents?” he asks.

“Um, none of your business?” she shoots back.

“I think it's time for us to leave,” I say as calmly as I can manage. For once I'm going to follow Buck's sole contribution to the Devereaux Rule Book: When it starts to get bad,
walk away
.

“Where you headed?” He won't let it go.

“
Home
,” I say.

“Do you live nearby? I couldn't help but notice your car had out-of-state—”

“Dad!” The blonde he was sitting with at Taco Bell appears behind him, looking pissed. She's got a thin, angular, aggressively tanned face, but there's a softness to her eyes that seems to defy her genetics. “Jesus, Daddy, I told you to leave them alone.”

“Stay out of it, Natalie,” Baldy says. “I know it's them.” A chill runs up my spine, but I try to channel Cass and keep my face bored and blank.

“I'm sorry,” Natalie says. “Please forgive him; he's just a music teacher who wishes he was a private detective.”

“I don't understand,” I say.

“We just—well, we heard something on the radio earlier,” she says. “An AMBER alert about some missing kids. Two white ones and three, um—” She looks at me apologetically. “African American.”

Radio. AMBER alert
. For a second I wonder if I'm dreaming, or in some weird exhausted fugue state where I'm hearing things that aren't there. But then I see Tim's face, slack with disbelief. He heard it, too. This is happening.

“Not missing,” Baldy interrupts. “
Kidnapped
. And the car exactly matches the description. Exactly! It's even got Maryland plates!”

My heart threatens to burst out of my chest,
Alien
-style. They know about Goldie. And about the three of us. Not even Tim's dad knows we're involved. The only place anyone could trace us to is—

“You're wrong,” Tim says softly.

—the hotel. The parking lot.
Shit
. Of
course
they had cameras. So much for identifying my obstacles.

“I'm not wrong, you said so yourself!” Baldy sputters. “A beige station wagon, you said!”

“With
New Mexico
plates,” Tim says calmly. “We just came over from Santa Fe for the day.”

“Spring break!” Leah chirps with a big smile.

“I don't want to go to Mexico!” Denny whines, but luckily his voice is muffled by my back.

“See, Daddy?” Natalie says, tugging on his arm. “I told you, it's not them. They're probably looking for three big black
guys, anyway, not a couple of girls and a little kid.” This master stroke of racial profiling seems to finally pacify Baldy.

“Sorry to bother you,” he mumbles into his neck.

“Sorry to bother
you
,” I say icily.

As we walk as inconspicuously as possible back to the car, Tim tries to take my hand again, but I shrug him off. A few minutes ago I was almost falling for him, but now I can't even look at him. He was supposed to keep this from happening. He promised it wouldn't. And he has no idea how much I stand to lose now that it has.

• • •

“Well, fuck,” I say once we're back on the highway. I say it a few more times for good measure. For once I don't care what Denny hears. He'll probably hear a lot worse in his new foster home, anyway, which is where he'll be going once the cops catch up with us. I'm so numb from shock and fear that I can barely feel the steering wheel under my fingers. I have to get off the road soon, or I might get us all killed.

“I thought you were taking care of your parents,” I say to Tim, the acid in my mouth sharpening my tongue.

“I didn't think they'd go through with it,” he says.

“So you
knew
?” I feel betrayed in a way I wasn't prepared for.

He looks at me helplessly. “I tried to stall last night, like you said, but the story just doesn't hold. They saw right through it.”

“What exactly did you say?” I ask.

“I told them we were going to keep going.” He takes a deep breath. “And Dad told me that he was going to report us missing.”

“Thanks for telling me.”

“I was trying to find the right time,” he mumbles.

“Bullshit,” I snap. “You had plenty of time.”

“Well, would it really have helped?” he asks irritably, fiddling with the radio dial. A burst of deafening static fills the car.

“Yes,” I shout over the noise. “It! Would! Have! Helped!”

Tim lowers the volume. “What I don't understand,” he says, “is why some random dude in Amarillo heard about us on his local radio station. I mean, how could anyone know we were anywhere near there? If we got spotted by a cop . . .”

“Then we'd already be in custody,” I finish.

“This might be a stupid question, but there's no way Goldie has, like, a tracking device, right?”

“She can't even charge a cell phone, so no. And yes, that
is
a stupid question.”

“Oh no,” Tim says, turning around. “Leah. Did you turn on your phone?”

“Just for a second,” she says. “When Denny went in Chuck E. Cheese, I got bored. I didn't post anything, I swear!”

“You don't have to post anything! Karen installed software that can remotely track your location!” Tim runs his palms over his face. “Shit, I can't believe I didn't think of that.”

I did!
I want to scream, but I know the damage has already been done. “Throw it out the window,” I tell Leah. “
Now
.” Her eyes get wide, and I repeat myself, more forcefully.

“But it's not even on!” she cries, her voice shrill and wobbly. I'm about to unleash a tirade of curses when the radio static gives way to a crisp female voice emerging from Goldie's ancient speakers:

“. . . say both teens have blond hair and are approximately five feet eleven and five feet nine inches tall, respectively. They may be wearing school uniforms. If you see anyone matching this description traveling
without adults, please call your local police precinct. After this brief break, stay tuned for an uninterrupted hour of golden oldies on this Flashback Friday
—
”

As an ad for a car dealership begins, I take the next exit and park on the shoulder of a sleepy rural road. After I kill the engine, the only sound is the incessant
click, click, click
of the ancient hazard lights, sending out a useless SOS into the darkness.

“Well, the good news,” I say hollowly, “is that they only care about finding you.”

“How would they know about
you
, though?” Tim finally asks. “How do they know that you're—what you look like? Or the car?”

“The hotel,” I say. “Security footage.”

“Dammit.” Tim rubs his eyes. “We should have listened to you.”

“Too late now,” I say.

“So what do we do?” Leah asks.

“We wait for them to find us.”

“Are we in a chase?” Denny asks, not sure yet whether to be excited or alarmed.

“Who says they'll find us?” Cass asks.

“If that guy knew the make of the car, the cops probably have the plates already,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady.

“But if they're going by Leah's phone GPS, they think we're in Oklahoma.”

“We've only gone a hundred fifty miles. And they must know we're headed west. Every squad from here to LA probably got the memo.” Bile rises in my throat as I weigh our very
few remaining options. If we ditch the car, we're stranded. If we ditch Tim and Leah, they are—although probably not for long. For all I know Daddy Harper is already on his way.

“What's gonna happen?” Denny asks shrilly. I turn back to look at him, and as soon as I lock in on those big, scared brown eyes, I know I can't give up yet. I didn't make it this far to throw it all away now. If the cops want to take me in, they'll have to drag me kicking and screaming. Like mother, like daughter.

“I'll tell you what's going to happen, meatball. We're all going to keep our phones turned off—
no exceptions
.” I say, glaring at Leah. “We're going to get off the highway and take side roads. And we're not going anywhere outside the car as a group. Everyone got it?” I look around at them one by one. Only Tim avoids my eyes. “You two especially need to stay out of sight,” I say.