I take back the book and start working on our assignment. Jamie sits quietly for a few seconds, then surprises me with a question.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I look up at her.
“I’m fine, why?”
“You look like you’ve been crying,” she practically whispers, checking to make sure no one else is eavesdropping. I like that she’s concerned about embarrassing me.
“Yeah,” I say, shrugging myself this time. “I’ve had some stuff going on.”
“Oh,” Jamie says, looking down at her lap. For a moment, I think my memory is wrong, that it won’t take another few weeks for us to make up. But then, as quick as it was there, Jamie’s compassion is gone.
“The period is halfway over. Give me that. I’ll do it,” she says, grabbing the book from me. Immediately, she goes to work on a faux itinerary for a trip that she doesn’t know she’ll eventually take… with me.
As I watch my best friend work on our joint assignment alone, I feel strangely invigorated. I know she wants to ask me what’s wrong. I know she cares that I’m upset. I know she misses me.
And knowing all that motivates me.
I’ll get my best friend back.
But first, I’ll break up the relationship that will do nothing but cause her heartache.
38
“Where are we going?” Luke asks.
“Just drive,” I say. “Turn left at the light.”
Luke does as I instruct, and then protests. “I thought you wanted to hang out after school. Not go on a stakeout.”
“Funny,” I say. I point as I command, “Turn right and then slow down. I need to look for the house number.”
Written on a scrap of paper is 1553 Mountain Street. It’s amazing what you can find in the phone book.
“There it is,” I say, reflexively ducking down in my seat. “The white one on the right. The one with the black shutters. Pass it and park down the street.”
Luke shakes his head but does as I ask. He pulls the van into a spot and puts it in park. I reach over and turn down the radio, even though it’s already low. Then I turn it off.
“They’d have to have bionic ears to have heard that, you know,” Luke laughs.
“Shhh,” I say to him, craning my neck to see the house behind us.
“Here, try this,” Luke says, flipping down the passenger-side visor and revealing a mirror. I adjust it and see the house without turning my head.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
“Sure,” he says, looking at me curiously. “So, what now? What are we doing?”
“Watching the house,” I say.
“For what?” Luke asks.
“The Messenger,” I reply.
“The Messenger,” he repeats flatly, leaning back in his seat and staring out the window at nothing.
A car pulls into a driveway a few houses in front of us, and a woman struggles to carry two armfuls of bags inside. The wind doesn’t want her to make it. It blinds her with her own hair and presses against her shoulders.