“You have everything you need? A refill on the tea, maybe?” I hike my thumb toward the kitchen.
“I’m not an invalid, Indie.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You need to rest.” I take her half-empty cup to the kitchen.
“Just, maybe one more thing?” she calls to my back. And the way she says it—guiltily—lets me know she wants her cigarettes.
“Seriously?” I answer. But I’m already going to the freezer.
“Thanks, doll! I’ll quit just as soon as I’m feeling better.”
“Yeah, yeah.” A blast of cold air hits my face as I open the freezer. I grab a pack of cigarettes from the carton and pad back to the living room. “Virginia Slims? What happened to the Marlboros?”
Mom’s brows draw together. “Marlboros? What are you talking about?”
I remember the Marlboro butts in the shop’s attic, and my spine tingles.
“What, honey?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Two cups of tea and three cigarettes later, and Mom’s sawing logs.
So now I’m sitting in the front seat of the Sunfire, the engine vibrating beneath me, gripping the steering wheel as I stare at our house in the headlights.
Hours pass. Or maybe minutes.
I could trawl the area around the shop and look for Leather Jacket Guy, talk to some people, maybe see if anyone saw him or which direction he went. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel. It’s a pretty solid plan, the only real plan I can see. So why can’t I move?
It definitely isn’t because I’m scared. Nope. Not possible. I’m not afraid of the dark, and it isn’t like hundreds of hoboes will jump on the hood of my car if I dare slip below fifty on Melrose at night—probably. I can handle this by myself.
But just for fun, I run through the options of friends I can enlist for help.
Bianca?
I bark a laugh. That’s a good joke. “Hey, Bianca, can you please leave this fun party to help me find my mom’s witchcraft Bible?” Yeah. Not likely.
There’s Devon. …
I remember his helpfulness tonight and groan, sinking my fingers deep into my hair. Nope, Devon is out too. None of my friends can help me. Not unless the emergency is of the fashion or hair variety.
For some weird reason, Paige flashes into my head.
Paige is a nice girl, if annoying, and she comes with the bonus that she’s not the gossiping type. Plus I bet she’s the only person in L.A. without plans on a Friday night. The more I think about it, the more it seems like a fantastic idea. Sure, some people might say I’m “using” her, but those people just don’t have the complex understanding of human behavior that I do.
I exit the car, and with a handful of pebbles collected from the edge of the driveway, scamper through the narrow space between our houses until I stare up at Paige’s bedroom window. It’s higher than I expected, and my first throw misses by a wide margin. But on my second attempt, I hear the rock tink against the glass. I throw a second pebble, and then a third, for good measure.
Then I wait, wringing my hands as I pace in the tall grass. What could be taking her so long? Is she trying to prove a point or something? Or maybe she fell asleep with her iPod headphones on. Yeah, I bet that’s it.
I cup my hands around my mouth and whisper-yell, “Paige! Paige, it’s me. Open the window.”
I lose patience when she doesn’t answer immediately, and resort to actual yelling. A light flicks on in her room, and relief floods my body. A moment later the window slides up and a familiar face peers down at me. Only it’s not Paige’s.
“Indigo, is that you? It’s after midnight. What are you doing?” Mrs. Abernathy squints down at me, her usually perfect bob pulled up in curlers on the top of her head.
I think about diving behind a bush, but it’s too late. She’s seen me. So I wave up at the confused woman leaning over the window ledge. “I’m sorry I woke you, Mrs. Abernathy. I was just trying to wake Paige up. I’m having a … a boy emergency.”
My cheeks flood with heat, and I’m glad of the dark so she can’t see the telltale signs of the lie on my face.
“Oh. Well, I’m very sorry, but Paige isn’t home.”
I blink up at her, the words not registering. “What do you mean she’s not home?”
“Paige is spending the night at a friend’s house.” The way she says it is almost like an apology, and suddenly I couldn’t feel more pathetic, standing under Paige’s window in the dark while she’s off having a good time somewhere else.
“Jessie Colburn’s?” I guess.
“Yes, that’s the one. Very sweet girl.”
“I’m sure.” Tears prick my eyes. Of course she has a friend now. Of course she has plans. What did I think, that I could push and push her away and she’d always be there, waiting for me in case I ever got bored of Bianca?
“I’m sorry, Indie,” Mrs. Abernathy says. “If you need to talk to someone you’re welcome to come inside.”
I take a deep breath so my voice doesn’t shake when I speak. “Thanks, but that’s okay.”
I trudge back to the car, idling in the driveway, and sink into the front seat. For a moment I’m resigned to doing this thing on my own, but then I give myself a hard shake. This is not the Indigo that I know and love. I won’t give up that easily. So Paige made a friend? Jessie’s got nothing on me.
I throw the car into reverse and peel down the street. In minutes I’m parked up on the curb across from the Colburn residence, a huge Spanish-style home on North Vista. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s her house. Only so much confidence can be placed in gossip from the hallways at school.
I text Paige:
Come outside
A minute later:
I’m not home. Is something wrong? It’s late.
I know. I’m outside Jessie’s. Hurry.
I watch the quiet house for signs of life. No light flicks on inside, but a moment later the front door edges open, and Paige cautiously pokes her head outside.
I wave her over in big, impatient gestures.
She pulls her sweater up on her shoulders and crosses the street.
“Indie? What’s going on?” She probably thinks someone died. Which is just about the only good reason for doing what I’m doing.
I take a deep breath. “It’s my mom’s Bible. Someone stole it and she’s freaking out.”
Paige blinks at me. “Her Bible? And this couldn’t wait until the morning?”
I exhale. “No, it can’t wait. It’s really important to her. Like, vital.”
Paige shakes her head. “Where’s Bianca? Why isn’t she helping you?”
Oh. It’s like that now? You’d think the girl would recognize a bone when one was being thrown.
“Because I didn’t ask her,” I retort. “I asked you.”
She shifts from foot to foot. “Well, can’t you call the cops or something?”
I don’t believe this is happening. “I did. They can’t help.” I realize how small my voice has become. Paige must too, because her shoulders soften and she glances behind her at the house.
“I can’t just leave.”
“Why not? You’re always trying to get us to hang out, and I’m sure Jessie would understand.” I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. I sound jealous. Which I’m so not.
“It’s just a shitty thing to do,” Paige says.
Yeah, it’s shitty, I want to say. So what? But of course Paige doesn’t treat her friends this way. She probably bakes Jessie cupcakes when she’s had a bad day or something. I nod and shift the car into drive.
Paige sighs. “Stop. Just give me a minute to talk to Jessie.”