A stupid grin spreads across my face. Paige rolls her eyes before sprinting off across the street.
Minutes later she’s shuffling back to the car, this time with a giant duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She dumps the bag on the backseat before climbing into the passenger side.
“I hope you’re happy. I had to make up a lie so she’d let me off the hook. I hate lying.”
“Thanks, Paige. I mean it.” I smile across at her.
“Yeah, whatever.” Her reflection gazes out the window.
Somehow I thought she’d be happier about this.
A few minutes pass in silence, and I don’t know what to say to cut through the awkward tension.
Luckily, Paige finally speaks. “So what happened, anyway? It sounds pretty crazy.”
I heave a relieved sigh. And suddenly words are spilling out of my mouth faster than I can organize my thoughts. “The Bible, it went missing and Mom’s going crazy. I said I’d find it, but I have no clue where to start. See, Mom had this accident and she blacked out. And there was this guy, and he lifted the shelf off her, but he was at the game too, and he knew about my mom being hurt, which is, like, really, really weird, right? And now—”
“Stop,” Paige interrupts. “What. On earth. Are you talking about?”
I deflate.
“Tell me what happened,” Paige says, clapping her hand on my shoulder. “And start from the beginning.”
I fill her in on the history of the Bible and the events of the night. And it feels good—really good, actually—to get it all off my chest.
When I’m finished, Paige lapses into a deep silence. I can practically see the gears shifting in her head. “Okay, so we have to search the area around the shop,” she finally says. “When you lose something, you’re supposed to retrace your steps. Same thing for people, right?”
I smile. “That’s just what I had in mind.”
Silence once again takes over the car. But it’s a comfortable silence now.
“You got a text.” Paige picks up my cell from the dash, but I yank it from her before she can see anything.
Devon’s sent me no fewer than a dozen texts since the concert. They started out nice: where u at? cant believe you left. Then: is everything ok? As the night progressed there was: thinking of you :) And my favorite: this party sucks without you. That one made me smile, even if I currently hated him for not leaving the concert with me. A few beers later came: wht r u wearng? :P And how can I forget: i’m hrny.
Nice.
“Well, aren’t you going to see who it is?” Paige asks.
“Illegal to text and drive,” I say.
“Uh, yeah, I guess.”
We slog through the insane bar-hour traffic. The sidewalks pulse with people, and lines several blocks wide of girls dressed in six-inch heels and miniskirts snake outside clubs wedged between nail salons and all-night check-cashing joints. Car horns, thumping basses, and sirens fill the thick night air, and neon lights brighten the inky sky.
We circle the area of Melrose Avenue where the shop is located, then every main and side street from La Cienega to North Highland, craning our necks to scan every man, woman, and child we pass. Nothing. Not one person remotely resembling Leather Jacket Guy. It’s not like I had much hope to begin with, but now it’s becoming increasingly clear we aren’t going to find him.
My phone buzzes for the zillionth time in ten minutes.
“I guess we must be the only people not at Jarrod’s party tonight, huh?”
Paige’s arms are loosely hugging her drawn-up knees as she stares at the whirring L.A. landscape outside the window. A realization strikes: I’ve always thought Paige secretly wanted to go to our parties, that she was just pretending she’d rather curl up on the couch with Atlas Shrugged on a Friday night because she wasn’t invited. It didn’t make sense to me that she didn’t want to be popular. But she never cared.
My phone stops buzzing, only to restart a millisecond later. Unease flutters in my stomach.
When I left the concert, I was sure I’d never talk to Devon again and not lose a wink of sleep over it. But now? I’m not so sure. Devon could have brought anyone in the world to that concert and he chose me, only to have me ditch him halfway through. And sure, his prioritizing leaves a bit to be desired, but could I really blame the guy for not wanting to run out of the place based on the word of some freaky stranger in leather? I probably would have done the same thing in his shoes.
I’m suddenly desperate to see him.
“Would you mind if we made a quick stop at the party?”I ask.
Paige rolls her eyes. “God, tell me you’re not serious.”
“You don’t have to come in,” I say.
Actually, it would be perfect if she didn’t. Hanging out with Paige at a party? Social suicide. Not to mention the fact that Bianca would kill me. Like, actual death would happen.
“So what you’re asking,” Paige says carefully, “is would I mind waiting in the car while you check up on your boyfriend?”
Yes!
“No! Of course not. You’re totally welcome to come in. And I’m not checking up on him.”
“Whatever.” Paige absently swipes her bangs from in front of her glasses. “We’ve already done this street.”
I look around and see that she’s right.
We’ve pretty much covered every drivable inch of the Fairfax district, and now we’re going over the same ground. I signal right and pull the car over onto the side of the road. “So what now? Where would a guy like him hang out?”
“What about bars? We could try Johnny’s or the Griffin.”
“Good, but it’s not like we can get in.”
“So what? We can hang around outside and wait for him to come out.”
“I guess, but what—”
Fingers tap on the window. Paige and I let out bloodcurdling screams.
“Need some help?” The guy—Leather Jacket Guy—bends in front of the driver’s-side window, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Lock the doors!” Paige yells.
I scramble to locate the button in the dark. And the whole time I’m panicking, dude’s just giving me the same infuriating smile.
“Drive, Ind! Get the hell out of here!” Paige shakes my arm.
But wasn’t I just looking for him? It seemed like such a great plan until only a quarter-inch of glass separated me from a potential psycho.
“What are you doing? Step on the gas before this weirdo busts out a gun or something.” Panic cracks Paige’s normally steady tone.
I guess now’s as good a time as any to roll the window down.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Paige clambers over me to try to halt my hand.
“It’s him, Paige,” I say, trying my best to keep anxiety from showing in my voice.
“Oh, I like the way you say that,” the guy says. “Makes me sound all mysterious.”
Paige obviously hasn’t heard me. “Are you on drugs or something? Get this window up, now!”
I push her back into the seat with alarming force. She cowers against the door.
“Sorry, it’s just you weren’t listening. I said it’s the guy”—I gesture to him—“the guy from the shop.”
Paige swallows. “Oh. Okay. Uh …”
I feel the same way. Now that I’ve found him—or did he find me?—I have no clue what to do next.
“Is there a problem?” he asks, playing innocent.
Hundreds of questions trip over each other to get out of me.
“Okay,” the guy says. “I’ll guess, then. Flat tire? Out of gas? Feminine issues? It’s feminine issues, isn’t it?”
Ugh. This guy is seriously disturbed. “Why are you following me? And my mom—how’d you know? Did you have something to do with it?”
“Do you think I had something to do with it?” He braces his hands on the roof of the car, and a slice of bare stomach shows from under his T-shirt’s hem. And great—he’s caught me looking, and now his stupid grin couldn’t be any wider.