"No, it's not me."

26.

I stared at my copy of stared at my copy of The Count of Monte Cristo The Count of Monte Cristo. For some reason writing an essay for English on the effects of betrayal seemed a bit too close to home. I considered calling Kelsie, but I wasn't sure how to start the conversation. How do you ask your best friend if she's seeing your boyfriend?

Kelsie and I hadn't become friends right away at Evesham. I'd thought she was too wild. Freshman year I was known for having color-coded file folders that matched my notebooks, and she was known for having the largest collection of lip gloss. She'd gotten in trouble at Halloween for wearing a cat costume to the masquerade party that would have made a stripper blush. She hung with the party crowd, and I hung with the nerds.

Kelsie and I had been a.s.signed to do a project together for biology. She refused to touch the worm we were supposed to dissect, on ethical grounds. She was already a member of PETA and threatened that if our teacher made her touch "the innocent wildlife victim," then she would arrange a protest march that would shut down the science wing. Our teacher decided that I would handle the dissection portion of the project and Kelsie would write up our results. I could tell ten minutes into the project that if I wanted to keep up my A average, I was going to have to write the paper too. I based this on the fact that Kelsie wasn't interested in writing down anything I was doing with our worm. She was more interested in creating a chart that listed the calorie burn and fitness potential for a range of activities, so that she could get the maximum burn in the least amount of time.

"It's genetics, you know. My grandmother was Italian, which makes me predisposed to plump up. It's all the carbs." Kelsie shook her head as if she couldn't believe this cruel twist of fate.

"I'm pretty sure this part of the worm is the esophagus," I said, pointing and trying to pull her attention back to what we were supposed to be doing.

Kelsie didn't even look over into the tray. "You know the other issue I have to worry about? Facial hair. Italian women are very p.r.o.ne to those long black chin hairs." She wiggled her fingers at the end of her chin as if to demonstrate how all the hair would look waving in the wind.

"I didn't know that," I said. If I thought I was going to have a beard, I wouldn't tell anyone. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be impressed or repulsed.

"It's true. You can tell I'm going to be hairy by looking at my eyebrows." Kelsie pointed with a perfectly manicured finger to her face.

I inspected them, leaning in close to get a better look. "They look fine to me."

"Well, of course they do. Do you think I would show up in public unless I'd been waxed? I've been plucking since I was ten. I remove enough hair per week to make wigs for at least two kids with cancer."

"Wow." I looked back at our worm corpse.

"I'm guessing you don't have facial hair issues, huh? Nordic heritage?"

"Me? No. My family's originally from Ireland." I touched my eyebrows with one latex-covered finger.

"You're lucky. You can't beat good genes. No wonder Tristan likes you."

I chopped our worm in two, shocked at what she said.

"Are we supposed to make two worms?" Kelsie asked, leaning in.

"Why would you say Tristan likes me?" My voice was high and a bit screechy. I whirled around to make sure he was still sitting across the room and hadn't heard what she said. He looked up from his worm tray and smiled. I spun back in case he thought I was staring at him.

"What's the matter? He's cute. I wish someone like that liked me," Kelsie said.

"He doesn't like me." I pushed the worm ends back together, hoping either the worm would spontaneously heal itself or our teacher wouldn't notice what I'd done. "He's just nice."

"Are you blind?" Kelsie tapped me on the back of the hand. "You might know science, but I know boys. He's been flirting with you."

I casually scratched my back so I could turn enough to have Tristan in my view again. He was still glancing toward our table. I backed up quickly, and my lab chair fell over, making a loud clang on the tile floor. Our science teacher scowled. She wasn't fond of clowning around in her lab.

"He's staring at me," I whispered out of the side of my mouth to Kelsie. "What do I do?"

Kelsie smiled. "You're in luck. In addition to being plump, and the chin hair thing, Italians are naturals with love and romance. I can totally help you. Romeo and Juliet were Italian, you know."

I thought about telling her that Romeo and Juliet were created by Shakespeare, who was British, but I decided I wanted her advice more than I wanted to make a point.

Her advice worked too. It wasn't hard advice to follow. It consisted mostly of meeting his eyes instead of looking away, flipping my hair around like I was having some kind of seizure, and wearing lower-cut shirts. By the end of that week Tristan and I went from shameless flirting in the cafeteria, to talking after cla.s.s, to kissing while hidden in the stacks of the library, to being a full-fledged established couple. In addition to gaining a boyfriend, I'd gained a best friend. Kelsie and I hadn't been separated since that time.

Now I needed to know what to do, and the person I usually went to for advice was the one person I couldn't ask.

I looked at my watch. It was an hour earlier in Chicago; it wasn't that that late. No one would consider it the middle of the night. Weren't parents supposed to be the ones we went to when there was trouble? Adults were always telling us that we should go to them. I pulled my cell out of my bag and hit the number before I had time to overthink the situation. He picked up the phone before it finished ringing the first time. late. No one would consider it the middle of the night. Weren't parents supposed to be the ones we went to when there was trouble? Adults were always telling us that we should go to them. I pulled my cell out of my bag and hit the number before I had time to overthink the situation. He picked up the phone before it finished ringing the first time.

"I thought we said we wouldn't talk again until morning," my dad purred into the phone.

"Dad?"

"Hailey?" His purr was gone. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" He gasped slightly. "Your not in jail, are you?"

"No, I'm not in jail." I couldn't keep the annoyance out of my voice. Jail? Really? I'd been in trouble exactly twice in my high school career, and because I called at ten p.m. the first thing that came into his mind was that I must have been picked up by the cops?

"Why are you calling?"

"Who did you think was calling?" I narrowed my eyes as if I could see through the cell phone into my dad's eyes.

"I'm not having this conversation with you now."

My heart stopped. My dad was dating someone. "You have a girlfriend?" Logically I knew there was always the chance that my dad would see someone at some point. It wasn't that I expected him to be alone forever with a shrine to my mom above the gas fireplace in the living room, but he'd never said anything. This felt sneaky and wrong.

My dad sighed. "This isn't something I planned to talk about on the phone."

I held off from pointing out that since he was always out of town and we never saw each other, the phone was pretty much our only option. Maybe he'd been planning to save this discussion for graduation, or maybe he'd never planned to tell me at all. There'd been a lot of that going on in my life lately.

"I've been seeing someone. Her name is Linda." His voice sounded nervous. "She works with me. I think you'll like her. She's smart and funny. She's an engineer. I thought maybe you could meet her this summer up at Grandma's."

"Huh." I kicked at the floor with my foot. "How do you know you'll still be dating her in the summer?"

"I knew you wouldn't be happy about this. Seeing Linda doesn't change how I feel about your mom."

"How does Linda feel about you being gone all summer?"

There was silence on the phone. "Linda will be in London with me. The project over there is hers."

My throat narrowed. "Linda's project is in London." I felt my breath come low and shallow. "That's why you changed our summer plans. You wanted to go with your girlfriend on vacation." My voice stretched out the word "girlfriend," making it sound slimy.

"It isn't that straightforward."

"All I wanted for graduation was to spend the summer with you. You told me we could, and you let me plan a party for all my friends."

"I know canceling your party was a disappointment, but this workshop in England is very important. I would hope you could understand that, especially given your age. You're not a child."

"Well, I'm glad you noticed I'm growing up. And for the record, it wasn't some little party; it was a chance for me to spend one last time with my friends before we all go our separate ways. That might not seem like a big deal to you, but these people have been my family for the past four years. You know, family, what you used to be a part of."

"This isn't like you. You've become belligerent and angry. It's not becoming. I don't know what's gotten into you."

"Then, ask me! It's not a big secret. I was calling to tell you. I don't even know who I am anymore. I'm not sure what I want. I feel like you don't want me in your life. Tristan and I broke up. Kelsie, who's supposed to be my best friend, is dating Tristan on the sly. Joel likes me, which is totally awkward, because we're supposed to be friends. Then there's this other guy, who sort of drives me nuts, but then I kinda like him at the same time." I took a deep breath, but before I could go on, my dad cut me off.

"This is a hard time, with graduation coming and all. I'll call Dean Winston tomorrow and arrange for you to talk to someone. They must have a counselor there given what they charge."

"I don't want to talk to Ms. Sullivan. I want to talk to you."

"Girl problems aren't my thing. If your mom were here, she'd know the right thing to say."

"There isn't a right thing, Dad."

"Now, look, I'm going to call the school tomorrow, and we can talk again later, when you're not so upset. Or you could give your grandma a call. She'd love a long chat with you."

"I don't want to talk later, I want to talk now, and I want to talk to you." I hated how my voice sounded whiny.

"Take care of yourself, pumpkin. You know I love you."

"Dad, wait." I hated these conversations on the phone.

"Sleep tight." He clicked the phone off.

My dad hung up on me. He hung up hung up on me. Maybe he thought because he said he loved me before he did it that it wouldn't count, but a hang up is a hang up. I might only be seventeen, but I know a hang up when it happens. on me. Maybe he thought because he said he loved me before he did it that it wouldn't count, but a hang up is a hang up. I might only be seventeen, but I know a hang up when it happens.

I picked up the phone to call him back. My finger hovered over the b.u.t.ton. What if he didn't pick up? He would glance at the call display this time. He would know who was on the line. I chewed on my thumbnail. It would almost be worse if he did pick up and did the plat.i.tudes thing where he told me how everything was fine without actually listening to a word I said and then told me to call someone else.

I bet he was on the phone talking to Linda already, telling her how hard it was for him to deal with a difficult teenage daughter. Maybe London Linda was offering to come over and rub all that tension out of his back. She'd giggle and tell him how she was a real handful when she was my age. He'd pull her into his lap and say she was still a handful.

Gag.

I paced back and forth in my room. I'd taken psychology cla.s.s. I knew that my dad had a hard time dealing with me because I reminded him of my mom. Heck, what was it Drew had said? We all had our issues. He was still my dad. Just because it was hard didn't give him an excuse to bail out. My mom had died, but my dad was just as absent from my life. I might as well have been an orphan.

I couldn't believe he had chosen going to London with his new girlfriend over spending the summer with me. After he'd promised! Of course, for all I knew, Linda wasn't a new girlfriend. He could have been dating her since I started at Evesham. I couldn't decide what was worse, that he had a girlfriend he'd kept secret for years or that he was chucking our plans over someone he'd met only a few months ago. I pictured him and Linda walking through the London streets. Maybe she liked antiques like my mom.

My vision narrowed to a small dot. He didn't want to hear what I had to say, but if I was in his face, he wouldn't be able to hang up. He'd have to listen to me then. It might not change what was going to happen. Most likely he'd still go to London, and if I was honest, I wasn't sure I even wanted to spend the summer with him anymore. What I did know for sure is that I wasn't going to sit back and wait for the chance to tell him how I felt.

I flipped open my laptop.

I was going to Chicago.

27.

I was awake before my alarm even went off at five forty-five. I'd stayed up late last night getting everything together, but I was still humming with adrenaline, so I didn't even feel tired. I wanted to be ready to go as soon as the clock rolled over to six. My credit card had just enough left on the limit to cover the ticket and cab fair to my dad's place. I'd packed a small duffel bag to take with me. I wouldn't need much. I wasn't planning to stay for long. was awake before my alarm even went off at five forty-five. I'd stayed up late last night getting everything together, but I was still humming with adrenaline, so I didn't even feel tired. I wanted to be ready to go as soon as the clock rolled over to six. My credit card had just enough left on the limit to cover the ticket and cab fair to my dad's place. I'd packed a small duffel bag to take with me. I wouldn't need much. I wasn't planning to stay for long.

I'd struggled with what to do about everyone at school. When I didn't show up in cla.s.s, someone would come looking for me. I didn't want them to think I'd gone missing and there was some mystery to be solved. There was nothing that CNN and the tabloids loved more than a missing white girl. I'd have Nancy Grace all over my b.u.t.t before the day was out. I needed to leave a note so people would know I was okay, but not give them any information so they could find me. It took me a while to come up with the perfect wording. The note was pinned to my bed so it would be found when they came to look for me.

Once I was over the fence, I'd call Drew and see if he would pick me up and drive me to the airport. There was the chance he wouldn't talk to me after what had happened, but I was counting on him sticking with playing it cool. If he wouldn't come, I'd have to walk. I didn't want to do that, but I would if I had to. There was only one hitch in the plan. I needed my pa.s.sport.

Airline security required photo identification. I'd searched everywhere for my driver's license. I didn't have a car at Evesham, so I almost never needed my license. The last time I could remember having it was Christmas, when I'd used it to drive to the mall with my grandma. I had a sinking feeling that it was still in the dress coat that I'd worn over the Christmas holidays. The coat that would be hanging in my grandparents' front hall closet. I wasn't willing to wait for my grandparents to FedEx me my license, not to mention that they would want to know why I needed it right now. My only other option was my pa.s.sport. There was no way an airline was going to let me through security with only my school ID.

Evesham had kept our pa.s.sports in the administration building ever since two juniors ran off for an elicit weekend in Paris a few years ago. This is the problem with people having a lot of money but not always a lot of sense. People could still get into a lot of trouble, but with our pa.s.sports locked up, I guess the theory was that we wouldn't get too far. Dean Winston's secretary had them in a giant lateral file cabinet behind her desk. The janitorial staff started unlocking buildings on campus at six a.m., but in most cases staff and faculty didn't start the day until closer to seven or seven thirty. All I needed to do was get into the building and up to Winston's office, liberate my pa.s.sport, and get out before anyone knew what I'd done.

I pulled on sweats and my sneakers. My story if anyone saw me wandering around campus this early was that I'd wanted to go for a run. It would still be a bit odd. This time of year most people either ran on the treadmills in the fitness center or at the track in the gym, but it was the best story I could come up with.

I shut my door behind me and pa.s.sed a couple of girls in their bathrobes shuffling their way to the bathroom. I crept downstairs and saw Ms. Estes in the lobby. I stopped and did some exaggerated stretches trying to look fit and sporty. I bounced on the b.a.l.l.s of my feet and swung my arms around to get the blood moving. I jogged in place for a beat, and then left the building. I could feel her eyes on my back. There wasn't anything she could say; at six a.m. I wasn't breaking any rules by leaving. I jogged down the path in case she was still watching, and waited until I had rounded the corner of the dorm before I stopped running and headed off across the quad to the administration building.

The front door to the administration building clicked open. The hallway was lit, but the doors to most of the offices were closed. My wet sneakers made a loud squeaking noise on the tile floor. It seemed like with each step my shoes were screaming out I'm doing something I shouldn't! I'm doing something I shouldn't!

I ran up the stairs toward Winston's outer office. The only person I saw was one of the maids using a floor buffer way down the hall. She didn't even look up when I went past. I tapped lightly on the door in case his secretary had come in early. The door creaked open a few inches. I peeked my head inside. Winston's private office door across the room was closed, and I was willing to bet it was locked, too. The outer office had two sofas where visiting parents or important people could wait. Directly outside Winston's office were two hard-backed chairs and a bench where those of us in trouble were relegated to wait for our fate. The secretary's desk was almost directly in the center of the office, with the file cabinet right behind it. I took a few steps forward. My heart was beating fast. Up until this point I would still have been able to make an excuse as to what I was doing there, but soon there would be no amount of explanations that would make things okay. My hands were shaking. I either had to take the plunge or go back to the dorm and forget the entire idea.

I let my mind slip back to the phone call with my dad the night before, and that was all the motivation I needed. I wasn't done with that conversation. I crossed the rest of the way to the file cabinet. I pulled on the center drawer labeled G G through through K K. I yanked harder. It was locked. I wanted to scream from frustration. I wondered how hard it would be to pick the lock. Growing up, I'd taken hundreds of courses in gymnastics, ice-skating, crafts, and swim lessons, but I'd never learned anything really useful like lock picking. If I ever had kids, they wouldn't waste their time gluing Popsicle sticks together. I'd make them learn skills that would come in handy later in life. I kicked the cabinet, in case the drawer might fly open like in the movies. Nope. I'd come this far, and I'd been beaten by a two-dollar lock. My brain scrambled to think of a way around the problem; maybe I wouldn't need my pa.s.sport. I tried to think if there would be any way to sneak onto the plane without my photo ID, but with my luck I'd be caught and accused of being a terrorist.

I stood there feeling defeated. Unless I was willing to start whacking away at the cabinet with a stapler, I was screwed. I took a couple steps toward the door. I'd have to go back to the dorm and take my shower and try to pretend it was like any other day.

A jolt ran through me. My heart skipped a beat. I had an idea. I stepped back to the secretary's desk and slid the top drawer out. My fingers ran over a collection of pens and pencils, pads of Post-it notes, and a pack of cigarettes. Huh. I wouldn't have guessed she was the type. There was a box of paper clips, and I stuck my finger in, saying a quick prayer. Bingo! There it was, a small silver key.

I pulled it out and fought the urge to dance around in circles with the key held above my head. I slid the key in and jiggled the lock a bit, and it popped right open. The file drawer slid out smoothly. My fingers ran over the folders. They had color-coded tabs on the top for each year. I found my folder and yanked it out. There was a slip of paper clipped to the front that held my dad's contact information and all sorts of "in case of emergency" details. There was a copy of my transcripts with all my grades. Four years at Evesham, and it amounted to little more than five or six sheets of paper. My pa.s.sport was tucked into a pocket of the folder, and after a small shake it slid out into my hands.

I heard a shuffle outside the door. I froze in place, not even breathing. The steps moved down the hall, and my heart started to beat again. My eyes shot to the clock. It was time to get out of there. I shoved the pa.s.sport into my bra and shut the cabinet drawer. I took a couple steps before I realized I had forgotten to lock the drawer. My fingers fumbled with the key and I dropped it onto the floor with a curse. Then the lock clicked and I slid the key back into the paper-clip box.

I put my ear to the door to see if I could hear anyone in the hallway. It was quiet. I pulled the door open a few inches and peeked out. No one. I stepped out into the hallway and headed toward the stairs. I'd only made it about three or four steps when I heard Dean Winston. He was talking to someone as he came up the stairs. Why did he have to pick that day of all days to choose to come into work early? My eyes darted around the hallway. There was a long wooden table against one wall, but there would be no way Winston would miss me crouching under there.

I ran past Winston's door and down the hall. At the very end of the hall there was a door that led to a second-floor balcony. I could hear Dean Winston getting closer. Any second he was going to turn the corner on the landing and see me. I hit the latch on the door, and it flew open, spilling me out onto the deck and into a pile of snow. I stood quickly and shut the door. The balcony had a picnic table and a few chairs sprinkled around. They were covered in snowdrifts. Near the door was a coffee can filled with sand and cigarette b.u.t.ts. This must have been where the administration staff came to take their smoke breaks. I waited to see if Winston had heard the door and would come to investigate, but after a minute it was clear no one was coming. All I had to do was wait a few minutes to be sure Winston was tucked away in his office, and then I could slip back into the hall and get out of the building.

I made myself count to sixty, five times. I bounced on the b.a.l.l.s of my feet, trying to stay warm. I didn't want to move too close to the end of the balcony, in case anyone on the ground would look up and see me. When the time was up, I went to open the door, but the handle didn't budge. I let go of the handle. I refused to believe it was locked. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I took hold of the door and gave it another yank. It didn't even rattle in the frame. Then I saw it, a wooden block leaning up against the brick wall. The kind of block that would be handy to prop open a door that had an automatic fire door lock.

I was locked outside. I wanted to throw myself onto the balcony and have a meltdown, complete with screaming, kicking feet, and flailing fists. I'd managed to break into Winston's office and steal my pa.s.sport, and now I wasn't going to be able to get away with it because I was stuck on the terrace. I'd either freeze to death or have to beat on the door until someone came to let me out, and with my luck it would be Winston. Even if it wasn't him, there was going to be a whole bunch of questions about what I was doing there.

I leaned against the door. My body was still humming with energy. I didn't want to give up. There was a tree near the corner of the balcony, its branches hanging over the railing. I walked over and looked down, and then back up at the branches. They were thick and st.u.r.dy, close to the balcony, and at least the thickness of my thigh.

People climb trees all the time. It is practically an American pastime. Baseball, apple pie, Boy Scouts, and climbing trees. Cats can climb trees, and they aren't even that smart. Statistics about how many people fall out of trees flashed into my brain, along with the odds of impaling myself on a branch if I fell, but I pushed these thoughts out of my head. Sometimes the payoff is worth the potential risks. My brain started going through the geometry, the angle of the branches, the distance to the ground. It looked easy. If I stood on the banister of the balcony, I would be able to reach one of the larger branches. Then just a few hand-over-hands and I would be near the tree trunk. It looked like I would be able to climb down, to the ground. It was basically a jungle gym with sap and bark.

I was going to have to make a decision soon. I needed to get off the balcony, pick up the duffel bag that I'd dropped outside my dorm window, and then get over the fence before too many people were up and around. Hopefully Drew would be around to give me a ride, but I had to leave time to walk to the airport, just in case.

I could do this. I would do this. I glanced down to make sure no one was walking through the quad below. I stepped up onto the brick banister that ran around the balcony. It hadn't looked that high up when I'd been standing next to it, but being an extra three feet up suddenly made it seem a lot higher. I wouldn't have been surprised to see a plane shoot past my ear. I reached up and grabbed the branch. I gave it a shake to make sure it wasn't rotted, before I let my weight hang on it. I also figured this would flush out any rabid squirrels. All I needed was some rodent chewing on my fingers. With the way this breakout plan was going, I wouldn't have been even remotely surprised if one did. The branch seemed stable, and no squirrels came rushing out in attack mode. I took another quick look down to make sure no one was around, and then when I saw it was clear, I took a step off the banister.

The branch held. My legs swung free and I decided not to look down again. My hands shuffled along the branch. I felt a splinter run into my pinky finger. I hummed the theme song that went with the army commercials and pictured myself in camo being all I could be. My hands shuffled a few more feet, and then my feet, found the branch beneath me. Almost there. I took a step onto the branch, bringing me closer to the trunk.

Then my foot slipped on an icy patch on the branch and slipped off. The sudden shift of weight put me way off balance. I felt my fingers slide on the branch above me. There was a beat when I convinced myself it would never happen, and then I fell. I felt the branches break beneath me as I plummeted toward the ground.