The Lost & Found (20 page)

I
woke up the next morning to a series of buzzes from my phone. I'd forgotten to put it on silent the night before. It took a while for my brain to translate what the noise meant. I was still tired from driving so much in the span of a day and from spending one perfect night with Frannie in Austin and so I kept my eyes closed as I reached for the phone. When I finally peeked at the screen, I saw a long series of text messages from Frannie. I opened them up and read them twice before I understood what they meant.

And then I read the last two over again because they were:

   
I miss you, Louis.

   
You're one of the best things to ever come out of the internet.

I set the phone back on the nightstand and I got up and took a shower and kept thinking about what I could say back, but everything I thought of seemed inappropriate or weird.

After I showered I got dressed and checked my phone again. I had a message from my mom, the following intricate string of emojis: a man, an airplane, four watches with different times on them, a palm tree, a taxi, a man and woman holding hands, a man and woman kissing, an arrow pointing to the left, a boy, a question mark.

Translation:
Dad is back! We're at the store. Come say hi.

I went to wake Willa, but her bed was already empty and made. It might have been the first time in our lives I'd slept later than her. I got my phone and put my shoes on and went downstairs to my car.

I was starving and I couldn't remember the last time I'd gone this long without visiting Sally's Diner, so I pulled into the parking lot and turned the car off. Sally's was busy and nobody was at the host's stand so I waited by the door until Benson appeared from the kitchen. He face was red and he seemed flustered. When he saw me, he froze comically, one foot in front of the other and raised off the floor, his eyes wide. But then he remembered himself and started
walking again. He raised his hand toward me. I couldn't remember ever shaking hands with Benson before, but I humored him. Something weird was going on. I was sure it had to do with my sister, and I was sure I didn't need to know what it was.

“You want something to eat?” he asked. “I'll get you something to eat. The usual? I'll get you the usual.”

“And a coffee,” I called as he disappeared into the kitchen again, but I didn't think he heard me.

I waited in a plastic chair by the door. He came out later with a white bag of food and a paper coffee cup. When I tried to pay him, he waved me off distractedly.

“Later, later,” he said. “Next time, okay? Get me next time.”

I found Willa sitting in the passenger seat of my car.

“How did you get here?” I asked her.

“I walked, dummy. I didn't get these expensive things for nothing. Did you get me something to eat? Are you going to the store? Give me a ride, okay?” She dug her hand into the bag and emerged with a fistful of tater tots.

“You wouldn't know why Benson is acting so weird, do you?” I asked, turning on the car and trying to salvage as many tater tots as I could before Willa ate them all.

“Nope,” she said, drinking half my coffee in one sip, despite it being steaming hot. “Are you on your way to tell Mom and Dad you're moving to Austin? Because they're going to have heart attacks and die, you know? We're
supposed to co-own this store and be weird shut-ins and never leave Los Angeles. They're not going to take this well.”

“Yes, I'm on my way to the store to tell them. Please don't drink all my coffee. They're going to be fine. It will go fine.”

She pulled a breakfast sandwich out of the bag and pulled it apart messily, handing me the smaller half.

“I would have just gotten you something,” I said.

“This is more fun. Let's split lunch too.”

I was still hungry when we got to the store, and I was also more nervous than I thought I would be. Willa opened the passenger door, and I told her to go in without me.

“Are you coming in?” she asked.

“I'll be there in a minute. I just need to sit here.”

“Are you okay, Louis?”

“I'm going to go back to therapy,” I told her.

She nodded solemnly and said, “You know I was kidding, right? When I told you that you didn't have your own tragedy. That was a shitty thing to say. Everyone has their own tragedies, you know? I'm glad you're trying to get a handle on yours.”

“Thanks. I'm trying.”

“Do you miss her?”

“This doesn't have anything to do with her.”

“That's not what I said.”

“Of course I miss her.”

“I think she was really good for you,” Willa said.

She got out of the car and left the food bag on the passenger seat.

It didn't escape me that she'd said
was
—Frannie
was
really good for me. Like I would never see her again.

I guess maybe I knew I would never see her again.

I reached into the bag. Willa had left me a few tater tots, and I ate them slowly, hardly tasting them, not paying attention.

Willa was exaggerating. My parents would be surprised by the news, but I knew they would understand that this made the most sense for me. They would understand that from the second the University of Texas had offered it to me, I'd already accepted the scholarship in my mind. I'd already committed. It was maybe the only thing I'd ever committed to.

I reached into the bag for another tater tot but felt something sharp instead. I grabbed the bag and looked inside but wasn't immediately sure of what I was looking at. I took the object out and turned it over. It was small and metal and sharp, and it left an inky stain on my fingers. And then of course I knew what it was.

And maybe one day I would drop it in the mail, but I thought I'd keep it for a little while first. It had found me, and maybe the things we found were the things we really needed, and the things we lost were the things we were never meant to have at all.

I put the nib into my pocket and went inside to talk to my parents.

I closed my TILT account that night. I would call Dr. Williams in the morning.

I texted Frannie.

   
It feels like everything has been turned on its head.

She sent me back a heart-shaped emoji.

I'd never felt happier to let something go.

But it wasn't her. I wasn't letting her go.

I held on to her.

There is nothing quite like writing a book to make you realize how many supportive, encouraging humans surround you. To my little group: I am truly indebted to you and I couldn't be happier to have you in my weird little life, helping me write weird little stories like this one.

First, duh: my parents. Without you this book would not have been finished, period. I can't thank you enough so I'm not even going to try. And to the rest of my family, and especially my brothers, sisters-in-law, and my unimaginably perfect nieces. And Saige: who is old enough to read these acknowledgments but NOT old enough to read this book yet. Hi, Saige.

My agent, Wendy Schmalz, for believing in this book so much, for believing in me so much, for being a constant source of fresh air and good advice. You're the freaking coolest and I am thankful for you DAILY.

My small, lovely publishing family at HarperCollins and HarperTeen: starting with, of course, Jocelyn Davies, for loving this book and making it miles better. And to Michelle Taormina, Alison Donalty, Alexei Esikoff, Elizabeth Ward, Stephanie Hoover and Margot Wood and the Epic Reads crew, for all being part of the village that wrangled these sentences into a real live book.

Kim Nguyen, for letting me ask you four hundred questions about Vietnamese culture, and for letting Arrow borrow your necklace (without even asking!). Zach Weaver, for knowing so much about tennis. Seriously, so much. It's almost weird. Megan Weaver, for graphic designing my internet persona into someone who looks much more professional than I actually am. Evan Lesner, for talking to your rabbi about shiva and for knowing the streets of downtown Los Angeles like the back of your hand. Tim Laramy, for having a house on the Miles River and letting me stay there. Mary Clark, for horse knowledge. Matt Gallivan, for unparalleled Facebook wrangling skills. Darlena Cunha, for championing so hard for my first book and for writing really cool internet stuff. Aaron Karo and Georgina Bruce, for being constant sounding boards and sources of calm whenever I threatened to give up writing
(which is, what, twice a week?). Ken MacLeod, for support and encouragement from very far away.

Shane, the first person who knew who Frannie's father really was, and who told me, at the very beginning: “This sounds OK, but I think you can do better.” Thanks for always making me do better.

Still: Sarah Dotts Barley. The best.

Last (but very much not least):

All the freaking sweet, beautiful souls who've tweeted or emailed or commented or faved or reposted or done various other stuff you can do on social media and the like. I appreciate every single message and every single moment you took to write to me.

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Photo by Jaimee Dormer

KATRINA LENO
is the author of
The Half Life of Molly Pierce.
She grew up on the East Coast and now lives in Los Angeles. She has lost many, many things in her lifetime but hopes that, in the end, what she's found will outweigh all the rest. Visit her online at
www.katrinaleno.com
.

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