Twist (6 page)

“Yeah, I think you should come right away. I've been trying to call you all day.”

“Why?”

“Because of everything that's going on,” she said.

My life over the last few days, or even the last year, was complicated. I wasn't sure why I hadn't jumped at the chance to go to Seattle.

‘And what's the big hang-up with this boy you just met? He probably had other girlfriends anyway. So just go!
' I said to myself.

“I've got a few options for a ticket, are you close to the airport?” Amilee said.

“But I don't have any clothes or anything.”

“Stop making excuses. We'll shop! Besides I'm using Dad's credit card. He won't even notice until next month.”

I rested my head in my hands and felt like crying again.

Uncle George encouraged me with a nod. “Just for a few days. Arrange it and get out of here,” he said in a low voice.

When we finished with our travel plans, Amilee said, “Be safe. Be smart.”

“
What did you just say?” I asked.

“You heard me. See you in about five hours.”

The hotel room was mildewy from the damp ocean air, and Uncle George must have been drinking for a while before I woke up because after my conversation with Amilee he started talking to the sports show on TV, getting louder as more time elapsed. Finally, we heard the rattling of the doorknob and Aunt Charlotte entered.

She brought in the energy of the outdoors, and for a second she had a smile on her face. And then we seemed to realize our predicament. She snapped at George, “Put down the beer! I smell cigarettes. I thought you quit.” She waved her hand in the air as she walked by him and handed me a duffel bag. “Did you talk to Amilee? Are you going?”

“Uh huh, in a few hours. But what will you two do?” I asked.

Aunt Charlotte's makeup was perfect. Her hair had a wonderful lift and looked a little darker. I'd have sworn she'd been to a spa or something. She touched her hair and said, “What? I had an appointment at the beauty parlor.” Then she looked at Uncle George, “Life back to normal, right?”

Uncle George nodded.

“We're going to make sure you get to Seattle,” she said. She put her hand on my cheek. “We'll go to the house, and your uncle will debug everything. And when you get back, we are going to try and be normal again.”

“Normal?” I said.

“Well, as close as we can get,” she said.

“How's he going to debug the house? I thought Uncle George was a construction worker.” I looked in the duffel bag and smiled when I saw that Aunt Charlotte had
bought
the kind of makeup I used and a pair of jeans, some underwear, and my favorite tees.

She put her hand on mine. “Your Uncle George is ex–military ops.”

And right then, with perfect timing he yelled, “Are you blind, ref?” and belched so loud we all burst out laughing.

“If you say so, Aunt Charlotte.”

Chapter
12

At the airport, Uncle George handed me some cash, but this time it was much more than the usual five dollars.

I went right through security and stopped at the first souvenir shop I saw. With the money Uncle George gave me, I bought a Laker's sweatshirt and a pair of thick socks that had CALIFORNIA across the top. I smiled at the touristy look I'd be rocking in Seattle. That made me think of Luke's comment about me rocking the tomboy thing and I got sad.

I was moping my way through the airport when I passed by the newsstand. I saw his picture but it didn't register right away. I stopped and turned around to confirm that it was Dad. His face was splashed across the front page of
USA Today
below the headline: ENEMY OF THE STATE? My stomach turned, as I put the newspaper on the counter and piled some magazines on top of it—as if anyone seeing Dad's photo would instantly know that he was my father. I bought the whole stack. My shoulders pulled in tight as I lugged my duffel bag and my purchases to the gate. I was about to read the article when a woman sat down next to me.

“Hello, Beatrice,” Agent Carter said.

I looked at her and then realized there were a few of her coworkers standing nearby that I hadn't noticed before. I guess I'd dropped my guard.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Are you going to Seattle, too?”

She
chuckled. “You wanted to know what your father did . . .” Agent Carter opened a folder and showed me a picture of someone lying in the street.

I didn't say anything.

“That's your love, Luke. He is your love, right?” And then she dropped the folder and a few pictures scattered on the floor. “Oh, sorry, this one's real . . . personal.”

A red-hot flame shot through my body. I was mortified as she slowly picked up a photo of me with my face and breasts mashed up against the car window. “And this one . . .”

Sirens went off in my head when I saw Luke and me during the act itself. My legs were straddled over his body. Clearly anybody with a pair of eyes could see that Lucas Drake and Beatrice Malcolm were in the middle of the nasty!

I hurried to pick up the photos that were still on the floor. Somehow they'd gotten cameras inside Simon's car and near that pier. Beads of perspiration broke out on my upper lip.

Could I run? What should I do?

“Who are you guys, really?” I pointed to the guy by the water fountain and the other one near the women's room.

“Observant, aren't you, Bea?” she said, condescendingly.

“No, you're just so flipping obvious,” I snapped. “What do you want from me?”

She cleared her throat. “Your cooperation.” She snatched the pictures out of my hand and put them in a briefcase on the floor near her feet. And then a woman walked by like she was lost and snatched it up!

I
wondered if everyone in the airport was watching me. My stomach turned, and I'm sure that it showed on my face because Agent Carter said, “Well you don't want the photos to get out, do you?”

“Are you threatening me? Because from what I know, the only people I don't want to see those already have.”

“Which is probably why the boy was beaten to within an inch of his life. He probably won't even know you when he wakes up.”

“Good, then you can show him your stupid pictures and remind him.” I crossed my arms.

Agent Carter spoke real soft. “Bea, I know it's hard for you to believe, but your father's dangerous. We just want to make sure no one else gets hurt.”

I swallowed. “Are you saying he did this to Luke?”

She nodded.

“And Uncle George's crash?”

She nodded.

“How can you possibly know that? I want proof.”

She held her arm up and snapped her fingers. A man wearing a Hawaiian shirt walked by and dropped a camera in her lap.

“Really?” I said.
Were these people everywhere?

“Yes,” she answered.

One thing Agent Carter probably didn't know was that, like Luke, I used to be in the top percentile of my class, before Mom died and I became lackadaisical. Not only could I
be smart
, I
was
smart. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that
was
a message from my father. He used to sing to me, “Bea Smart, Beatrice Smart. She's so smart it hurts.” Stupid, I know, but that was his little thing.

Agent Carter flipped on the camera and said, “Here's your proof.”

The first picture was one of Dad's people from the helicopter following Luke. In the next photo, a different man was talking to Luke.

“So?” I said.

“That's Teddy, your dad,” she said.

“And . . .”

She clicked the camera to show Luke on the ground and the same man leaning over him.

“Still,” I said. “That's not proof of anything.”

Then she showed me another picture—a close-up of my Dad. But Luke was not in the picture. “And you say this man beat Luke?” I didn't know what to believe, but to me, that wasn't proof. Then she flipped to pictures of the wreckage. My jaw almost hit the floor. Uncle George's car was a mangled mess.

“Standing just beyond that destroyed vehicle is a man,” she said. “Do you see him? That's your dad.”

I pushed the camera away. “No. You've shown me nothing. All assumptions.” I pulled out my cell phone and began to dial.

Agent Carter put her hand on my phone. “Wait,” she said. “Just take my card and call me when you see him next.”

I
yanked my arm away from her and said, “How about this? I believe you had Luke beaten, knowing that my dad was nearby. And then you ran over Uncle George so that you could get me to help you find my dad.”

“You're so off base,” she said.

“I'm calling my lawyer and telling him you're harassing me. Aren't you supposed to go through him to talk to me?” I turned my body away from her and dialed the phone. By the time Aunt Charlotte answered, Agent Carter had left. But I was still so angry my entire body shook. I did my best to explain what had happened. The words came out of my mouth all at once but some how she understood me.

I gasped for air and Aunt Charlotte said, “Slow down.”

“I can't believe this,” I said.

“I'll call Mr. Campbell and he'll get them to leave you alone. You still want to go?” she asked.

“I think I should.” But yet I hesitated, until the line formed at the gate and the passengers began to board. Then, I realized leaving was my best option. “I'm going. I'll call you when I get there, Auntie.”

Chapter
13

I boarded the plane and found my assigned seat—middle, back row. A kid about my age smiled at me and then kept staring. At first I thought it was my imagination, but then he asked the guy next to me if he could trade places with him. And the guy agreed!

“Hi,” the boy said as he plopped down in the aisle seat.

I grunted.

He flipped through the stuff that was inside the seat pocket in front of him. And then he said, “You going home or away?”

“Both,” I said.

His forehead wrinkled. “Huh?”

“It's complicated,” I said with a half smile. “Seattle used to be home.”

“Transplanted northwestern girl, that's cool.” He bobbed his head up and down and then cracked his knuckles.

I closed my eyes and thought about the copy of
USA Today
sitting under the seat in front of me. I'd look at it in a while. When I opened my eyes the boy was staring at me.

“Yes?” I said.

“Nothing,” he said, and looked away.

I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes again, trying to not think. I fell asleep. The flight attendant woke me up when she was taking orders, and the boy next to me
tried
to wait on me when I didn't respond to her. After the plane landed and I was walking through the concourse, that kid followed me.

“You need a ride?” he asked. “I live here.”

“I'm good.” I stopped, and then went in the opposite direction, stepping into the women's room. After waiting a few extra minutes, I left, duffel bag in hand, doing the exact same thing Aunt Charlotte and Uncle George had done the day before—scanning the area.

I called Amilee. “I'm here.”

“We're at the curb,” she said, laughing. “Get out here before they make us pull around again!”

“We?” I said.

“Mom and I,” she said. “Who else?”

“Oh.” I sighed. A tiny part of me had thought, or maybe just hoped, that Dad would be here.

“Hey, don't sound so disappointed. You're home. We have surprises for you!” A clunking noise came over the phone. “I'm driving, Mom. Stop it.” And then she chuckled. “Get out here.”

At the curb I searched the traffic for Amilee's silver Honda. I jumped when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It reminded me of Luke's tapping me a few days ago at school.

“Hey,” the boy from the plane said. “Here's my number if you want to get together while you visit . . .” He hung his head to the side and ran his toe across a crack in the curb. “Friends, nothing more.”

I
looked at his phone number and said, “I'm way too busy. Don't take it personal.”

He grabbed the note from my hand and scribbled on it before he put it in my hand again. “Here's my e-mail, if you change your mind. Can I at least know your name?”

“Bea,” I said, and just then Amilee honked as she rolled up to the curb and practically jumped out of the car while it was moving. She almost knocked the guy over when she launched at me for a hug.

Amilee put my bag in the trunk and then looked at my stalker. “Him, too?” she said.

I shrugged.

She tapped his upper arm and said, “It's okay, it happens to a lot of boys around Beatrice.” She put her arm around me and said, “We're together.”

We got in the car laughing. “You're so bad,” I said, and turned toward the boy, who was still standing at the curb “I think guys like to think about that sort of thing, two girls. He's still waving at me.”

“He was cute, in a somber sort of way,” Amilee said.

“How are you, Mrs. Gray?” I asked.

“Call me Jessica, for goodness sake,” she said. “We miss you, kiddo.”

Amilee's foot was heavy on the gas pedal, which caused her mom to gasp.

“What? Mom, it's the speed limit.” As Amilee jerked the car in and out of traffic I felt queasy myself. Both Mrs. Gray and I held on to the sides of the car. So when Amilee slammed on her brakes a few miles from their house and we were rear-ended, she was the only one who was surprised.

“
I
told
you,” Mrs. Gray said.

“Crap,” Amilee said, adjusting her mirror, trying to see the driver of the car behind us. “Well he hit me, so it's his fault.”