Rhythm & Clues: A Young Adult Novel Page 8

  “Don’t get me wrong. For every bad mother thing she did, she balanced it with something good. She always put my health before herself. She gave me freedom so I could grow up and make my own choices. She treated me more like an equal than a child.”

  I could have listed more, but suddenly the words stuck in my throat. The trail started to blur, clouded by the charging tears. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, hoping gravity would force them to seep back into my eye sockets.

  “If this is hard for you, we don’t have to talk about it. I understand now why you didn’t tell me before.”

  “No, I’m okay. I want you to know.” I opened my eyes and battled the tears with a smile, winning the war. I brought the conversation back to what I hoped was a less emotional topic for me. “My dad came to visit me in the hospital when I was fighting for my life in the NICU. He took one look at me…” My voice broke unexpectedly. The tears charged out of my eyes, undefeated. Talking about my dad never usually made me break down, but I doubted any topic would keep my eyes dry right now. “He looked at me and said, ‘that kid’s got moxie, she’ll make it.”

  Gavin reached out for me. I stopped walking, but didn’t move closer to him. He closed the distance between us and wrapped his arms around me. I leaned into his chest, breathing in the scent of fresh laundry detergent.

  “He never came back again,” I said into his shirt. “This name, Moxie, it’s the only piece of him I have. Even if the story’s not true.”

  Gavin stroked my hair and let me catch my breath. It didn’t feel romantic. It felt like friendship.

  I let go and noticed my tears had left zebra streaks on his shirt. I swiped at them with my arm, but I’d left my permanent mark on him. “Don’t you know not to get a girl crying when you’re wearing such a light color?” I laughed, hoping he would follow suit.

  He just smiled and shrugged his shoulders at the same time. “I’ll just say the book club got into a raging argument over Mr. Darcy. The fight got so out of hand, the only way to solve it was with an ink battle. Some books were lost in the process. We’re all in mourning.”

  My spirits lifted into a smile. “Very funny.”

  We continued on the trail. He stopped to pick up a funny shaped rock. “Looks like a gnome.” He handed it to me.

  It kind of did, with a pointed peak and a bumpy part that resembled a beard. “Cute,” I said, then set the rock down again. I didn’t want to remove it from his natural habitat. Not when it’d have to face new surroundings all alone.

  The path opened up to a large space, about the size of my doublewide bedroom. We both sat down on a small grassy patch in front of a large oak tree, our backs leaning against it, the sides of our hips pressed together.

  I didn’t necessarily want to get back on the topic of heavy stuff, but I did want to apologize. “Gavin, I really am sorry. I know you said you understand, but there’s another reason why I didn’t want to tell you. I was…” I hated to say the next word. Hated to even think it. But if I was confessing everything, I couldn’t lie to myself either. “Scared. That you’d run away from me.”

  “Moxie, I wouldn’t. You of all people should know that.”

  “It seems to be the natural reaction when I’m around. My dad just split. My mother has multiple jobs and men, but never any time for me. And I can’t run. Physically or emotionally. I can’t get away from who I am.”

  “Maybe your mom’s working so many jobs to try to give you a better life, not to avoid you.”

  I stared at him incredulously. “I know Krystal has to work so much to pay off all my operations. Keep this thing ticking.” I pounded my chest. “And I’m grateful, but it doesn’t excuse the rest of it—the sudden absences for days at a time.” I shoved my hands underneath my butt to stop them from shaking. “The things she says about me.”

  His hands tensed as if he might spring up and flee. But he didn’t. “You want a relationship with your mother, but you’re also trying to break free. Could you be sending her mixed signals? Maybe she thinks she’s giving you what you want.”

  I’d never thought of it that way before. I picked up a tiny branch and twirled it in my fingertips. “That’s part of the problem. I don’t know what I want.” I tugged gently on one of the leaves, straining the fragile connection to the stem. “I try to free myself from Krystal, then I yearn for more details about my dad and my past. I’m constantly pulled in opposite directions. Like this leaf; yank too hard and…” I increased my hold on the leaf, splitting the leaf into two sides.

  Gavin picked up a leaf next to him. He spun it in his fingertips, and then retrieved his mp3 player. He flipped open the clear plastic case and placed the leaf atop the device inside. “What you need to do is press it. Then it’ll stay whole.” He closed the mp3 player and put it back in his pocket. “By removing the outside elements, you stop the tug-of-war.”

  I got what he was saying. Figure out how to preserve myself without relying on my past and future to define who I am. “Maybe you should be writing the song lyrics, not me.”

  He laughed, and I was grateful for the change in mood. “Lyrics are too finite for me. Once they’re written, they stay the same. But music can be rearranged. Your lyrics are preserved like the leaf.” He patted his pocket.

  I smiled at him as something occurred to me. “You know, we both grew up with rules that defined us. Your rules might have been more specific than mine, but I still had to live by the standards set for me.”

  He playfully jabbed my side with his finger. “Wanna trade?”

  “Really? You want my life?” I did kind of want his.

  “I want the freedom you have. I’d like parents who make mistakes. Mine are always too perfect, it’s annoying.” He shrugged. “People always want what they can’t have.”

  “You can though. Easily.”

  He turned away from me, staring out at a bird fluttering in the tree beyond our immediate vision. “How? By sneaking out more? Lying to my parents? Calling Isla and getting some gigs I can’t tell them about?”

  My breath caught in my throat. I wasn’t even thinking about Isla. But Gavin obviously was.

  I’d meant by continuing to hang out with me so I could corrupt him. I didn’t feel like risking more than friendship with him, and it wasn’t fair of me to keep both versions of Gavin to myself.

  “Yeah, by calling Isla.” I finally said.

  Gavin spun back to me, his face melting before my eyes. This wasn’t what he expected me to reply either. And as we stared at each other, I realized that even though we’d opened up so much today, we were still holding so much back from one another. With one wall crashed, we’d put up a screen door in its place.

  Present Day

  After Sabrina’s parents and the silver Ford Focus speed away, I ask, “Did you see who it was?”

  She shakes her head. “I was watching my parents’ car.”

  “Let’s follow them.” I put the car into drive, but before I can press my foot to the gas peddle, Sabrina slams her shoulder against the door, gets out, and sprints up her driveway.

  I put the car back into park and wrench my door open. “Sabrina! What the hell? This is our chance to follow!”

  “There’s a note.” She runs up her porch steps.

  I follow her up the front walk, biting back angry curses. She tears a note from the front door. Her eyes move across the words, and then she gasps. She thrusts the note at me when I meet up with her.

  Sabrina, Daddy has a work emergency. We’ll be out of town a few days. We’ve arranged for you to stay over at I.G.’s house.

  “They abandoned me!” Her hands ball into fists.

  I tap the note. “What intrigues me is they only addressed this to you, as if they know Gavin won’t be coming home today.”

  “No kidding.” She grabs her keys from her purse but stops short before sliding it into the lock. “That’s weird.”

  “What’s weird?”

  “This lock.” She points to the dead bolt. �
�It was always silver.”

  Not a single fingerprint or scratch mars the shiny gold lock.

  “Try your key.” She’s probably so panicked, she’s remembering wrong.

  She pushes the key into the entry. Only the tip clears the hole. She jiggles it in several directions, trying to stuff it into the slot by force. Her hand falls limply at her side. “They changed the locks on me?”

  “Now aren’t you glad we didn’t tell your parents?”

  She continues to stare at the lock, dumbfounded. “Do you think it’s connected to Gavin’s disappearance? To the Ford Focus? Why is everyone in my family acting so strange?”

  I admit, I’m thinking it too, but she seems so scared. So fragile. Like a porcelain doll. I want to offer an alternative. Give her a reason to be strong. “Maybe it’s a coincidence. Maybe your dad was just testing new locks as part of his construction job. Your house is the guinea pig. And the Ford Focus? That could have been one of your dad’s employees. Like…what if Gavin left a post-it note explaining about the missing supplies he borrowed to board up the warehouse and this guy just drove around to check out Gavin’s handiwork and then came here afterwards.” That doesn’t explain the restaurant, but I keep that little detail to myself.

  Sabrina covers her face in her hands. A sniffle escapes, muted by her palms. I reach out to stroke her hair.

  She flicks my hand away. “I’m trying the other entrances.”

  She starts around the corner. I scan the front of the house, focusing on the windows. Curtains conceal any glimpse inside. Maybe we can break one. When I circle the perimeter to tell Sabrina, I find her standing in the middle of the deck, staring at the back of the house, her arms crossed over her yellow camisole.

  “Sabrina?”

  She doesn’t move. It’s like she’s gone catatonic.

  I run up the steps and nearly trip when I see what distracts her. A giant block of wood is nailed across the sliding glass doors that lead to the kitchen. It reminds me of the warehouse.

  Sabrina turns to me, her pupils undulating, her lip puckering. She sits down on the deck, shaking her head. “Do you think it’s my fault?”

  I sit next to her, folding my legs underneath my body. “Of course not.”

  “That’s the wrong answer. If it’s not my fault, then why…” She doesn’t finish her question. Instead, she hugs her knees to her chest. “Zombies. They must be invading. They drive silver cars. Why else would my parents board up the house? Leave me such a lame note? Flee like their life depended on it. It has to be zombies.” Her voice is all monotone. Like she’s lost all emotion. Like she’s turned into one herself.

  I don’t know what to say. I could think of a million witty jokes, but the situation isn’t funny anymore.

  I think about how it would feel to have my life turned upside down, to have everyone I loved acting like my enemy, not to know who to trust. And I realize that I’ve been there. Not in the same capacity. But I’ve always only had myself to turn to in times like these. I’m glad Sabrina has me.

  “Sabrina…” I start, tentatively. “Everything will be fine once we find Gavin. Let’s get the next clue.”

  She gets to her feet, wiping her eyes with the back of her palm. “Yeah. Okay. I don’t want to be here anyway. In case my zombie theory is right.”

  “For now, let’s just assume mine is.”

  We leave the car in the parking lot and hustle for the clearing where Gavin and I had our heart to heart. No cars follow us this time. I understand the pattern now. The clue won’t be under the picnic table where we sat with Isla. That part wasn’t monumental. With these clues, Gavin is leading me on a museum tour of our friendship. Well, us, really, since he wanted Sabrina along for the tour.

  “I’m wearing flip flops. I can’t walk in mud.” Sabrina points to the hiking trail.

  “Then wait here.”

  “You’d seriously abandon me?” She sounds panicked, not sarcastic.

  “No,” I say. “So move it.”

  I push Sabrina’s flip flops to the limit, and we make it to the tree in record time. Intricate patterns of overlapping squiggles texture the bark that encases the tree. I hope to find a carving in it. I circle the tree three times before concluding the clue isn’t engraved.

  Sabrina picks up a leaf, looks it over, and deposits it into a pile on the ground.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Checking the leaves. Something might be written on one.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Gavin’s not that stupid.”

  The wind blows and scatters all the leaves. She bends down and picks up some, inspecting them twice, just in case. She sniffles. I shiver, but it isn’t from the breeze.

  I comb the area surrounding the tree, trying to think where the clue could be. Frustrated, I hop around, kicking up dirt, the brown mud staining my sneakers. That’s when I notice the rock in the shape of the gnome.

  I bend to pick it up and have the answer. “It’s buried,” I say. He must have moved it from the path to this spot as a marker.

  Sabrina drops her leaves again and shakes her head. “If it’s buried, it’s your turn. I did the last one.”

  I kneel on the ground and dig my fingernails into the dirt in front of the tree where we sat. The dirt feels cold and slimy like wet hamburger meat. I scoop a handful out and toss it behind me.

  “Hey!” Sabrina stomps into view, pointing at a clod of dirt sticking to the leg of her jeans. “Look what you did!”

  “It was an accident,” I say. And then, because I can’t help myself, I add, “Seeing as you don’t want to help, you should stand to the side with the other princesses.”

  “Fine, I’ll help.” With her foot, she kicks dirt onto my backside.

  “You want to walk back to Zombie-ville? Or maybe if you hitchhike, a nice silver car will stop for you.” I toss another handful behind me with a bit more gusto. Her shriek tells me she’s still behind me.

  “You did that on purpose!”

  “Did not.”

  “Really?” Several clods of dirt land on my back, each resonating with a soft pitter-patter. Gavin would have loved to use this sound in a song. “I guess that was an accident too.”

  I grab a glop of dirt and spin around. Sabrina has both fists in mud and soon we’re flinging gobs of dirt and grass at each other. She shrieks again, but this time in laughter. I join in.

  Splotches of brown mud dot her pants like a spotted Dalmatian. I’m sure my own back looks the same way. “Moxie…”

  I brace for it, wincing.

  “Truce.” She stretches out her hand.

  I hold up my dirty palms like I’m under arrest. “Let’s just pretend we shook on it. No need to get you more dirty.”

  She nods, and I resume my digging. After a few more scoops, my fingers touch on a smooth object. “I found something.”

  “No way!” She squats down next to me. “I never thought that would work.”

  “You need to trust me.”

  She shrugs. “I’ll doubt you less?”

  I unearth a plastic bag with an envelope secured inside. Sabrina rubs her hands together, wiping away most of the dirt. “My hands are cleaner.”

  I hand over the bag.

  She opens it and pulls out an envelope with a slip of paper inside. “It says ‘Evidence? 90C.’ Do you know what 90C is?”

  I shake my head. “I take it you don’t either? Evidence. That’s a start though.” Evidence for what? For why Gavin ran away? Or are we searching for some kind of…item that could be construed as evidence?

  “Some start.” She drops her hands to her sides and stares into the sky. “God, this is so annoying. I feel like I’m on a wild goose chase. My parents stranded me, these clues seem meaningless, and Gavin might in trouble.” There’s a tremor to her voice.

  “Let’s find a washroom, then we’ll regroup and look over what we have so far.”

  After cleaning up, we sit down at a table and lay out the clues. “We have this song
I recorded unknowingly with an added track of potential construction work sounds. The date your dad possibly proposed to your mom during his senior year of high school: May 19, 1994. A question mark following the word evidence. And a random number, 90c. What’s the connection?”

  “Things that make sense to Gavin but confuse me. Though, I seem to be out of the loop in my family.” Sabrina chews on her lower lip.

  “Well, I am too,” I say to make her feel better. “My mom’s locked me out before. She didn’t come home for three days.” I pick at the chipped wood of the picnic table. “I was only twelve.”

  Her eyes widen. “Where’d you go?”

  “I busted in a window. She didn’t even notice when she got home. I had to repair it myself.”

  “At least all your windows weren’t bordered up.” She sucks on her lower lip.

  “I’m not going to abandon you. I told you that.”

  “I wouldn’t let you anyway. If you did, I’d break a window at your house.” Sabrina scrolls through the mp3 player again. “Thanks, by the way.”

  I nod, but don’t meet her eye.

  “So let’s go to your house and put this in the computer. Then we can Google this stuff,” Sabrina suggests.

  “That would require me to have a computer.”

  She squints at me. “You don’t?”

  “It broke a few months ago and we haven’t been able to afford the repairs. I usually just use the one at the library.”

  “Let’s go there then.”

  It takes five turns of the ignition for my car to start. It putters to life, but then loses steam, deflating like a balloon losing air. The engine growls and sizzles before it purrs happily.

  “Is your car going to make it to the library?” Sabrina’s fingers perch on the seatbelt’s release as if she’s going to jump out of the car and walk.

  “It’s always touch and go with her.” I don’t add that it’s never taken me quite this long to get her going. I pat the dashboard, caressing her as if she’s a pet dog. Eventually she starts and I drive less than twenty miles an hour, afraid anything faster will put her out of her misery.