Sterling’s fingers pause and hover over the keyboard. Her mouth shifts slightly as if she’s primed to say something, but then her fingers fly over the keys again.
I sigh through my nose. Let’s try being just a little more direct. “It’s crazy she’s been gone so long, right?” I make sure I really make it sound like an innocent question, raising my voice so high near the end I could pass for Mickey Mouse. “I mean, this doesn’t really seem like her.”
Sterling chews on her lip. Her eyes remain on the screen but at least she stops typing. Let me push a little more.
“She hasn’t reached out to you recently, right?” I ask.
Sterling’s eyes snap over to me. “You’d hear from her more than I would. You’re her brother.”
I nod. “That’s what I’d assume. But you two seem so close. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to friends than family.”
Sterling sighs and shakes her head. “Sorry. Haven’t talked to her in ages.”
I search for a tell. A muscle twitch, a wandering eye. Something to let me know that she’s not being one hundred percent truthful. I get nothing, though. “What about Javon? Has he heard from her?”
Any sympathy coming from Sterling’s face has morphed into something bitter. “How in the hell would I know?” she asks.
Holy shit. I hit a nerve. Tread lightly, Jay. “I don’t know. I thought you all kicked it or something.”
“Ew, no.” Sterling looks around the classroom, but everyone is busy doing what they’re supposed to be doing at their respective desks. “Not like that. I’d see Javon when I had to see him, and that was through Nic. You think I’d hang around a guy like that?” She scoffs to make a point.
Wow. Whatever she and Javon were talking about in the car was so intense that she can’t even admit that she speaks to him when Nic’s not around. What in the hell is going on? “Of course not,” I say. “I just figured that—”
“Look, I’d like to get as much of this done as possible. I have to leave exactly at three thirty. How about you work on something, I work on something, then we combine them later. Sounds good?” She doesn’t wait for my input. Just digs her foot into the floor to push her desk away from mine, then buries her face into her laptop. Conversation over.
I rub my forehead in frustration, knowing I’ve rammed into another wall.
I give a wave to Joshua Kim as I make my way out of Taco Bell. He gives me a distracted smile before fiddling with the cash register. As soon as I step out of the door, my wave mutates into the middle finger. Not necessarily to Joshua, though he can take some of it, too. To coming home smelling like refried beans. To minimum wage. To wasting hours in the evening here when I could be finding out what’s going on with Nic.
Not like that would be any more productive, though. I got nowhere with Sterling. I got nowhere with Officer Hunter. Kenny’s friends and family were just as lost as, well, Nic. And the guy with all the answers likes pulling sneak attacks on me in church bathrooms. I keep failing Nic. I’m officially the worst brother in the world.
As I cross the parking lot toward the city bus stop, a dark car pulls in front of me. A Lincoln Continental. A smile crawls over my face as Riley pokes her head out of the driver’s side window.
“I officially have forty-two minutes,” she says to me, then holds up a Chinese food carton. “And I figured you might be a little tired of eating leftover cheesy gorditas for a late supper.”
I sniff the air. “Do I smell shrimp fried rice?”
“You’re actually smelling house special fried rice. A whole smorgasbord of meat and seafood. Not to mention some greasy egg rolls and a warm Diet Mountain Dew to wash everything down.”
I sigh extra loud. “Sorry. I only drink Mountain Lion.”
“I’ll keep that in mind next time.” She gets out of the car and unfolds a blanket over the hood. “After you, sir.” She motions for me to take a seat.
“You first. I insist,” I say. I grab her hand and help her climb onto the hood. I sit next to her and she passes me my food and chopsticks. She even hands me soy sauce packages for extra seasoning. I look down at my food, at her blanket . . . at Riley.
She stops pinching at her rice with chopsticks then smiles up at me. “What?” she asks.
I smile back. This is really nice, I want to tell her. You really went all out for me, I want to add. “I take it your parents don’t know where you’re at,” I say instead.
“Not true. I told them I was picking up food.” She pokes at her food again. “Granted, I told them I was picking up food to bring to Bible study, but still . . . I’m eating.”
I shake my head and laugh.
“Also,” Riley continues over my laughter, “my parents only told me not to have boys in the car. Technically, I’m following directions.”
“Something tells me you’re going to end up in law school.”
Riley makes a face. “Ugh. Could you imagine me as a lawyer? I’d either always want to throw the book at people or get them off with a slap on the wrist. There’d be no gray area with me. I’m extreme like that.”
“You don’t say.”
Riley nudges me with her arm. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What do you want to be when you grow up, Jay Murphy?”
I take a huge gulp of my food—enough to keep my mouth busy for a few extra seconds. Enough to make Riley want to move on to another topic. But she peers at me, patience all over her face. I swallow. “I’m going to manage a Taco Bell.”
Riley rolls her eyes at me. “Ha. Ha.”
“Being extreme’s not so bad,” I say, wanting the spotlight back on her. Exactly where it should be. “It would make you a dope-ass detective. You have more skills than any of the idiots working in the stations around here. There would probably never be any cold cases in your precinct.”
Riley blushes. “I wouldn’t say I have the skills. It’s just easy to pick up on information when everyone ignores you. They talk around you as if you’re not there.”
I blink at her. “Riley, anyone would be crazy to ignore you.”
Riley tilts her head at me. Gives me a look. “Remember that time back in, like, fifth grade? The church had that Trunk or Treat event the night before Halloween?”
I frown, trying to remember which specific Trunk or Treat she’s talking about. I didn’t like any of them. I didn’t see the point of wasting my Halloween costume with some lames at church when I could be hitting the streets in the bougie neighborhoods, collecting at least two pillowcases filled with candy.
“I was Mal from Descendants. You were a Ninja Turtle. Michelangelo.”
I snap my fingers, the memory suddenly hitting me. I had wanted Nic to be April that year, since April was a girl. She wasn’t having it, though. Wanted to be Donatello instead since he was the “smart one.” When I told her she couldn’t be him because he was a boy, she asked me to show me where his “pee pee” was. Shut my ass up with the quickness.
“You and Nic had been coming to Providence, like, full-time for almost two years at that point. I was so excited to see you guys there. I had some more kids close to my age to talk to, especially cool ones that knew all the words to Drake songs—and not just the radio edit.”