I don’t know much about where Harper came from. Just that whatever was happening there was… bad. Silas lit out of the house like a bat out of hell after the phone call with her mother. Mom wouldn’t tell me what had happened, just that we needed to make up the guest room and that Silas’s daughter was going to come spend her senior year with us because it was a quote-unquote “bad situation” at home.
Bad situation.
What the hell does that even mean?
Was Harper in some sort of danger? If she was, then why was she trying to run away that first day when she stole my wallet? Or is she not trying to get back home, but just to meet up with that sort of fiancé of hers?
It’s been driving me nuts all week trying to figure her out. But she’s been withdrawn ever since the night she let me meet the cat. Preoccupied. Everyone feels it, which I’m guessing is why Silas was determined to drag her out of her room to come to the football game tonight.
After we park and all get out of the car, Silas repeats his instructions, except this time to Harper. “Stay with Caleb all night.” Harper’s expression shifts to something mulish that tells me she’s absolutely planning to do the opposite. Shit. I’m back to focusing on my mission: Keep the peace. Make this family work. Make Mom happy.
Simple, right?
“We’ll go on ahead. You two have fun,” Mom says, holding cash out to me.
“We’ll be right behind you,” Harper suddenly perks up, snatching the cash out of Mom’s hand and stuffing it in her pocket. Then she hikes her backpack on her shoulders. She carries that beat-up thing everywhere she goes, like it’s a safety blanket. At least I don’t think it’s hiding any contraband kitties today.
Mom beams at her, then takes Silas’s arm and tugs him forward. He’s frowning and looking over his shoulder, but we’re all caught in the crowd and carried forward, quickly losing sight of one another.
As students, Harper and I get in free. The stadium is packed when we walk through the gates, and I immediately shift into tour guide mode.
“All right,” I say, rubbing my hands together with what I hope is encouraging enthusiasm. “We should probably hit the snack stand before heading to our seats. They’ll be packed once kickoff sta?—”
But when I turn around, Harper’s gone.
Just... vanished into the crowd like smoke.
My stomach drops.
One job. I had one job.
I scan the crowd systematically. Left to right. Countthe rows of people. One, two, three, four sections. Back to the beginning. Start over. She has to be here somewhere.
That distinctive dark hair. That particular way she moves—like she’s always ready to either fight or run.
Nothing.
I check my phone. No messages. Touch the screen to wake it. Lock it. Wake it again.
Rule #47: When responsible for someone’s safety, maintain visual contact at all times.
I failed. Already failed, and we’ve been here three minutes.Three minutes. Unlucky.
I check my phone again—still no messages, obviously, it’s been eight seconds—and my chest starts to tighten.
“Shit,” I mutter, my hands curling into fists at my sides. Open. Close. Open. Close. The rhythm doesn’t help.
Twenty minutes later, I finally find her behind the porta-potties on the visitor’s side, leaning against the plastic wall with a cigarette dangling from her fingers like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
The smell back here is apocalyptic, but she doesn’t even seem to notice.
“God, how can you stand the smell?” I gag a little, unable to stop myself.
She snorts. “This is fresh air. Try living downwind from a chicken factory.”
It’s a glimpse into a life I can’t imagine. Yeah, things were scary and uncertain for a while after my father noped out and we had to live in an apartment that hadroaches sometimes, but it wasn’t in a bad part of town. I was just in a different social strata than my classmates, but so is ninety-nine percent of the rest of the country. And I was still enrolled at a freakingprepschool.
I’m trying to think of something to say—something that doesn’t sound condescending or pitying—when I accidentally glance down at Harper’s phone screen.