Bianca Torre Is Afraid of Everything, page 19
I can’t stop my hands from shaking, and tears keep falling.
“Bianca . . .” Anderson starts, and there must be something in the way he says it.
I break. The tears flood and I collapse, burying my face into the mattress.
“Hey.” He steps over and sits on the bed next to me, reaching down to put a hand on my upper back. He moves his fingers up and down, scratching the fabric. It does feel kind of nice. I don’t lift my head, but I don’t tell him to stop either. “You know,” he says. “It’s okay to cry in this situation.”
I twist my head to the side facing him without moving the rest of me. “That’s good, because it’s happening.”
I let the tears fall into the comforter, not bothering to hide my sniffles as Anderson rubs between my shoulder blades. I’m not sure how much time passes with Ronan and Puck waiting downstairs, but Anderson doesn’t say anything.
“Was I wrong?” I ask. “To get us involved in this?”
“Maybe,” Anderson says, “but I also think it’s the right thing to do.”
My tears blur my vision, so I don’t really have to face him, even if I keep my head turned in that direction. “I’m scared,” I say.
“That’s okay—”
“No, you don’t get it. I’m not scared just because I was threatened. I’m scared of all of this. I’m scared of everything.” My voice tinges with more and more emotion as I keep talking. I try to lower it. “A person with a list of fears longer than the Dressrosa arc of One Piece is not cut out for this kind of thing. What the hell was I thinking?”
“You weren’t thinking,” Anderson says, stifling a small laugh. “You were following your gut, because you’re compassionate and brave.”
It’s impressive that he gets a laugh out of me in this state. “Really? Me, brave?”
He flicks my back. “Yeah. You’re like the bravest person I know, because despite your list of fears, despite the fact that so many things make you uncomfortable and scared, you never give up. You push through.”
I blink away my tears and rise up on my elbows so I can see him. “That’s not . . .”
“Would you say I’m brave?” he asks.
“I mean, yeah,” I start. “You’re cautious, because you’re smart, but you’re brave.”
“Fear number one,” he says. “Death. Fear number two: never amounting to anything. Fear number three: dying and not even getting to say goodbye to my family.” His voice is quiet as he lifts a finger for each new thing. “Fear number four: not being able to protect my little brother. Fear number five: never actually finding anyone to love me. Fear number six . . .” He twitches a finger. “Crocodiles. Fear number seven, and this is a new one: weirdo bird cults. Fear number eight: hospitals. Fear number nine: ventriloquist dummies. Fear number ten: anything happening to you.” He holds my gaze. “And that’s the start of my list. Nobody is fearless, Bianca. Nobody. What matters is that despite your list, despite how long it is and how scared you are, you don’t give up.”
Now the tears aren’t falling because of the dead bird hanging outside my window, but because that was maybe the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me, and it means a lot. I was wrong for putting distance between us by labeling him as just an anime friend when he’s been so much more than that for a long time.
He’s been here for me through everything, and I need to make sure that I’m always there for him too. So when he is afraid, when he breaks down and cries, he also sees the strength in that. His eyes water a little and I pull him into another hug. “Thank you, Anderson, for everything.”
“Hey, I chose to get involved in this. I owe it to Mr. Conspiracy too.”
“Doesn’t matter, I just want you to know how much I appreciate you.”
I can’t see his smile, but I can picture it based on the sound of his voice. “Enough for all four days of Anime Expo?”
I snort through my tears. “Hell, I’ll even cosplay if you ask me to.”
He swallows. “That might just be fear eleven for me.”
We both laugh, so I pull away.
“Crocodiles, huh?” I ask. “I didn’t know that one.”
Anderson’s expression shifts back to neutral. “I mean, yeah.”
“We live in Los Angeles.”
“I’ve seen videos. They are scary. Being eaten alive and drowned? No, thank you.” He gives my shoulder a shove. “And what the hell? That stands out to you, but ventriloquists don’t?”
“No, those are terrifying. You know they’re on my list too.”
Fear #34: Ventriloquists and Especially Their Dummies
He shakes his head but keeps the smile. “Fair.”
“Seriously,” I say. “Thank you for sharing that. I needed this.”
Anderson shrugs. “Me too, honestly. I’m scared,” he says. “Really. But I don’t think we should stop, and I don’t want to. Mr. Conspiracy lost his life over this, Nate probably did too, and we’re maybe the only people he has to care about figuring out why. We shouldn’t give up.”
“Okay,” I say.
It would be so easy though. To shove the investigation behind us and pretend nothing ever happened. For me to drop the diary and the poetry book off at the police station, where it will probably collect dust because the killer covered their tracks by leaving a forged suicide note, and neither Anderson nor me would have to think of it again.
But whatever this Flock is, if they were willing to hurt someone once, they’ll definitely do it again. Not to mention, just because they’re threatening me to stop doesn’t mean they’ll stop threatening me even if I do. I’m already a liability.
Anderson’s right. We can’t give up. No matter how scared we are.
“Okay,” I say again, like I needed the reassurance.
Anderson zips up my bag and tosses it around his shoulder. “All right, let’s go home.”
Twenty-Five
Return of the Jamba
While Puck and I settled into the Colemans’ apartment, my mom got in contact with the police. She brought me to the station to give them a copy of the recording of Nate, but based on their tone while questioning me, I’m not sure anything will come of it. It kind of felt like they assumed kids were bullying me for being weird. I wasn’t feeling all that hopeful as we got back to the Colemans’ apartment.
Mom and Dad decided to stay at a hotel and Kate is staying with Yoneta, since it would be easier for their pre-preview rehearsal schedule. I would rather actually get murdered than stay with my parents alone in one room, so I was all kinds of relieved when they agreed to let me stay at the Colemans’ apartment—although I’m half convinced Mrs. Coleman wants me around just so she can keep playing with Puck. They seriously love each other.
With everything going on and it taking so long to actually get to sleep, Anderson, Ronan, and I ended up missing all our alarms and we arrive to school late, just in time for the end of third-period English with Ms. Richards.
“This is ridiculous,” I say. “Class is basically over.”
We delayed going to English while getting our things from our lockers, but the secretary wrote the time on our passes, so we can’t take that long. It’s unfortunate. Especially because I’ve barely done homework since Mr. Conspiracy’s death.
Anderson studies my face and seems to catch on. “If she doesn’t ask for our homework, I won’t mention it.”
“I appreciate that.”
I open the door and step inside. Ms. Richards doesn’t react much to Anderson and me walking in so late—just gives a little nod to acknowledge us. She’s in the middle of explaining something about the new book we’re starting, I guess. Anderson and I put the passes on her desk and head to our seats.
I can’t focus on the words Ms. Richards is saying. She places a copy of the book in front of Anderson, not stopping her lecture, and then puts another on top of my unopened notebook.
I don’t look up at her, but I mutter a thank-you.
As she initiates a discussion or something that involves student responses, I hope she doesn’t call on me for any reason. My heart is in my throat, and all I can think of is The Rules of Flight, still in my backpack under the Pusheen cover.
Fear #51: Getting Called on in Class When I’m Not Prepared
I can’t help it though. It’s like my mind refuses to register any words around me, only a little ringing that may or may not be in my mind.
I focus on the book now placed on my desk. I can barely take it in. I’m too on edge.
Someone at the school is involved. A real person who knows where to find me and can at any moment of the day. For all I know, they could be waiting outside the class right now. They already targeted my bedroom—it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to leave another threat for me at school. Or worse. It can’t be that hard for a teacher to get me alone.
I grip both sides of the new book. Its cover is worn, and I flip through the yellowed edges. It makes a strange noise, so I don’t do it again, and instead run my pencil back and forth on the folder sitting on top of my books, coloring it darker until I leave an indent on the inside.
The bell rings and I brace myself for the open hallway.
“Bianca, can you stay a minute?” Ms. Richards asks.
My hands shake when I think about the threat. I’m really not in the mood to talk about my falling grades or the fact that I had no time to open the book on gender.
I gather my things and approach her desk as the rest of the class files out.
Ms. Richards smiles. “I have your essay corrections and wanted to give them back. It’s really well done, though.”
She hands over the page. For something that’s really well done, there are a lot of red marks, but I’ll deal with that later.
“Thank you,” I say. I step back. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
I start to turn on my heel when she asks, “Bianca, are you sure you’re okay?”
I stiffen. Am I really being that obvious? The acting skills weren’t passed down to me like they were to Kate, I guess.
“I’m fine.”
“Your mom called again. From what I understand, you were late because there was some incident last night?” She shifts in her chair, head tilted to the side.
Jesus. It feels like my mom talks to the administration here more than she talks to me.
“Yeah, it was a small thing, but I’m good.” I smile as best as I can. “I’m great. She’s probably just stressed about Kate’s show. The preview is coming up, you know.”
“I’ll be there, I volunteered to help sell tickets.”
“That’s nice of you.”
She waves it off. “I volunteer for everything around here. Especially when it comes to the arts.”
Normally I would want to talk more, but I’m not really feeling it today. “Is that all?”
Ms. Richards stands from her desk. “I’m glad to hear you’re okay.” She takes a step toward me. “I just want to make sure. You seem to be rather . . . preoccupied.”
I shake my head. “No thoughts here.” She’s being a little strange, maybe it would help to lighten the mood. “I’m sure you could tell based on my last assignment.”
Apparently, I’m not as funny as I think I am sometimes, because her lips remain in a straight line. She steps closer, practically towering over me in her heels.
“I’m only trying to help.” Now her smile returns full force. “It’s what I’m here for.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I’m not sure if Ms. Richards can hear it, but that’s a good cue to leave. What if something happened to Mom, Dad, or one of the Colemans?
“Appreciate it, really. Thanks again for the edits!” I rush out of the room before she can stop me. Once I’m in the hallway, I check my phone.
My heart stops.
It’s a text message from the unknown number. There’s no words, only a photo.
Of Elaine Yee in the Jamba Juice parking lot. It’s a tight shot, but I can recognize the bright sign advertising a smoothie behind her.
Soon enough, a message follows:
Tell anyone, and she’s dead.
They have Elaine. I send her a flurry of messages, and call twice, but there’s no reply and it goes straight to voice mail. I want to throw up.
Instead of going to chemistry, I look for Anderson. It’s his free period, and my best bet is to check outside.
Sure enough, as I head out to the courtyard, he’s smiling at his phone. My guess is that he’s talking to Layla, which is really sweet and would make me so happy if not for the fact that my own crush is likely in imminent danger.
Fuck.
“Anderson, get up, we’re leaving,” I say. “Tell Layla it’s an emergency and I’m sorry.”
He looks at me, and while he’s probably used to seeing me cry, his eyes still widen at the sight of my face. “What happened? And where are we going? The cafeteria?”
“No,” I say. I show him the text. “We’re on a rescue mission.”
“They got Elaine? Okay, we just have to get to the Jamba basement, but I can’t drive . . .” He looks back at his phone to go through options. “I’ll message Ryan. He’ll take us.”
“Will he have his phone on?”
Anderson gives a quick laugh and calls Ryan. My parents are both working, and I know Anderson’s parents work day shifts as well, so I don’t think we have many other options anyway.
Anderson starts walking back into the building so we can grab our stuff and meet Ryan. While the main office would probably notice us leaving, there’s a door in the science wing of the building that’s never attended, especially now that class has already started. It’s almost too easy to slip out, but I think the whole focus is to keep the side doors locked so that no one can get in. I don’t think they care as much about people leaving.
We start walking off campus toward the sidewalk. Apparently, Anderson told Ryan to drive out of the parking lot, take a right, and look for us. My heart is in my throat. What if we don’t get there in time?
I keep checking my phone in case Elaine responds.
“Do you think she went there by herself? Why? Or did they kidnap her? How did they know? Oh my God. They must have stalked us on the bird hike. What if they have eyes everywhere?”
“You’re spiraling, take a deep breath. We’ll handle it,” Anderson says. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve been better. Are you okay?”
“All things considered,” he says. “Sure.”
“Do you think they are going to kill her? I mean, they can’t just kill teenagers, right? Like she actually has a family and friends and it would be all over the news . . .” I take a breath. “Okay. I am spiraling.”
“Understandable.” He frowns. “What do we do?”
“We can’t call the cops. If they hear sirens, they might actually kill her regardless. Or take her somewhere else.”
Before Anderson can respond, a car pulls up next to us on the curb, lightly tapping the horn. We both look over to where Ryan Pérez waves from the driver’s seat. I climb into the back before Anderson can pull that move of his again, forcing him to take shotgun.
“Thanks for getting us,” I say. “It means a lot.”
“No problem, my friend. Anderson says it is an emergency. Where to?”
Anderson has the location saved in his phone, so he navigates. The traffic isn’t terrible, although the trip feels much longer than it actually is. Ryan is extremely easygoing and doesn’t question anything, not even when we arrive in the lot.
I don’t see Elaine’s Subaru anywhere, or any sign of her at all.
Did they straight-up abduct her?
“Do you think they brought her inside?” Anderson asks.
We both race out of the car as Ryan goes to park. Anderson and I enter the Jamba Juice and make a beeline for the bathroom. Ryan manages to squeeze in with us at the last second and I lock the bathroom door.
“You two are certainly interesting,” he says.
Anderson approaches the keypad on the storage closet as my phone buzzes. I look down. It’s a call from Elaine. I pick up.
“We’re here, are you okay?”
“Here? Like at my school?” She doesn’t sound like someone who is in danger, only someone who is extremely confused.
I’m relieved, but also not feeling great about our situation, whatever it is.
“I got a text from the murderers. It was a picture of you in the Jamba Juice lot. It seemed like a threat, so Anderson and I rushed over?” I don’t know why it’s hard to say. It feels kind of strange since Elaine seems to be completely clueless about her own kidnapping.
“I was in AP Bio. I had my phone on silent. I’m so sorry.” She really does sound shocked. “In the picture, what color shirt was I wearing?”
“Plaid.” Immediately as I say it, it hits me. “That was from yesterday.”
“Yeah. I’m really sorry, Bianca.”
“No, it’s not your fault. I’m just glad you’re safe.” I sigh into the phone.
A small moment passes before Elaine speaks again. “So . . . you were going to rush over and save me, huh? That’s pretty romantic, actually.”
My face heats. “Ha ha, yeah, talk later. Bye.”
I quickly hang up the phone.
“Oh no, Bianca.” Anderson winces. “That goodbye was so awkward.”
I ignore him. “Elaine’s fine. She’s at school.”
“That’s good,” Anderson says. “But I don’t get what they were trying to accomplish here then.”
I glance back at the closet door. They took a gamble in baiting me with the sonnet book because they wouldn’t know whether or not we cracked the code.
Unless they saw us making a beeline for the bathroom.
My skin tingles as my stomach drops. “We need to get out of here.”
Anderson practically shoves Ryan out the bathroom door, and together, we run back into the parking lot. Ryan is either the most adaptable person ever or used to quick getaways, because we hop in the car and he floors it.
