She stomped to her bedroom, and I watched her disappear down the hallway. She’d lied for four days straight, so confronting her head-on would probably just push her deeper.
I needed another tactic.
The next morning, I stuck to routine.
I watched her walk down the driveway. Then I sprinted to my car. I parked a little ways from the bus stop and watched her board the bus. So far, nothing unusual.
I followed the bus. When it wheezed to a stop in front of the high school, a flood of teenagers poured out. Emily was among them.
But as the crowd streamed toward the double doors, she peeled away.
She lingered near the bus stop sign.
What are you doing?
I got my answer quickly.
An old pickup truck pulled up to the curb. It was rusted around the wheel wells, with a dented tailgate. Emily flung open the passenger door and climbed in.
My pulse pounded in my ears. My first instinct was to call the police. I even reached for my phone… but she had smiled when she saw the truck. She got in willingly.
The truck drove off. I followed.
