Sara and the Search for Normal Read online

“No,” she said dryly, “you have to go pee in the corner.”

  “Manners.”

  “Manners are for regular people. We have higher things on the mind.”

  I snorted and headed for the door. “Be right back. Going to check my cell phone too … I left it in my jacket downstairs. I just want to make sure my parents didn’t send me any updates.”

  “What do you want … a hall pass?” she said, drawing a star on her homework.

  “If you have one—”

  “Go,” she said, laughing and waving me away. “I will add a new tenet in your absence. No need to announce bathroom breaks. Also, one must always bring the ice cream when—”

  I left her talking to herself and headed downstairs. My jacket was in the closet, and the camera and one of the audio recorders were stuffed in my pockets. The other recorder was now sitting safely under Erin’s bed, slipped there while she was drawing. It had twenty-four hours of battery life, so her bedroom was covered for a full day. That had been the easy part.

  Now I had to expand my range.

  I shoved the audio recorder in my jeans pocket and scanned the main floor, GoPro in hand. It was small, black, and square, like a pencil sharpener. It was the most inconspicuous one I could find. But this was trickier than I thought. The battery life had been the first problem—only four hours even on the lowest resolution—but I took my father’s external battery charger. He bought it for his cell phone while he was at work, but I convinced him my documentary was more important. With that plugged in as well, I could get a full twelve hours. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. But that meant hiding the camera and the charger.

  Taking a last look around, I chose my spot.

  The living room—I guessed that’s what it was, since there was no furniture—was to the right side of the foyer, and there was a pile of still-taped boxes that looked like they had been thrown there on moving day and never touched again. There was even a layer of dust on them.

  I tucked the camera in the middle of them, mostly shadowed, and made sure it was pointed to capture the widest possible angle. It now covered the living room, the foyer, the staircase, and the additional room on the other side of the foyer, which had a dining table.

  My heart was pounding as I hurried back to the stairs again. I could hear a TV on somewhere down the hall—there was another room next to the kitchen where they had a den. Her parents were probably there. I fished into my pocket, debating where to put the other audio recorder. Maybe the kitchen?

  How could I get there unseen?

  The basement door suddenly flew open, and her brother emerged, frowning at me.

  “Jeez, you scared me,” he muttered. “Sara, right? The … uh … shy girl?”

  I nodded.

  He looked at me for a moment, as if realizing I was alone. “You need something?”

  I shook my head. I could feel my body seizing up. No. Now was not the time for Games.

  You are a Star Child. You have a mission. Just get back to the stairs.

  I turned and hurried upstairs again, hearing a distinct snort behind me. The other recorder would just have to go upstairs too. I went to the bathroom and closed the door, trying to breathe. My hands on the counter, I looked at myself in the mirror. You are awesome. You are awesome.

  I felt like I was going to pee myself. But after a quick splash of water, I managed to keep the Game at bay. Danger Game, maybe. That would not have been a good thing.

  I tucked the last recorder under the sink, way at the back behind the towels and baskets of toiletries, and then went back to Erin’s bedroom. She glanced up, looking out into the hallway.

  “Did I hear my cursed brother?”

  “He just asked if I needed anything.”

  “Naturally. Like a knife in the back.” She yawned. “We need another TV. Your house this weekend. Mine is awful.”

  I sat down on the bed, trying to think. “Sure. Well, if my parents aren’t out.”

  “Again?” she muttered. “Party animals. Yeah, well, we can play it by ear.”

  “Erin!” her mother shouted up the stairs. “It’s a school night!”

  She sighed dramatically. “Do you see what I must live with? Your parents back yet?”

  “Yeah. I’ll text them for a ride.”

  Ten minutes later, we were waiting by the door. I tried not to look at the GoPro. I was already regretting the spot. It seemed so obvious now. Why couldn’t I just use the stupid audio recorders? They would have been enough. I had gotten greedy and now I was going to get caught.

  The TV was still playing in the background.

  Then I heard her dad. “—thinks she can spy on me? Thinks she’s clever. I know where she lives—”

  My breathing picked up. It was the Danger Game. That was all.

  I tried to focus on Erin.

  “She’s not going to leave this house,” her father was saying now.

  No, he wasn’t. He was just watching TV.

  I put my hands on the door, trying to smile at Erin. “You find it hot in here?”

  She frowned. “No. You do look a bit flushed.”

  “Hold her at the door,” her father was saying.

  Maybe. It was so hard to tell. Did he say that, or did I imagine it? Was he coming for me?

  The Danger Game won out. I hurried outside, pulling my jacket tight. It was cold out. Freezing. But I walked to the driveway anyway, trying not to run away or scream.

  “You all right, bestie?” Erin asked, propping the door open.

  “Fine. Just hot. Sara break.”

  “Right,” she said dryly. “Well, your timing was good.”

  I turned and saw my dad pulling into the driveway. My brain was still telling me to run, but I just smiled again, waved, and climbed into the car, breathing only when the door was locked.

  “Fun night?” my dad asked, giving Erin a wave.

  “Yeah,” I murmured. “It was great.”

  NOTE (ON MY SKILLS AS A DETECTIVE)

  You might be thinking: Crazy girl, what do you know about detective work? And yes, hiding a camera and recording devices around a friend’s house in an attempt to spy on her family does sound crazy. Actually, it probably is. I don’t recommend that plan. Like, ever. But it was too late now. And thinking about it, I really should have hidden the camera anywhere but a pile of boxes that technically have to be moved at some time in the future to unpack them. Fiddlesticks.

  Anyway, that wasn’t the point of this note. The point is that I love detective stories. Of my 619 books, 127 of them are Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, or good old Mr. Holmes. They were always my favorite, and for a very specific reason: The detectives always solve the problem. There is a mystery, they solve it, and everyone is happy. Even tough ones. They just need a little more time.

  Also, Nancy never let a bad guy escape.

  I wasn’t about to either.

  CHAPTER 25 MODEL BEHAVIOR

  I chewed my nails through most of the group session on Thursday. Even Peter seemed to notice. Dr. Ring asked me if I was nervous about something four times, and four times I shook my head.

  “You’re going to have stubs for fingers soon,” Erin whispered.

  I withdrew my finger and grimaced. “Just … thinking.”

  “About?”

  “Umm. Mental health?”

  She snorted. “Well, you’re in the right place.”

  Dr. Ring looked up from his notes. The topic today was communication, so I guess it was a good day to chat. He put his pen back down and surveyed the room, stopping on Erin.

  “Mental disorders can make us feel alone. As a result, relationships are key to overcoming our issues. It’s not how many friends or family members you have. It’s the type. One honest relationship is worth a thousand not.”

  Erin grinned. “Yes, Dr. Ring, we are the bestest of besties. We know.”

  “I think I just threw up in my mouth,” Peter grumbled.

  “Better than the floor,” Erin said. “Someone took a
chance on me as a friend.”

  She distinctly looked at Taisha and Mel, who both flushed and turned away.

  “Let’s stay on topic,” Dr. Ring said quickly, eyeing the group. “The point is to seek out people you can trust. Of all my patients, those who find connections and purpose heal best.”

  Purpose. I thought about that and glanced at Erin, but she just shook her head. I had asked her yesterday if she ever thought about sharing the Star Child theory with the rest of the group. It had taken a while to sink in, but the theory had made me feel better. I felt like I belonged.

  But Erin said the others weren’t “ready for the truth.” We both knew that the real risk was they would laugh and make fun of us. Well, her. I still wasn’t talking to them, so she had to be the messenger. I hadn’t added a single person to my talk list since James, and I was fine with that. Like Dr. Ring said … I had to be selective. I did think of James still. A lot. I wondered if he would show up again. But I knew he wouldn’t.

  I guess hope had to be used selectively too. I couldn’t use it all up on one boy.

  At the end of the session, Erin and I left together. She had shared a lot tonight. … Friendship and trust and communicating seemed to be her favorite topics. The irony was not lost on me. I was planning on testing all three. First things first. I needed to tell another lie.

  I took out my cell phone and pretended to read a text message. “Uh-oh.”

  “What?”

  I grimaced. “My mom is running late. Can’t get me for another hour. Dad is out too.”

  “No problem. We can drop you off—”

  “I don’t have a key,” I said, frowning. “Maybe I can stick around here—”

  “Don’t be stupid,” she cut in. “Just come to my place and they can grab you from there.”

  “Is that okay?”

  I eyed the car nervously, but it was her mom in the driver’s seat tonight.

  “Obvi. Come on.”

  She quickly explained the situation to her mom, who just waved us in. I tried to keep the guilt off my face. It was all simple enough: I told my mom that Erin invited me over for an hour to work on our movie—she knew about my “documentary” now and didn’t exactly approve—and asked if she could get me from there. I could have waited until the weekend, but the longer the camera and the recorders were there, the better the chance of being found. I had to move fast.

  “I washed your gym clothes tonight,” her mom said. “Wrestling tomorrow?”

  Erin paused. Just for a second. “Yeah. Over lunch, I think.”

  “Are we going to get to see a meet one day or—”

  “Maybe,” she said. “Still not very good.”

  Her mom glanced in the mirror and shook her head. “Maybe you could try another—”

  “No,” she said. “I like wrestling. Listen, I was talking about Peter the Grump—”

  I listened to her in silence. Her mom really thought she was wrestling. It seemed ridiculous—but maybe she wanted to believe it. But it made my plan all the more important. I needed to show her something she couldn’t ignore. Either her, or the police.

  I stared out the window, running through my plan. I needed to collect all three devices within the hour. Without being seen. Then I needed to get them home safely and check them for evidence. And if I didn’t get anything, then I had to do this all over again. That would be bad.

  There had been no Games in group therapy, and I had to try to keep it together for a little while longer. But the closer we got to Erin’s house, the more I felt my insides writhing.

  Stay focused, I told myself. You have a mission.

  We pulled into the driveway, and Erin basically pulled me inside and up to her bedroom, closing the door and flopping onto her bed. She sighed and rolled onto her back, glancing at me.

  “Group therapy takes it out of me,” she said. “It’s all the staring, I think.”

  I sat down on the carpet beside her bed, nodding even as I reached around the back between the frame and the wall. My fingers closed on the audio recorder, and I quickly tucked it into my pocket. One down, two to go. My heart was racing, but I could still pull this off. Maybe.

  “You staring at Peter, you mean?” I said.

  She coughed and sat up. “I do not stare at Peter!”

  “Sometimes you do.”

  She paused. “He has a sort of a … brooding allure.”

  “Have you been reading Twilight again?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  I giggled and climbed up on the bed with her. “I thought you said not to trust boys.”

  “And I stand by that,” she said. “I just like to pretend he’s a Cullen.”

  “He is pale.”

  “Exactly,” she agreed. “And I would not be surprised at all if he was biting people.”

  I giggled, but there was no more time to waste. I patted my jeans and sighed dramatically.

  “Left my phone in my jacket.”

  “You really stink at that,” she said. “Well, I need to get a drink anyway. Come on.”

  I opened my mouth, but there wasn’t much to say to that. I just followed her downstairs, trying to think fast. There was a bathroom off the foyer. That would have to do.

  “Got to pee,” I said.

  “Want a drink?”

  “No, thanks,” I said, ducking into the bathroom and closing the door.

  I waited for a moment, then looked out again. She was in the kitchen around the corner, and the foyer was clear. The GoPro. I had to get that next.

  I hurried to the living room and ducked down by the boxes, my breath in my throat. But the camera was still there—right where I left it. I grabbed it just as footsteps rounded the corner.

  “Are you peeing on those boxes?” Erin asked.

  I looked back, still clutching the GoPro and attached charger. “Umm—”

  She walked over, sipping on a juice box. “Don’t even know what’s in there, really.”

  “Sorry,” I muttered, straightening up and stuffing the GoPro in my pocket. “I just wondered what it was. I was grabbing my phone and saw them. Sorry. I shouldn’t just look at—”

  “It’s fine,” she said, laughing. “I totally snooped through your bedroom.”

  “You did?”

  “Uh … yeah? How was I supposed to know if you were a serial killer?”

  I pursed my lips and then shrugged. “Fair enough.”

  “Let’s go before my parents decide to ask us about our days. Ugh.”

  We hurried back upstairs, the camera safely tucked away. That was the hard part.

  After one more bathroom break upstairs, I had the third recorder safely in hand. Some of the tension seeped away as I came back and sat down at her desk, shifting to keep my now-full pockets out of her view, and reached for my cell phone. I could call for a ride, go home, and inspect my findings. I still needed a bit of luck—I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to go through this again. Was twenty-four hours enough time to get evidence? How often was her father getting … angry?

  The bedroom door swung open. He stepped inside, wearing a thin smile.

  My whole body tensed. It felt like the wheel was spinning a hundred miles an hour.

  “School night, ladies,” he said. “Sara, are your parents home?”

  I nodded and got ready to text them. My skin was itching madly. He was staring, smiling.

  “I have to go get milk,” he said. “I’ll drop you off. Save them the trip.”

  My fingers froze on the screen. I glanced at Erin, who yawned and stood up.

  “Come on, Sara—”

  “You get ready for bed, missy,” he said. “Your mom said you slept in last week.”

  “I only missed breakfast—”

  “Exactly,” he replied curtly. “You have to be ready for the day. Come on, Sara.”

  I could feel the panic taking over. Did he know? Was he going to hurt me, too? I tried to rack my brain for some way out of this, some excuse, but I could never sum
mon words with him staring at me, and even if I could, my brain wasn’t working. I just nodded and stood up.

  Erin gave me a hug. “Just nod along if he talks,” she whispered.

  It might have been my imagination, but it sounded like a warning. It occurred to me that Erin hadn’t argued with him. She could argue that the sky was orange. But with her father, she gave up right away. I knew why. And that made me angry. Angry enough to push the panic back.

  I followed him downstairs to the door.

  “You are on Leewood Drive, right?” he asked. “Cindy mentioned.”

  I nodded, and he smirked as he slipped his shoes on.

  “Right … silence is golden,” he said. “You and I will get along fine.”

  I waved to Erin and stepped outside, feeling the cold close in on all sides. I tentatively got into the passenger seat, and he started the car, waiting for a minute as the engine warmed up. It was perfectly silent. No talking. No radio. I could feel the GoPro digging into my left thigh. I liked silence, but not today. I just kept my eyes on the garage and tried to remember I was brave.

  We pulled out and started down the road. He drove a manual, so I was aware that his strong right arm was constantly moving not far from me. I tried not to flinch. The full weight of what I had done suddenly seemed unbearable. I had spied on a man. A man I knew was dangerous. Me. Sara Malvern. A girl who couldn’t go to school without having a panic attack.

  What had I been thinking?

  I tried to keep it together. The wheel was still spinning, but even though my throat was dry and my chest was tight, it didn’t stop. I was in control, for now, and we were heading home.

  I was close.

  “Erin told me a bit about your condition,” he said suddenly. “Conditions, I guess.”

  I said nothing. My eyes were on the road. Please, just let me get home.

  “And you know all about hers, of course. Tough to see. Only started the last few years. I often wonder why. A lack of control, I guess. Discipline.” He glanced at me. “But who knows?”

  I tried to force a smile. My nails were digging into my leg.

  “I’m old-fashioned,” he continued. “Not into the whole shrink thing. Talking it out. Sometimes I think if she just focused a little more, she could beat it. You know what I mean?”