Chapter 2

My hand fluttered to my silver padlock necklace as I watched Mr. Blue go. Shock and confusion washed over me like an ocean swell and took my breath away. I squeezed the padlock tight, hoping it would help bring me to shore so I could breathe again. I blinked as air entered my lungs, and I realized that The Regulars were all staring at me open-mouthed, all of them still on the floor.

"Okay," I breathed. "Back to work."

A thunderous uproar of questions filled the room.

I faked a smile and shrugged. "He said no thanks. He just likes to sit in the back and listen," I lied. "But he seemed very grateful that I asked him. He even squeezed my shoulder." I could still feel Mr. Blue's fingers digging into my skin, and I thought for sure I would have a bruise.

Matt and Dalton groaned.

"So The Plan failed," Dalton said.

"No way! I talked to him, didn't I? We trapped him, didn't we?" I said.

The Regulars all reluctantly agreed as they stood up and made their way back to their seats. Everyone chatted and congratulated each other for their fine performances. I allowed myself to be distracted from the dark cloud Mr. Blue had placed over my head and joined in the post-discussion of The Plan. My hand never left the padlock around my neck as I laughed and chatted with The Regulars, its solidness keeping me sane and my seams glued together.

Eventually, the excitement wore off and The Regulars settled back to stare at their computer screens once again. I wandered around asking and answering questions, the dark cloud following me wherever I went.

In the last five minutes of class, The Regulars began shutting down all the computers and gathering their stuff. I ran out the double doors to clock out and then ran back into the computer lab. It was a class ritual to all walk out to the community center parking lot together and say our goodbyes.

Once outside, wind snapped at my hair, crisscrossing it in front of my eyes. My car sat under the twenty-foot video screen at the side of the parking lot. I sprinted through the flashes of color the commercial on the screen shot onto the wet pavement. Always the same annoying commercial. I gritted my teeth and fumbled for my car keys inside my jacket pocket.

Dalton began laughing. "Anybody got any French fries?" He pointed to his shoe, which oozed ketchup.

"You make sure to clean yourself up before you walk on your mother's carpet," Phyllis ordered, wagging a crooked finger at Dalton.

"I will," Dalton said. "Hey, can we do The Plan again tomorrow? That was so fun!"

"I've seen enough ketchup blood, I think," Howard said, chuckling as he shuffled next to Phyllis toward his car.

I agreed, and Matt and Dalton groaned as they both hopped on their hoverboards. "See you tomorrow," they hollered.

Phyllis and Howard waved.

It was just after six in the evening, and the community center's doors would be locked up tight soon. Because of money issues and the growing crime in Morgan Hills - the city's nickname is Morgan Kills; no joke - the community center locked its doors in the early evening. The entire place was pretty much deserted.

"Look good. Live good. Forever," the young brunette on the video screen said above where my old, rusty car was parked.

"No thanks," I spat.

The hovering, figurative dark cloud released its heavy load of questions as I climbed into my car. I gripped the steering wheel tightly as I recalled Mr. Blue's words to me. The answer was no. I hadn't seen my sister lately. No one had. Which meant Mr. Blue knew she was missing. He had to.

As I drove off, the flickers of the video screens playing Pause commercials on repeat faded into night behind me. I breathed deep, but my heart chased each beat with another, harder one, still slamming from the run-in with Mr. Blue.

I swallowed, suddenly feeling sick. What did he know?

There were few streets that didn't have video screens, and those were the ones I took to get home. Instead of the perky brunette in the commercial, I always saw Vivian on her wedding day, all smiles and light, about to make the biggest mistake of her life by marrying the president and CEO of Pause. I didn't need that memory stabbed into my eyes again and again.

Even if I did drive down the streets with video screens, though, it wasn't like I could see well through the filth on my windshield anyway. One car equaled one car wash every six months according to Pause's rules. That way they had enough of Morgan Hill's shrinking water supply to turn their precious profit.

I clutched the thick chain and padlock around my neck while I pulled into my usual spot behind the mailbox. Mom needed to know about the old man. She would freak and threaten to move, but she wouldn't leave. Her life was rooted here, to the last place we'd seen Vivian, and she'd stay until she knew both her daughters were safe.

"That's a bunch of bull - " Mom snapped her mouth shut when she saw me and smiled into her cell phone. In front of her, the WindowWall played the evening news on mute. "Leland, that can't be right. They can't drop the case. There's plenty of leads, but they just don't want to see them. I'm telling you, Era has her hand in the pockets of the entire police department."

Her blonde curls, streaked with silver around her face, fuzzed up near her ears. Vivian always used to tell her not to tuck her hair behind them because it would frizz. Stress made her do it, she said, and she was stressed all the freaking time.

She hung up on Leland, the private investigator she'd hired to find Vivian, and faced me. "How was it today?"

I took a breath. "Some old guy asked if I'd seen Vivian lately."

She blinked. Something between a gasp and an exhale puffed from her mouth. "What?"

I shrugged like it didn't matter, but of course it did. "He left after that."

Mom sat back, her forehead creased. "Leland's on his way over with one of his guys, so I'll tell him. This old man might know something."

"But what do we do?" I asked.

Mom's eyes softened, and she looped a finger into one of my curls, so much like hers. "I honestly don't know. Not report anything to the police, apparently. They want to drop Vivian's missing person's case because 'they're too busy.'"

"They still think she's in Paris, or wherever, and that she's just too happy to contact her family?" I touched the loops of the chain around my neck. "That's bullshit."

She frowned and side-eyed me. "I was going to say stupid, but that works too."

A huge world map decorated the wall over Mom's shoulder. The white border had yellowed, the corners punctured with dozens of tiny holes. Different-colored pushpins marked the places where postcards came from that weren't in Vivian's handwriting but were signed from her. Who would go to all that trouble to make it seem like Vivian was enjoying her life without us? Being married to the richest man in the world couldn't make you forget your family. Could it?

"We'll talk more about this once we've eaten," Mom said and stood, smoothing her gray pantsuit. "What are you cooking?"

"Spaghetti with a salad and bread," I decided.

"I'll help," she said, following me into the kitchen.

No, she wouldn't, because I wouldn't let her. I'd learned to cook to save us both.

Someone knocked on the door and I jumped. Mr. Blue had punctured a nerve or ten, it seemed.

Mom touched my arm, her eyebrows pinched together. "It's just Leland, Jasmine."

Of course it was.

She went to answer it, and as soon as Leland's voice boomed through the house, I relaxed some. He knew all about Vivian and who she was married to since he'd been helping Mom since Vivian disappeared. And by helping, I also meant crushing on Mom.

While Leland's and Mom's voices formed hills of noise and silence, I found a pot and set the timer for fifty-nine seconds. Anything over five minutes a day from the kitchen tap earned a hefty fine from Pause. They owned and controlled mostly everything, including Morgan Hills' water department, their main source before they added their "blue gold" enzyme to it. Demand was always much higher than supply, which basically meant it sucked to be us. Oh well. Never mind the peons who needed water to survive. At least Pause was making bank. I sighed as a thin line of water trickled into the pot.

Leland appeared around the corner of the kitchen dressed in work boots, faded jeans, and a tight black T-shirt that stretched over veiny muscles. The guy was too ripped if you asked me. He was younger than Mom with no trace of gray in his brown hair or wrinkles on his face. "So, Lightning Bolt ran into an old-man stalker, huh?"

Lightning Bolt because of my skills on the track. Second in the state in the 400-meter. I was speedy and damn proud of it.

"You shoulda decked him one," he said.

I shook my head and eyed the timer. The pot wasn't even filled a quarter of the way yet. "My fists aren't as sure as my feet."

Mom shot a glare into the back of his skull. "Hit an old man? Seriously?"

Leland shrugged. "The guy sounds shifty."

The timer dinged, and I immediately turned off the tap. Just enough water in the pot to boil noodles and not a drop more.

"I just want to know what he knows," I said. "And how he knows it."

"I bet..." Leland's sharp gaze caught on something outside the sliding glass door in the dining room. He lunged toward it and batted the blinds out of his way, causing them to click and slide against each other.

"Leland?" Mom said, her voice panicked.

I followed his line of sight out the window above the kitchen sink, and gasped. Blue movement flashed.

Leland opened the sliding glass door and flew out into the backyard.

Blue movement.

He was here.

Mr. Blue.