Deceived by Julie Anne Lindsey

been unlocked and that I thought I’d been followed. Pixie had been on the phone. Lots of people walked around the little town. I wasn’t convinced, so I kept it to myself. Liar.
    Dad didn’t speak for a long beat.
    “The ribbons.” His voice lightened by a fraction.
    Would he prefer to hear I’d been caught in an unscrupulous activity, rather than what I was about to say? I rarely connected with my emotionally detached father, but at that moment, I practically heard his thoughts. At the mention of Mom and her ribbons, his thoughts probably ran to his darker days like mine had. He remembered her with her ribbons. When they came out, we moved. Outrunning a ghost was impossible, but Dad never stopped trying.
    “I almost hate to give it back. It makes me think I need to pack.”
    Silence.
    “Dad?”
    Silence.
    I pulled the phone away from my face to examine it. Had he hung up on me or had a stroke or something? Tension zinged through the phone. The hairs on my arms stood on end. If he wasn’t on business in Tokyo, he might’ve been en route to get me.
    “Why?”
    “Seriously? You must know we move every time you miss her too much. First, you drag out her ribbons, and then you’re in a frenzy to move.” Finally I’d said what I’d wanted to for years. “I know your work isn’t the only reason we move so often. I know you feel chased.” Dad wore his heartbreak like a neon sign. He had never gotten over losing Mom either. Her loss bonded us in complicated and permanent ways.
    “Gabriella.” He cleared his throat. “What?”
    “I know you miss Mom. Your grief haunts you. I’m haunted, too.”
    “Honey, you’re not hunted. I don’t want you to worry about anything.”
    “Haunted.” I enunciated. “Not hunted, Dad. Are you feeling okay? We’re not moving again, are we?”
    When he hesitated, I worried I’d gone too far. I blamed nerves and nightmares and gorgeous boys with magical green eyes.
    “At what time did you receive your locker today?” His flattened tone frightened me. The interrogation voice was back.
    “I don’t know, maybe eight or a few minutes after … ”
    “When were you there?”
    “Until the bell at eight-ten and then again after that class.”
    “When was that?” His questions came one upon another. It was as if I was in trouble again.
    “What?”
    “What time did you return to your locker, following your first class?” He spoke slowly, clearly. He wanted answers, facts, now.
    “Ah, class is forty-five minutes long, so it was almost nine. It took a minute to get back there after the bell.”
    “That’s when the locker was jammed? When you discovered the ribbon?”
    “Yes.”
    “Could it have been there before your first period and you overlooked it?”
    “No. The locker was empty the first time.”
    “Who else has access? Do you have a locker partner?”
    “No. They don’t do that here. Everyone has their own.”
    “Tell me more about the ribbon.”
    I described it as completely as I could. He insisted I photograph it and send the picture to his inbox while he waited. He wouldn’t get off the phone until he had it in front of him. Then, after he nearly scared me to death with his questions and odd behavior, he went back to making small talk. Jekyll and Hyde much? His keyboard clicked as his fingers flew over the keys. He’d moved on. The ribbon wouldn’t kill me. I rolled my eyes.
    “Maybe I can come for a visit. See how things are going. I can check your apartment for safety again. Talk to the school.”
    “Dad, no. I’m good. Everything’s good.”
    “We can have lunch. I can make pancakes.”
    The thought tempted me. I had a million memories of Dad in the kitchen tossing pancakes in the air. Of all the changes in my life, the cabin was a constant I could count on. And I did. The cabin had been in Dad’s family for generations, and we all loved it. We stayed off the grid and enjoyed the peacefulness of nature. Mom had loved it. They’d always made