Return to Paradise by Pittacus Lore

fingertips. “I feel so stupid. This is my fault.”
    “No, it’s mine. My dad saw the text you sent. I shouldn’t have let that happen.”
    She looks surprised about this for a second—even happy that what happened last night might not have been her fault. Then her face falls.
    “They were probably watching me anyway. I should have told him, but instead I just ran outside. I was so happy to see him.”
    “You don’t know that they had eyes on you.”
    “I don’t know what they’ve done with him,” she says. Her voice is about to crack. “John . . .”
    “I think he’s in Dumont. There’s some kind of FBI facility near the state border.”
    “What?!” she practically shouts, jumping in her seat and straining against the seat belt. “We have to go. I have to talk to him. I have to explain to him that I didn’t—”
    “No way, Sarah. You were just held and interrogated for being caught with him. You may not realize this now, but they could have arrested you for helping a criminal. The dude is on the most-wanted list, Sarah. I’m not taking you to an FBI prison so you can get yourself in more trouble. It’s not what he would want.”
    The words come spilling out of me. Suddenly I’m hearing John’s voice in my head. That I have to make sure she’s kept safe. And right now, that means keeping her as far away from the Loric and the Mogs as I can.
    “Besides,” I say, softening up a little. “He has superpowers. Do you really think he’s going to stay locked up for long?”
    “I guess you’re right. Sam was with him, but Six wasn’t. She’ll track them down if he’s in trouble, I bet.”
    “I’m sure. She’s one girl I’d hate to have mad at me.”
    Sarah scowls a little, but I can’t decipher what the expression means.
    “I’ve got to buy a new phone,” she says. “Or try to get mine back from the FBI.” She gets quieter. “Like that’ll ever happen.”
    “You should buy a burner phone.”
    “A what?”
    “You know,” I say. “Like they have in shows about drug dealers and stuff. A prepaid cell phone. You know the FBI’s going to be tracking every text message and call you get on your old number.”
    “God. Are we like drug dealers now?” she asks, staring out the window of my truck like I’ve watched her do a thousand times. “How is this our lives?”
    “Don’t blame me,” I say. “Blame the impending war for our planet between the humanoid aliens and shark-faced bastards with magical swords.”
    When I drop her off, her parents are waiting on the front porch. I watch as their expressions run the gamut from worried, to relieved, to furious, then some weird mixture of all of them. I stay in the truck, but her dad makes sure to shoot me a glare that tells me in no subtle way that he’s blaming me for whatever happened to his daughter. After all, I’m the party-loving ex they had to pry her away from over the summer to begin with. My chest falls a little. Maybe dropping her off wasn’t the best idea. Her cell phone’s gone. If I’m lucky, she’ll be able to keep her computer for “study purposes.” Otherwise, there’s no way the Harts are letting me see or talk to their daughter.
    It’s late in the afternoon when I finally hear back from Dad, who’s been at work since he caught me in his office. He calls while I’m deep into researching a seriesof crop circles a few counties west of us, though I’m pretty sure that they’re just hoaxes and have nothing to do with actual aliens.
    “Hi,” I say when I answer the phone. I’m not sure whether to expect to be yelled at or apologized to. Probably the first one.
    Instead, I hear a long sigh on the other end of the line.
    “Oh, thank God,” Dad says.
    He sounds so relieved—what did he think had happened to me?
    “What is it?” I ask.
    “Where are you?”
    “At home.”
    “Good. Have you talked to Sarah?”
    “Not since this morning.”
    “Listen.” He pauses for a moment and then starts talking