wrapping paper, because I don’t want to admit to snooping in
Jake’s room, and besides, who doesn’t have wrapping paper?
My message is a garbled mess, and I wish I could just erase it and start over. After
I hang up, I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling.
I can’t stand the thought of losing Leah, but I don’t think I could survive if something
happened to my parents.
In the morning my parents head to work, and I go off to school like everything is
normal.
Only it isn’t.
I feel sick to my stomach all morning. I send Leah a text at lunchtime. Miss you.
She replies a couple of minutes later. Miss you too. How come you weren’t at the
barn last night? I called you 100 times.
So nothing’s happened yet, obviously. And maybe nothing will. Maybe Detective Bowerbank
will listen to my message, laugh a little about how crazy I’m being and press Delete .
I hope he does.
I’ll be there after school today , I text.
Her reply is instant. YAY! XO
XXXXXXXXXXXXOOOOOOOOO , I send back.
I want every one of those in person.
I picture Leah’s wide eyes, her full lips, the way the corners of her mouth lift
and her cheeks dimple when she smiles. Me too , I tell her.
I have Biology after lunch, which I usually like, but today I spend the class thinking
about Leah and hoping desperately that she’ll still feel the same way about me at
four o’clock. That nothing will have changed.
My lab partner elbows me. “What’s wrong with you today?” She gestures at the half-dissected
cow eyeball in front of us. “I thought you’d be in future-vet heaven, but you’re
like… somewhere else.”
“Sorry,” I say. The eyeball blurs and I blink back tears. “Back in a minute.”
I dash to the girls’ washroom, which, luckily, is empty, and dial Rich Bowerbank’s
number. Voice mail. “Hi, it’s Franny,” I say. “Listen, about that message I left
last night. Just ignore it, okay? I was just freaked out about the threats and being
paranoid. I mean, lots of people aren’t comfortable with abortion, and it doesn’t
make them deranged losers. Or, you know, stalkers or murderers or whatever. So, uh,
what I said about Jake? Just pretend that never happened. Um. Sorry.” I hang up before
I can ramble anymore.
He’ll probably think I’m the one who’s a deranged loser.
That’s fine with me.
After school I head straight to the Gibsons’. I think at first that the barn is empty—the
lights are off. I switch them on—
And see Leah, sitting on the tack box in front of Buddy’s stall. Her arms are crossed,
and her mouth is a thin, straight line.
“You’re home early,” I say stupidly. Like that’s the point.
“Because Jake called me,” she says. “Because the cops were here. Interviewing him…”
She starts crying. “Franny, how could you?”
I shrug helplessly and stand there, just inside the barn door. Twenty feet away from
her, and it feels like a mile.
“They searched his room,” she says.
“Don’t they need, you know, a warrant or something to do that?”
“He said they could,” Leah says coldly. “He told them to look around. Let them look
through his emails too.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. Because he has nothing to hide, Franny. Because he hasn’t done anything.”
I slide down the wall so that I’m sitting on the cold cement floor. “I’m sorry, Leah.
I’m so sorry. But—”
She cuts me off. “He didn’t even know what your parents did until he heard you telling
my mom the other night.”
“Let me explain,” I say. “Please.”
“Fine. Explain.” Her voice is like ice.
“There was another threat,” I say. “Yesterday. A photo of my parents leaving our
house, and targets were drawn on their chests…and I was so scared that something
might happen to them. And Jake…the things he said…”
“You should have talked to me, Franny. I could have told you he’d never do anything
like that.”
“He’s your brother,” I say. “You trust him. Of course you
Jake’s room, and besides, who doesn’t have wrapping paper?
My message is a garbled mess, and I wish I could just erase it and start over. After
I hang up, I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling.
I can’t stand the thought of losing Leah, but I don’t think I could survive if something
happened to my parents.
In the morning my parents head to work, and I go off to school like everything is
normal.
Only it isn’t.
I feel sick to my stomach all morning. I send Leah a text at lunchtime. Miss you.
She replies a couple of minutes later. Miss you too. How come you weren’t at the
barn last night? I called you 100 times.
So nothing’s happened yet, obviously. And maybe nothing will. Maybe Detective Bowerbank
will listen to my message, laugh a little about how crazy I’m being and press Delete .
I hope he does.
I’ll be there after school today , I text.
Her reply is instant. YAY! XO
XXXXXXXXXXXXOOOOOOOOO , I send back.
I want every one of those in person.
I picture Leah’s wide eyes, her full lips, the way the corners of her mouth lift
and her cheeks dimple when she smiles. Me too , I tell her.
I have Biology after lunch, which I usually like, but today I spend the class thinking
about Leah and hoping desperately that she’ll still feel the same way about me at
four o’clock. That nothing will have changed.
My lab partner elbows me. “What’s wrong with you today?” She gestures at the half-dissected
cow eyeball in front of us. “I thought you’d be in future-vet heaven, but you’re
like… somewhere else.”
“Sorry,” I say. The eyeball blurs and I blink back tears. “Back in a minute.”
I dash to the girls’ washroom, which, luckily, is empty, and dial Rich Bowerbank’s
number. Voice mail. “Hi, it’s Franny,” I say. “Listen, about that message I left
last night. Just ignore it, okay? I was just freaked out about the threats and being
paranoid. I mean, lots of people aren’t comfortable with abortion, and it doesn’t
make them deranged losers. Or, you know, stalkers or murderers or whatever. So, uh,
what I said about Jake? Just pretend that never happened. Um. Sorry.” I hang up before
I can ramble anymore.
He’ll probably think I’m the one who’s a deranged loser.
That’s fine with me.
After school I head straight to the Gibsons’. I think at first that the barn is empty—the
lights are off. I switch them on—
And see Leah, sitting on the tack box in front of Buddy’s stall. Her arms are crossed,
and her mouth is a thin, straight line.
“You’re home early,” I say stupidly. Like that’s the point.
“Because Jake called me,” she says. “Because the cops were here. Interviewing him…”
She starts crying. “Franny, how could you?”
I shrug helplessly and stand there, just inside the barn door. Twenty feet away from
her, and it feels like a mile.
“They searched his room,” she says.
“Don’t they need, you know, a warrant or something to do that?”
“He said they could,” Leah says coldly. “He told them to look around. Let them look
through his emails too.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. Because he has nothing to hide, Franny. Because he hasn’t done anything.”
I slide down the wall so that I’m sitting on the cold cement floor. “I’m sorry, Leah.
I’m so sorry. But—”
She cuts me off. “He didn’t even know what your parents did until he heard you telling
my mom the other night.”
“Let me explain,” I say. “Please.”
“Fine. Explain.” Her voice is like ice.
“There was another threat,” I say. “Yesterday. A photo of my parents leaving our
house, and targets were drawn on their chests…and I was so scared that something
might happen to them. And Jake…the things he said…”
“You should have talked to me, Franny. I could have told you he’d never do anything
like that.”
“He’s your brother,” I say. “You trust him. Of course you
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