Watcher by Valerie Sherrard Page B

got to the security door, he made a big show of checking through his pockets and acting like he couldn’t find his keys.
    He pressed a buzzer — or maybe more than one — and a minute later he pulled the door open and went into the building.
    â€œLooks like the dude lives there,” Tack said.
    â€œNo, he knows we saw him and he’s just covering for himself. Did you notice how he ‘couldn’t find’ his keys and had to get someone to buzz him in?”
    Tack thought I was imagining things at first but when I explained about how I’d caught the guy watching me a couple of other times in the past week or two, he stopped scoffing.
    â€œWho you think it could be?” he asked as we got to my apartment.
    â€œI don’t know,” I said. “My father, maybe.”
    â€œSerious? You think that’s your father?”
    â€œMaybe. I don’t really remember what he looks like, but this guy seems kind of familiar to me, so it could be him.”
    â€œYou got no pictures of your dad? Nuthin’?”
    â€œMom got rid of anything like that a long time ago. All I have is a vague idea, and I know his hair is dark, like this guy’s.”
    â€œWonder what he wants,” Tack mused.
    â€œBeats me. Maybe he got curious about what I look like. And I’m only guessing about who this guy is — or could be. I just can’t think of anyone else who might be following me around.”
    â€œYou gonna talk to him?”
    I shrugged. All of a sudden I wished I hadn’t mentioned the guy to Tack at all. I changed the subject, which was as easy as mentioning Mira.
    While Tack got animated discussing his big plans to win over the girl and her aunt, I let my mind drift. I realized that if I was going to find out who The Watcher was and why he was following me, I was going to have to come up with a plan.
    The idea to give him the slip and start following him hit me almost immediately. I turned it over in my head, knowing it wouldn’t be quite as simple as it sounded. I’d have to fine tune the details if I was going to make it work.
    In the meantime, there were other things going on. It seemed the patch job on Lynn’s relationship with Conor hadn’t quite done the trick. When I got back to the apartment she was there again, only this time she had a battered old suitcase and a couple of bulging trash bags with her.

chapter ten
    â€œW here’s Mom?” Lynn asked sullenly as soon as I came through the door. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but at least she wasn’t crying at that moment.
    â€œWhere is she usually?” I said. “She’s somewhere in the building smoking and drinking coffee, talking about how the government should be giving single mothers more money to live on, or what a loser the last guy she dated was, or which reality show she likes the best.”
    Lynn almost smiled. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Did she say anything about cooking today?”
    â€œI wasn’t talking to her this morning. She was still sleeping when I left.” I almost told her about the bakery thing, but stopped myself.
    â€œYeah, well, I gotta talk to her. I need to stay here for a while.” She looked at me pointedly, like she was waiting for me to offer her my room. As if.
    Actually, this same scene had already played out about six, eight months ago, and it had turned into a big pain for me. Mom and Lynn had both gone on and on about how girls need privacy more than boys do. They couldn’t explain why , exactly, but they kept at the theme with true female persistence, giving “reasons” that amounted to nothing. Like, Mom kept saying, “because she’s a girl, that’s why,” with her hands on her hips until I thought I might flip out completely.
    After what seemed like a three day long, non-stop argument, I’d given in — just to shut them up. This time, it wasn’t happening.
    Still, I knew from