Part 11 (1/2)

My phone beeps, letting me know a new text came in. I glance at it and frown. It's from my mom's phone. But how could she possibly send a text? She must have gotten Jake to do it. Or Josh. I glance at the message.

It's a picture of a man. I enlarge the image and look closer. It's a picture from a newspaper article. He's wearing a golf cap, but it's clear what he looks like.

There's a caption under the picture. Tiny. I enlarge it some more.

”Bob White wins the Golf Tournament, for the Victoria Blues.” I recognize him from Google Images, one of the less offensive look- ing Bob Whites. We have a match. I suck in a deep breath. After all this time, this is it.

I peer closely and disappointment settles in. He's an ordi- nary person, this Bob White, just a normal- looking man. Not too tall. Not too heavy or too slim. Not someone I can look at and automatically hate. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this. Just a man. It's hard to feel much of anything.

It was almost better wondering if he was dead. Or really tall and handsome. Or maybe a famous celebrity who would never acknowledge me as his daughter because it would ruin his career. Not some guy in a golf s.h.i.+rt who looks like he shops at

68.

sixteenthings.indd 68 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e Costco and pays all of his bills on time. He doesn't look evil.

He doesn't look mean.

He is a man. But he's more. He's my dad. I try to imagine what his voice sounds like, what he likes to eat, if he has a new family.

Mostly I wonder why- why he never wanted to know me. I stare at the photo. I have to go. Now that I know. I have to see him myself. In person. I'll find a way to go to him and see for myself who he is, and why he didn't want me. Maybe, just maybe, if he sees me now, sees I'm not so bad...

I shake my head and stop that train of thought. I wonder if he'll be underwhelmed and disappointed when he looks at me for the first time. I wonder for the millionth time why he left me. ”Morgan,” I say, speaking for the man in the picture, ”I am your father.”

69.

sixteenthings.indd 69 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

sixteenthings.indd 70 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

chapter seven.

4. Likeability can be measured by how many followers you have online. #thingsIthoughtweretrue I 'm working in the gift shop, ringing up a woman's purchases, ignoring the shrieks of her unhappy baby. ”Whoa,” a voice says from the entrance of the gift shop after she leaves. ”That took com- mitment.” Adam walks in. ”Ignoring a baby's cries.” He walks inside.

I remember that I'm mad at him, so I fake a smile and act busy.

He never returned my call. He doesn't get off that easy. ”So, your mom's operation went okay?” he asks.

I don't glance up. ”Fine.”

”So...?”

”She'll be home in a few days.” I bend down to pick up a pencil I dropped on the floor. When I stand again, he's directly across the counter. Frowning.

”Are you mad at me?” he asks. He's holding a brown paper bag.

Of course he would bring a packed lunch. It's mature and sensible.

”Why would I be mad at you?” Call display, dude. He didn't call back. Text. Acknowledge my call in any way. I don't need to have things spelled out. He's my boss, he felt obliged to drive me to the sixteenthings.indd 71 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

J a n e t G u r t l e r hospital, and his interest about my mom is medical curiosity. I made up the connection between us.

”You have a break in a few minutes, and Theresa's on her way. Are you going to the staff room?”

”No.”

He tilts his head. ”Why not?”

”Break time,” Theresa says as she walks in. ”Hey. Is your mom okay?”

”Yeah. Thanks.” I don't move.

”That's good.” She smiles at me then turns to Adam. ”You find your phone yet?”

He turns to me. ”Someone stole it.”

”Contact your carrier. Maybe they can trace it?” Theresa says.

I sneak a look at him. His phone got stolen. That's why he didn't call back?

”I called. They couldn't trace it. I have to buy a replacement.”

Adam turns to me. ”I'm on my break too. I'll go with you.”

”I wasn't going to go to the staff room,” I tell him. I'd been counting down the time until I could go to the old abandoned washroom stall and catch up on my tweets. I grab my backpack and walk out from behind the counter.

”Don't worry,” Adam says. ”You can bring your phone.”

”I know.” I need to recalibrate. I can't be mad at him for ignoring my call since he didn't have his phone.