Part 24 (1/2)

”I trained with my dad for five years.” She shrugs. ”He doesn't have his black belt yet.”

”Seriously?” Adam shakes his head and pushes away from where he's leaning and paces at the end of the bed. ”Ninja Amy. That is seriously awesome.” He frowns then, stops pacing, and turns to me. ”You sure you don't want us to come along? For backup? Amy might come in handy.”

I shake my head and swallow. And swallow again and swallow again. ”I can handle it.” I still have hope though, that it's going to go better than I fear- than they fear. Scooting off the bed, I take out my phone and the small purse I brought along so I don't have to haul around my backpack and all my stuff. It holds my wallet, my phone, and my ChapStick. Adam glances at Amy, and they both shrug as they grab their bags. I grab my backpack to lock it up and walk slowly behind them. After we put away the bags, I flip to my Twitter page and click on recent tweets.

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e ”How many new followers?” Amy asks. I glance up; she's peering over my shoulder.

I look at her. ”Only a few.”

”We'll work on it,” she says.

”Thanks,” I say to both of them. ”Here goes nothing.”

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sixteenthings.indd 156 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

chapter fourteen.

T he cab smells faintly like cologne. I glance at the cabby with his shaved head and black leather jacket. I wonder if Adam wears cologne, and then shake him out of my thoughts and tell the cabby the address of Bob White.

”How long will it take to drive to the Rockland district?” I ask.

”About ten minutes,” he supplies in his growly voice, low but not unfriendly.

Exactly what Google Maps predicted. My stomach rolls around.

”You visiting relatives?” He's polite in a nice- uncle way.

”Sort of,” I tell him.

”Fair enough,” he says and that's it. He doesn't say anything else. He must sense my desire not to have a long conversation.

Cabdrivers must be like doctors or bartenders. They read people's cues. Some want to talk. Some don't.

I lean back against the seat and stare out the window. There's an epic battle inside me, but when I catch my reflection in the window, my face looks calm and void of emotion. Years of practice.

I grab my phone from my purse and click to my Twitter page but can't read anything. I don't know what to tweet. This isn't something I feel like being pithy about. It's okay for now to know my friends are near.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r My eyes turn back to the world outside the cab window. We turn down a street, and it's easy to tell we're in a very well- to- do area.

The houses are surrounded by beautiful trees and rock paths and stone fences.

The further we go into the neighborhood, the bigger the houses get. My heart aches. It's not that he couldn't afford to have helped out. He didn't want to. He just didn't want to.

We're not dest.i.tute, the twins and Mom and I, but this area is in a different league. The majors. I try to breathe and, for the first time, understand how awful it must be for Josh when he has an asthma attack. I can't seem to get in a big breath.

”This is it,” the cabby says as he pulls up to a big brick house. I wonder if my mom has seen the house. It's old but it's obviously been well preserved or renovated. The front yard is huge, filled with beautiful trees and big decorative rocks with pebble paths.

The house faces the water and mountains.

”Nice place. You have to pay for views like this,” the cabby says as I stare at the house. He turns to me. ”Everything okay, miss?”

”Fine,” I manage and almost tell him to drive on. Just leave and take me with him. Instead, I lean forward to see what's owed. I pull my wallet from my purse for some of the funny Canadian money, hand him a green, slippery twenty, and tell him to keep the change even though it's less than fifteen dollars for the fare.

I try to catch my breath, but my heart is pounding fast, like I've been running. I sit completely still, staring at the house, won- dering what I'm doing- why this even remotely seemed like a good idea. I could have called or started off with an email. But 158.

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e no. No. I want to see him. I want to meet him. And I want him to meet me.

”You sure you're okay?”

”Yes, thank you,” I whisper to the cab driver and reach for the door.

He watches me, his face wrinkled up and worried. I open the door.

I pause, considering whether I should ask the cabdriver to wait for me. Instead, I slam the door and fight an urge to puke from fear. I'm all alone. On a strange sidewalk. In a strange town. A strange country. I can't swallow but take a deep breath. My hopes seem sillier now.

The cabby drives away slowly, and I lift my hand and wave but don't move from where I'm standing. I think about tweeting, but Adam and Amy will probably see it and know I'm stalling. They've got Twitter eyes on me.

Instead, I lift my phone and take a picture of the house to show them later. The long brick driveway runs parallel to a stone path that leads up to a huge wraparound porch. I glance around to see if anyone noticed me snapping shots, but there's still no one on the street. It's quiet. Too quiet.

I take a deep breath and wipe my clammy hands on my pants.

Maybe I should have changed or at least put on some makeup.

Then again, why should I try to impress him?

Yes, get angry, I tell myself. It's better than being afraid. ”Okay,” I say softly to myself. ”You can do this.”

I stare at the doorbell, trying to force myself to push on it. I imagine pressing the buzzer and running. I lift my chin and close my eyes.

I reach out and press the bell.