The Disappearance Of Sloane Sullivan. Gia Cribbs
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one. I just don’t know where she is.” I stabbed a piece of chicken with my fork. “My parents were only sixteen when they had me. My mom stuck around until I was three but she wanted freedom and parties, not a toddler. So she took off and it’s been just my dad and me ever since.” It was a variation of the story we used every time Mark pretended to be my father.
Livie sat straighter. “Your dad’s been taking care of you by himself since he was nineteen? That’s so sweet.” She fiddled with the edge of Jason’s shirt around his bicep. “We should set him up with your mom.”
I put my fork down. “What?”
“Jason’s parents are divorced and his mom’s the best. She totally needs a sweetheart to sweep her off her feet.”
Disbelief coursed through me. I never would’ve thought it was possible for Jason’s parents to be anything other than fairy-tale happily-ever-after in love. What happened?
Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “You know she doesn’t like blind dates.”
“So we’ll have a welcome party for Sloane and her dad,” Livie said. She wrapped her hands around Jason’s arm and scooted closer to him. “I can help your mom cook and she can get to know Sloane’s dad before they go out. Then it won’t be a blind date.”
Even if Mark would’ve gone for that, Jason looked uncomfortable with the idea. And there was no way I was putting the two of them in the same room together. “My dad’s really busy with his new job. It might be a while before he has any free time.”
Livie’s shoulders fell. “Oh.”
Jason gave me a grateful smile. “I think you came at the perfect time. All the senior stuff is about to start.”
“That’s right,” Sawyer agreed. He bumped my shoulder with his own. “Tomorrow’s the senior scavenger hunt. Every team has to get pictures of different things around school and the team that completes their list the fastest gets to pick the music that plays when we march out of graduation.”
I inched my chair away from his. “Really? You can pick any song?”
Jason nodded. “As long as it doesn’t have curse words, anything goes.” He turned to Sawyer. “Remember last year was that continuous loop of the theme song to Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood?”
“If we win we should pick ‘Fight for Your Right’ by the Beastie Boys,” Sawyer declared.
Jason pointed his fork at Sawyer. “Can’t go wrong with a classic.”
“Come on!” Livie whined. “Don’t Sloane and I get a say?”
I choked on a bite of chicken. “You want me on your team?” I’d already been plotting ways to avoid the whole thing.
“It’s part of your First Day Buddy experience. Mrs. Zalinsky was adamant about me including you on my team.”
Damn Mrs. Zalinsky and her thoughtfulness. “You really don’t have to—”
“Nope,” Sawyer interrupted. “There’s no getting out of it. You have to be on our team.” He patted my arm like he was comforting a confused senior citizen. “You’re part of the club.”
I opened my mouth then closed it, trying to figure out where he was going with this. “What club?”
Sawyer widened his ever-present grin. “You are Sloane Sullivan, right?”
My heart stuttered, but I plastered on a teasing smile. “Who else would I be?”
Jason’s eyes lit up as he held my gaze. “Two first names,” he explained.
I tore my eyes away from Jason to study Sawyer and Livie. “Wait. Do all of you have two first names?”
Livie pointed as she identified each of them. “Jason Thomas, Sawyer James, and Liv Dawson.”
Leave it to Jason to find a whole club. “Okay, but does Sullivan really count as a first name?”
Jason nodded. “It was my grandpa’s first name, remember?”
Memories I hadn’t thought of in years danced in my head: Jason’s grandpa dressed like Santa every Christmas, the way he’d pull quarters from behind my ear, going to his funeral when we were nine. My pulse raced. Is he asking if I remember all that?
“I said that when I saw your schedule this morning,” Jason continued.
I blew out a silent breath.
“There’s that cute actor from the FBI show with the tattoos. His first name is Sullivan,” Livie added, unaware of my momentary panic. “Oh, and the singer for some punk band I’ve never heard of before. Some girls were talking about him in class the other day.”
“Plus,” Jason said, “your first and last name start with the same sound. That cancels out the fact you think it doesn’t count.”
When Jason smiled, I couldn’t help but smile back. An obsession with both Superman and Spider-Man when we were little made him believe that anyone with first and last names that started with the same sound could really be a superhero in disguise.
Livie made a dismissive noise. “Of course they’ll count Sullivan. My last name’s Dawson and they let me in.”
“Dawson’s a first name,” Sawyer insisted. “What about Dawson’s Creek?”
“It’s a fictional first name,” Livie said. “Have you ever met a real person named Dawson?”
Sawyer laughed. “Some of us like having a first name based on a fictional character, right, Sloane?”
I turned to Sawyer. “How’d you know my name is based on a fictional character?”
He shrugged. “The only Sloane I’ve heard of before is from that movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.”
My skin tingled as the very first time I had to pick a name—the time I’d accidentally started naming myself after fictional characters—popped into my head.
My dad spun in a circle, his eyes bouncing around the room without ever landing on anything, like he was in a daze. “What else?” He wrung his hands together. “Underwear. Did you pack underwear?”
My gaze darted to two burly guys in suits huddled between my twin bed and the desk Jason helped paint blue and purple. They were mumbling to each other, oblivious to the underwear comment. I studied the tiny duffel bag on top of my flower bedspread. “Yes.”
“We really need to get going,” one man insisted, examining his watch.
Dad nodded. He leaned toward me, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. “Pick the thing you want to bring as your personal item, okay? I’m going to go pack a few things for Mom.” He rushed out of the room, leaving me with strangers.
The two guys by the desk glanced at each other, then followed Dad into the hall.
“What do you want your name to be?”
I jumped. I hadn’t heard the third guy, who’d been keeping watch by my window, sneak up on me. He smelled sweaty and I swallowed hard, trying not to throw up again.
“Well?” he prompted in his thick Jersey accent.
I balled my shaking hands into fists and blinked uncomprehendingly in his direction. Over his shoulder, I spotted Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland sitting on my bookshelf. “Alice,” I muttered. Because that was how I felt: like I was falling down a rabbit hole.
It was easier the second time, even though I was still terrified.
Mark turned off the TV and knelt in front of me. Something about