Find Me (17 page)

What do you do with trash?
I have no idea until her no-neck boyfriend laughs.
Oh shit. You throw it out.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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In the beginning, I loved his attention. I would
do my hair and makeup so he’d find me pretty.
Afterward, I never bothered, and he wanted me
even more. He said it was better for him when I
was broken.

—Page 53 of Tessa Waye’s diary

I hate being thrown in my school’s Dumpsters for a lot of reasons. The first is because it’s all
kinds
of nasty. The second is because it’s humiliating. The third is because Griff ends up finding me.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” He’s looking over the Dumpster’s edge, shaking his head. It kind of makes me want to punch him, but I can’t really deny the guy his moment. Or rather, I
won’t
deny him his moment. I’m just hoping he’ll haul my sticky self out of here.

Sometimes, this is the closest a geek can come to being a superhero.

“Yeah, yeah, spare me the astonishment.” I glare up at him, realize damsels in distress probably never glare at their heroes, and try to soften my expression, but I’m pretty sure it looks like I have a hemorrhoid grimace. Words cannot describe how embarrassing this is. Of all the places for him to find me.
Ugh.
“Like this never happened to you.”

“No. In all honesty, I can say that it hasn’t.” Griff reaches down, offering me a hand stained with blue and green ink. He’s been drawing again. “What the hell did you say, and who’d you say it to?”

“Why does it always have to be my fault?”

Griff grins. “Because it’s you and your mouth.”

This is the part where I should growl at him, but he makes me laugh instead. I take an unsteady step toward him, my feet squishing deep into overstuffed Hefty bags. I’m not usually prone to praying, but I immediately start making promises to stop lying, be a better person, and improve my potty mouth to any god willing to listen.

Please, dear God, just let the bags hold. If I get lunchroom pizza on my feet, I may hurl.

No, I’m lying already. I
will
hurl.

“It’s nothing, really. Jenna Maxwell was just bitching about Tessa—” I grab his hand, dig my right Converse into the metal wall, and scramble. I briefly end up straddling the Dumpster edge before tipping, face-first, toward the concrete. I brace for the impact.

Griff catches me before I hit.

“Graceful,” he teases, easing my weight against his chest. One arm tucks me close. The other sweeps my legs around, steadying me. Oh. Wow.

Um, I should be able to stand up now. I really should.

So why the hell am I leaning against him like I’m about to fall?

“She was saying shit about Tessa, about how she was going to go to hell.” Crap. I
so
wasn’t planning on saying that. Leaning into Griff is dangerous stuff. I should know better.

“What was she saying?” Griff brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes. It’s all very sweet . . . until I realize he’s just picked a piece of garbage off my cheek too.

Yeah, okay, I can totally stand up now. Moment is officially over.

Griff lets me go and takes a step back, watching me dust off my jeans as I try to explain. “She just said shit about how suicides will burn in hell and . . .” And I don’t want to explain any further. I look at Griff, ready to tell him
Never mind
, and realize I don’t have to explain. His eyes have already gone flat and dark, like he knows. The realization licks something inside of me.

“So Jenna was being Jenna and that got you into the Dumpster how?”

“It just got out of hand.” I brush my jeans a little harder, and something warm and slimy connects with my skin.

Oh. God.
I swallow really, really hard, holding my contaminated hand as far away as possible. I might have to cut it off. Seriously.

“Here.” Griff rifles through his backpack and hands me a Windbreaker.his It’s very tempting, but I feel bad. What if I give him the plague? Isn’t that how the Black Death got started? I didn’t really pay much attention in history class, but—

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Griff grabs my wrist and, before I can get away, uses the fleece side of his jacket to wipe off the slime. He turns the jacket twice, making sure to get all of it. The crap does come off, but I still want to break out Brillo pads and bleach. “You must have cared a little, or you wouldn’t have started anything.”

“Oh, please.” I pull my hand back just as his thumb skims across my palm, but it’s too late. When Griff touches me, I feel like something inside me pitches sideways and breaks. “As if I ever needed an excuse to run my mouth.”

Which is mostly true and yet kind of a lie. Sure, I don’t need an excuse to smart off. In fact, I like to think of it as one of my better qualities. But in this case, I had a reason to smart off to Jenna, which is what Griff’s hinting at and I’m pretending I don’t understand.

“So what’d you do?”

“I called Jenna Maxwell a bitch.”

Griff’s brows shoot up. “Seriously?”

I give him a
what can you do?
smile but don’t elaborate any further, and it makes Griff’s features harden. He knows this is a dare. Boys always do, and it’s what makes them back off from me.

All of them except for Griff. “I want to know, Wick. Why would you even bother?”

“Because someone had to say it.” Suddenly, the weight of his eyes is too much and I look away. I end up studying the tops of my Converses, and the smiley faces I drew on the toes smile up at me. They’re entirely too happy. “She’s telling everyone Tessa’s going to go to hell because she committed suicide.”

It sounds super lame when you put it like that. I’d even say it lessens my anger to throw it into the open . . . , but it doesn’t.

“Then she’s an idiot.” Griff leans toward me. “I’m sorry about what she said, though. People are stupid, thoughtless. I’m sorry you had to hear it.”

I open my mouth. Close it. He’s
sorry
. The word has been thrown around in my life so much it should be meaningless by now. Sorry isn’t like a computer game’s magic sword or medic kit. It won’t fix anything, but, right now, it kind of does. He sounds so genuine, and I’ve known so much fake.

Maybe that’s why everything bubbles up.

“I want to know if Tessa saw the same things my mom saw.” I can’t really look at Griff while I say this. It’s too close and personal, and yet it’s coming so fast and hard I don’t think I can stop it. “I want to know if she came to the same conclusion—if they both did. I mean, she must have, right?”

Just saying it makes my chest swell with guilt. I’m choking on a sob now because I can’t, I
can’t
cry in front of this guy. “How can we all just keep swimming along when some of us are drowning? How can we not
know
?”

“Because you can’t save them all, but sometimes, if you’re lucky, you can save one.” Griff hangs one arm around my shoulders. I’ve never understood before why some girls like that. His arm is heavy, and it makes me feel unpleasantly small.

And yet . . . and yet . . . it does make me feel like I might not fly apart, like I might not explode into a million pieces, because his weight will keep me pressed together.

Griff leans down, just enough so his cheek brushes my temple. “Sometimes you have to save yourself by asking for help.”

Help. I could ask. He’s good with computers—he’s like me. He sees the other side of things. At least, he saw the other side of me and he didn’t turn away.

But can I trust him?

Can I
not
?

“Griff.” I clear my throat, but it doesn’t matter. The words are still ragged. “I need your help.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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I don’t want anyone to ever know.

—Page 17 of Tessa Waye’s diary

Griff doesn’t say a word while I explain. He doesn’t say anything about Tessa. He doesn’t say anything about Tally. He just listens.

And, wrapped in his silence, I start to hear how I sound.

Like I’m crazy.

Like I’m
scared
.

I push my chin up higher. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Griff’s looking at me with horror—no, worse, with
pity
. I squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t have to see, but in my head, one word lights up with glitter: stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Why do you care? Tessa Waye didn’t know you existed.”

My eyes fly open, meet his. I’m not sure what I was expecting. I just laid a mess of shit at his feet. How was he supposed to react? With reassurance? With confidence?

That’s exactly what I wanted. I just didn’t realize until this minute. But I’m not looking for a hero. There’s no such thing. I’m just looking for some help.

“We were friends . . . once.”

“There’s more to this. What aren’t you telling me?”

I don’t—suddenly
can’t
—answer.

Griff shakes his head. “Yeah, I don’t do the work if I don’t know the deal.”

“It’s Lily.” I push my feet hard against the ground so I don’t sway. “Lily’s his next target. I need help getting to the guy.”

“Wait. Are you the one who posted on Tessa’s Facebook page? Who said the thing about knowing who killed her?”

I nod, and Griff’s mouth unhinges. “Wicked . . . if this is true . . . you’re taunting a fucking psychopath.”

“I—” The first bell rings, and we both jump.

“We can’t do this here.” Griff weaves one hand through his hair. “We need to get going.”

And I need an answer.
“Well?”

“Griff? Wick?” Mrs. Harding has come around the corner with Shane Hallowell in tow. They’re both heading for world history, which is where Griff and I should be heading too.

“Hey, Wick. Hey, Griff.” Shane gives us a small wave. I’ve known Shane since kindergarten. He’s almost as short as me, with red hair and fluorescent-orange freckles. He enjoys Halo 4, downloading pictures of Olivia Munn, and playing Angry Birds while sitting on the toilet.

And people wonder why nerds get beat up.

“I’ve been looking for you, Griff.” Mrs. Harding comes closer. Too close. She’s within touching distance of me now, and I can see her blanch. Can’t really blame her,. By now, I probably have cartoon stink waves wafting over my head.

Mrs. Harding blinks at us as her eyes start to water. “You need to come with me, Griff. They’ve asked to see you in the front office.”

The front office? Griff never gets in trouble. Right?
But Griff won’t meet my eyes.

“Sure, Mrs. Harding.”

Mrs. Harding look at me. “You’re going to be late, Wicket.”

“Right. On my way.”

Except I’m not. I want an answer. Griff seems horrified, but surely he understands what I had to do. What I
have
to do. I just want a glance, a look,
anything
, so I know he’s with me.

So I know I haven’t just made a horrible mistake.

But I don’t get any of those things. Mrs. Harding and Griff turn for the office, leaving me standing there with Shane.

“What the hell, Wicket?” Shane leans in and sniffs me. “You smell like roadkill.”

“Go on without me. I forgot my math book.”

“But you’ll be late. Harding will give you detention.”

I’ll get way worse than that if the Tessa situation goes public.
I rush off after them, taking a separate hallway so Harding doesn’t spot me. I have no idea what I’m going to do.

Funny, but it ends up not even mattering.

I hit the entrance just in time to see Griff get escorted into a dark sedan with government plates.

The sight roots me to the tile, and for a second, I don’t know how I’m still standing, but I do know this: I recognize the guy slamming the car door behind Griff.