Fadeaway by E. Vickers (sight word readers TXT) 📕

a minute, he turns away from the computer, and I brace myself for a very uncomfortable conversation. But no, he just starts talking to somebody over the radio.

We stepped away from the vehicle like he asked, but now it’s like he’s forgotten we’re here. The officers and bailiffs are always friendly enough in my dad’s courtroom, but mostly they ignore me.

Am I lucky enough for that to be what’s happening now?

“Can we go?” I whisper to Jenna. “Is he even here for us?”

Jenna looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Honey, you don’t leave when the cops pull up. Even if you’re Daphne Sharp.”

Yeah, okay.

Finally he finishes talking and climbs out of the car.

And it’s Officer Vega. The same guy from earlier.

“Ladies,” he says, giving us a nod. “Ms. Sharp, I told you to keep asking questions, not to try breaking and entering.”

I’m panicked, sick, but Jenna is cool as Glacier Cherry. “Just trying to help, Officer.”

“Have you been in the house?” he asks.

“No, sir. It’s locked.”

“So was the truck.”

He has a point.

Jenna frowns. “Was the truck locked when you were here earlier today?”

He hesitates, which makes me wonder if it wasn’t. If maybe somebody’s trying to keep somebody else out. Maybe Jake’s mom, keeping things secure, but maybe not.

Officer Vega clears his throat. Whatever he’s thinking, he’s not about to share it with us.

“Anything I should be concerned about here, besides the fact that you were breaking and entering? Did you remove anything from the premises?”

“No, sir.”

He looks at us for a few long seconds. “Okay, then. Why don’t you let me take it from here?”

“Of course,” Jenna says. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do to help. There’s going to be a search party, right? Amber Alert? Flyers? We could help with flyers.”

“We’ll be sure to let you know,” he says. “Thanks for the offer.”

“You’re so welcome,” Jenna says. “We’ll go finish our run. Have a nice day.”

Apparently now is the time when it’s okay to walk away from the officer.

Or maybe not.

Officer Vega gives her half a smile. “Oh, I’d say you’ve finished your run. I’ve arranged for a ride for you girls.”

What does that mean? A ride in his cruiser? The possibility makes my stomach churn, but when another car pulls up and the driver gets out, it’s every bit as bad.

“Hi, Dad.”

He doesn’t even answer. Just comes around and opens the back door, and Jenna jumps in without a word. I think about sliding in next to her, but that would feel like climbing into a cop car, and I am not a prisoner or a suspect here. I don’t exactly want to sit next to Dad, but I want to stand up to him even more. So I step around him and sink into the passenger seat, realizing too late that I’ve shown him the crude message on the back of my shirt.

He’ll blame Jake for all of this. He’s always blamed Jake for things that weren’t his fault.

Once Jenna’s dropped off at home, he lays into me, with a “directly disobeyed” and a few rounds of “so disappointed.” I didn’t technically break my promise, but still, I know better than to argue with him when he’s in hyperparanoid-judge mode. So I don’t say a word, just stare out the window and nod at the appropriate times. Even though I’m probably in more trouble than I’ve ever been in in my life, it feels better than when I was standing there, feeling helpless, after the police interview.

“You’re not going anywhere but school for a very long time.”

Those are the last words he says to me before he pulls into the garage and climbs out of the car. The verdict has been delivered; details of the sentencing to be determined.

—

Alone in my room, I get back to work.

Jenna was right. A lot of people care about Jake, even if it’s just because he won us a state championship. A lot of people pay attention to him. Adults with badges and government paychecks aren’t the only ones who can solve this, and maybe they’re not even the best candidates for the job.

I pull out my phone and open up Jake’s profile on social media—and there he is, inches away, with his messed-up hair and sleepy smile. Tears prick my eyes as I wonder where he is now; I won’t let myself think about the possibility that I won’t see him again. You will see him, I remind myself. If you can find him.

As I scroll, something catches my attention: a post from two hours ago that already has forty-eight comments.

We’re taking a bet, Jake. Where you at? NBA or NCAA?

It takes me a minute to process it. Darius Ruckert, the punk junior point guard who never could decide if he idolized Jake or wanted to take him out to steal his starting spot, is wagering whether Jake ran away to play pro ball or college ball.

I hear Jenna’s voice in my head: “First rule of life: never read the comments.”

And then I ignore it.

I bet he’s meeting with agents right now.

Nah, my man’s smart. Probably college recruiters.

We in a time machine here? Junior year Foster was headed somewhere. Senior year? Not so much.

The second one’s from Kolt, and I wonder if he’s writing what he wants to believe or trying to spin this to protect Jake the best he can. Or maybe both.

And below that:

Your just mad you lost your best customer

Customer for what?

Down the list, there’s one that makes my heart stop.

The real question is, NBA or OD?

It makes no sense. Jake’s never even tried pot, never had a drop to drink. And how can you say that when somebody’s gone missing? The comment below it is even worse.

He’s either in a ditch or in a freezer. Depends on if they found him yet.

I scan the names and profile pictures, the faces my age but unfamiliar. Who are these people? My eyes swim, my whole body paralyzed