Candy Colored Sky, стр. 31

made. I can tell from the missing gaps that Grandpa’s cut a few extra pieces of his own.

Plate in hand, I scale the stairs to my room, my house quiet and dark minus the rhythmic snore from Grandpa’s room. Mom will be up early again for her weekend job, so she’s long been asleep.

I close my door behind me and head to my desk, flicking on the small lamp to the dim setting. I open my laptop to the latest scrolling stream of dumb videos to amuse myself while I eat, but the call to look out my window is too strong to completely ignore. Shutting my laptop down, I open my shutter slats and survey the windows of the Trombley house. Dark, every single one of them. The cars are all in their same positions, the new one probably belonging to Eleanor’s aunt and uncle. I look on at the quiet scene while I eat bite after bite of my cake, mentally replaying Morgan’s visit to admonish her sister for leaving the house. I still have Eleanor’s bowls and her griddle in our kitchen downstairs. How did nobody see her leave with all of that stuff?

I’m deep in these thoughts when my phone buzzes against my hip. I pull it from my pocket, expecting some picture from Jake or a text about how I’m missing out on all the fun—I always am—but instead it’s an unknown number and the word hi.

My phone flat on my desk, I prepare another forkful of chocolate cake while I stare at the singular, tiny word and wonder who’s messing with me. I tip my head up as I take the bite and am drawn to the flashing glow coming from the window across the street. It takes me a few blinks to realize what she’s saying—S.O.S. I flash my desk lamp off and on twice just to let her know I see her, then feel my phone buzz on my desk again.

ELEANOR: It’s me. I forgot to tell you I sent myself your contact info earlier.

This is why she had my phone. My lip tugs up with the slight, dumbstruck smile. Eleanor Trombley wanted my number.

ME: I was about to tell Jake to stop f’ing with me.

She sends back a laughing emoji.

I look from my phone screen back to my window and decide to clear room on my desk so I can swing my shutters open fully. It takes a few minutes for me to shuffle around my clutter, and I get another buzz on my phone while I finish putting my lamp back in place.

ELEANOR: Redecorating?

ME: Ha ha.

I glance back up from my phone to the now clear view out my window. Eleanor lifts her hand and I do the same. It’s pretty late, not quite midnight. She slept all day so I doubt she’s tired. Her sister has no idea what she’s been doing in that room all day and night. My guess is virtually nothing. She’s been thinking, and thinking can be poison when you’re going through the kinds of things her family is.

I pull my phone up to my desk so I can type while keeping an eye on her. I’m compelled to make sure she’s there and looking back, this strange feeling in my gut that losing sight of her might put her at risk.

ME: Morgan still mad?

Eleanor stares down at her lap; I’m guessing she’s reading my text. Her shoulders sag and I imagine the sound of her heavy sigh. The dots on my phone tell me she’s typing or thinking, so I watch and wait patiently. I practically jump when I feel the buzz under my hand, lifting it to read her response.

ELEANOR: She’s always mad lately. Everyone is something. Dad is a zombie, my mom is manic, my aunt and uncle came over to cook and clean for whatever reason, and Morgan is the boss.

ME: I’m sorry.

I send my pointless apology for things I can’t control.

ELEANOR: Don’t be.

ME: I know, but I still am. Just cuz.

ELEANOR: Thanks.

I stare at our text string and wish I could fix it. Words. That’s all I have to give her. I can’t help find Addy. I can’t cook worth a damn, not that cooking helps; clearly it doesn’t based on her comments in our texts. I can’t find them a lawyer to demand more justice, or a psychic, or pay for a TV commercial pleading for whomever to bring Addy home. I don’t even know if someone has her sister to begin with.

I don’t know if she’s alive.

It’s the one thought that simmers in the background of everything since news broke that Addy is missing. I wake up and look out the window and wonder how Eleanor is, and if her sister is alive. When I saw her family at the school, I wondered if they’d found out . . . if Addy is alive. It’s in the background every time I look into Eleanor’s green eyes. I see her, and I see her sister, and I let the thought ring in my head. It must be ringing in hers, too. I bet it’s what keeps her up at night.

My phone buzzes.

ELEANOR: I made you a birthday present.

Like a switch flipping, I mentally move away from the dark thoughts. First to flattery then to guilt for being flattered when I should feel empathy. My thumb hovers over the keyboard on my phone while I’m stuck on how to respond. I envision a crocheted scarf or hat; my mom got into that for a while after Dad died. I have a closet full of afghans from her two-month yarn binge. Before I can type anything, though, a link pops up on my phone in our text string.

JONAH’S NEW FAVORITE PLAYLIST

I know, even as I open the link, that I am about to be assaulted by some twangy-ass ear-candy. I chuckle the second the first chord plays.

ELEANOR: You love it?

I mean, how can I not? I don’t think I will ever