Needy Little Things(34)
The outer walls of the basement are made of a ruddy brick that contrasts with the yellow panels of the rest of the place. There are some concerning cracks in the masonry. Perfect for spying. But it’s no surprise that I see nothing when I peek through one. If I can see in, anyone being held captive could see out and call out. I walk around to the back of the house anyway, curiosity driving me as hard as a white girl in a horror film. A pop! makes me jump as I turn the corner, but it’s just a muffler backfiring. I laugh, realizing how ridiculous it was that I even entertained the idea that Philly had Deja down here. The basement is so busted up, it couldn’t keep a dog in. Didn’t keep a dog in. There are food and water bowls, but I don’t see this Bear anywhere. He probably trotted off happily into the sunset through the giant hole in the wall. Upstairs, Philly begins to cough. He hacks for so long, I’m pulling his need from my bag before it officially forms.
Cough drops. Cough drops. Cough drops.
I walk around to his front porch, set them on the stoop, knock, and run.
* * *
Retro Diner isn’t really retro. It was built only three years ago. They decorated it to look like some 1950s soda fountain. It’s corny as all get-out, but the food makes up for it. Cheap, greasy, satisfying. Inside, I can almost feel the scent of burnt coffee latch itself to my clothes and hair. I choose a booth way in the back where I can’t pick up on any needs. At least until the server approaches.
“Just you tonight?”
Sharpie. Sharpie. Sharpie.
“No, I have two more people joining me.” I slip a blue Sharpie from the side pocket of Santa Bag.
“Okay, I’ll grab some waters and then have Lizette take over for me. My shift is ending.”
I smile politely. This guy seems nice, but Ms. Lizette is our favorite. “Sounds good. Thank you.”
It’s easy to discreetly drop the marker into a pocket on his apron when he leans over to set down our waters a few minutes later. Jude shows up as he walks off. His glasses are dirty and his curls are flat on one side, but the skin around his eyes is finally calming down.
“Hey.” I take a microfiber cloth from my bag and pass it to him. “For your glasses.”
He slides onto the bench across from me and takes the cloth. “You hearing my needs now?”
“No. You just look like you sprayed oil sheen on your lenses. Might need to wash them with dish soap.”
“It’s from the lotion for my rash. I don’t have a greasy face, promise.” He tilts his head to the side. “Well, not that greasy.” He glances at Santa Bag to my left. “You don’t got soap in there, do you?”
I side-eye him for asking such a dumb question before pulling out a travel-sized bottle of Dawn. He moistens the cloth with the condensation on the outside of his glass of ice water and gets to work. Something about the action makes my insides go all tingly. My body is betraying me. It’s betraying Deja. It feels so impossibly wrong that it’s made space to feel an attraction toward this boy when there are things so much bigger, so much more important, than some stupid crush on someone I barely know.
He raises his glasses to the light, inspecting them with a frown. “Yep. Definitely made it worse.” He folds them up and sets them aside.
“Are they not prescription?”
“They are,” he says, sounding a little offended before cracking a small smile. “But to be fair, I’m only mildly nearsighted. I mostly wear them to distract from my fivehead.”
“You don’t—” I squint, taking in the proportions of his face. “I mean, it’s a four point five at most.”
“See. I knew you were a real one.” He sips his water. “Saw your text on the way in. Why’d you go back to Phillip Irvine’s place?”
I nod to the door. “Tell you later. Malcolm’s here.” It’s only after the words exit my mouth that I realize I’ve been keeping the Philly and Danny stuff from him, but I’m definitely not interested in examining why. Not right now.
He sits on my side of the booth, slides across the bench until our thighs are pressed against each other, then throws a comforting arm around my shoulder and squeezes. “Hey, y’all.”
“How you doing, Mal?” I push the remaining glass of water closer to him.
He scratches the underside of his chin. “It’s been three days. They’d found Casey by now.”
“I’ll take the longer wait if it means we get a better outcome than Casey did,” I say, even though I know what the stats show after more than seventy-two hours pass.
“Of course.” Malcolm bangs his straw on the table a couple of times before sliding it out of the wrapper. “Social media is so much bigger than it was when Tessa disappeared. I really thought Deja’s face would be viral by now.”
“Will Afro Alt be making a statement?” Jude asks.
“Think they are set to release it tomorrow, actually. And that’s huge, but I don’t know…” He waits for the words to find him.
“But Casey didn’t need a statement by Coachella to go viral?” I offer.
Malcolm slaps his palm on the table. “Exactly. Casey didn’t have to disappear at some high-profile event to matter. And I’m not saying people don’t care about Deja. The local news segments helped, folks are talking, they’re sharing posts. But it’s not enough.”