Needy Little Things(64)
The woman laughs again, though she has put some space between us now that we’ve started moving through the crosswalk. “No, girl, they found her this morning. Pulled her out of Lake Lanier.”
The world seems to move in slow motion as I hyperfocus on this woman’s conversation.
“Yeah, it’s real sad. They been looking for her for over a week now, though. We already knew what it was.”
The words enter my ears and fall straight to the bottom of my gut, but Malcolm’s oblivious. He shakes his drink, mostly ice now, and pulls at the straw, which makes a grating squeak against the plastic lid. I move to the other side of him, closer to the woman, trying to hear more of her conversation. Trying to latch on to anything that might take my brain off the course that it’s on.
“Excuse you.” The woman presses her phone against her chest and looks me up and down.
Malcolm’s a few paces ahead now, looking around confused.
“Sorry,” I say. “Did you say they found someone in the lake?”
“Mm-hmm.” She hesitates, assessing me, before continuing. “You would think by now people would know to stay the hell away from that thing. It’s cursed!” The person on the other end of the line laughs loud enough for me to hear, and I want to slap the phone out of her hand. In my head, I’m back in the car with Jude, giggling about the cursed lake. Here, right now, my skin goes cold and my head gets light.
The woman’s face softens as she gives me yet another once-over. Her eyes linger on my East Lake High School hoodie. She brings her phone back to her ear. “Let me call you back.”
Malcolm finally joins us and places a hand on my shoulder. “You okay? What’s going on?”
I don’t speak. I just wait. Wait for this woman to tell me that the her that got pulled out of the lake was anything but a human body. Anything but—anyone but—
“I guess y’all went to school with her, huh?” she asks, any trace of hardness gone from her face.
“Went to school with who? Who was it?” I’m frantic, invading her personal space even more. A few other people on the sidewalk have slowed down or straight-up stopped to watch our interaction.
She takes a step back, but stays calm, looking to Malcolm for help, but Malcolm just stands there, lips slightly parted.
“The girl who went missing at that music festival last week. Da—De…” She searches for the name.
“Deja Nelson?” one of the random observers fills in. “Yeah, they found her this morning, bless her heart.”
I release a loud groan or whine, I don’t even know, but I can’t form words. Only animal-like sounds. My heart thumps so fast I’m sure it’ll disintegrate into a million pieces. I press my hand against the cool brick of the building next to us to stabilize myself.
“Ri,” Malcolm says, shaking my shoulder. “Ri. She’s got something wrong. They all do. It’s not Deja.” He shakes me again. “Look at me.”
Slowly, I shift my gaze to meet his eyes.
He raises his phone. “No calls. No texts. Nothing. It’s not her.”
I stare at the black screen. I stare and watch as it illuminates with an incoming call from his mother.
He looks at the screen, surprised. “Bad timing. It’s just bad timing.”
“Answer it.”
“I’ll call her back in a minute.”
I straighten up. “Answer it.”
When he opens his mouth to make another excuse, I snatch the phone from him and accept the call.
“Hello?”
“Oh. Sariyah, is that you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you with Malcolm?”
I can’t read anything from her tone. “Yes, ma’am. He’s right here.”
“Listen, I know your brother is in the hospital, but you two should come over to the house as soon as possible.” There’s a loud rustling in the background.
“Is it about Deja?”
The rustling stops, only leaving the light sound of her breathing.
“Mrs. Hawkins, is it Deja?” My hand tremors violently. “Is she dead?”
The line goes so quiet I have to make sure we are still connected.
“We don’t know yet. But it doesn’t look good, baby. It doesn’t look good.”
* * *
“It’s. Not. Her.” Malcolm enunciates each word as we speed walk down the street. “How many times do I have to tell you that?” He texts furiously on his second phone. His main one is still tight within my grasp.
“I thought your mom took that from you.”
“What?”
“That phone. I thought your mom took it from you.”
He pulls an ugly face and rolls his eyes. “She gave it back.”
“Why would your mother give back a phone that exists solely for you to defy her?”
“Why are you so pressed about that right now? And if you must know, I got a lot of shit to keep organized in this search for Deja, you know, since I been carrying most of that weight.”
I let his sentence hang heavy in the air and I know it’s crushing him. Because if what that woman said is true, all that effort—all our effort—was for nothing.
The walk from his driveway to his house feels longer than the half mile we’ve walked from the bus stop. Malcolm knocks on his own front door, even though he has his keys, and I appreciate the few extra seconds to live in limbo. His mother opens the door. Face stony and unreadable, like always.