“You mean dentist,” the receptionist says, eyeing her now.
“Yes, dental surgeon,” Jenna says, recovering from the slip. “I’ll track her down,” she says absently as she taps on the scooter guy’s phone and strides out of the office.
Jenna’s thoughts are racing. Do they have her? If not, where the hell is she? The receptionist said she missed the two periods before lunch, before Jenna botched the job. And Simon said her phone is pinging at the school.
The bell rings and the hall fills with students. Jenna remembers from parents’ night that Willow’s locker is near the auditorium. She maneuvers through the kids and finds it. She doesn’t see Willow, but she spots a familiar face: Willow’s best friend, Lily.
Lily Hurtado usually exudes enthusiasm, but when she notices Jenna her expression turns from curiosity to concern.
Jenna rushes up to her.
“Hi, Ms. Raines,” she says sheepishly.
“Hi, Lily. Do you know where Willow is? There’s been an emergency and the office says she’s missed her last few classes.”
Lily looks at her shoes. Worn sneakers with hearts drawn on them with an ink pen.
“She’s not in trouble, but if you know where she is, you need to tell me. She’s not answering my texts.”
“She, um, told me that she and, um, Billy were like gonna skip with some kids.”
Billy? Who’s Billy? It doesn’t matter right now.
“Where, Lily? It’s important.”
“I don’t know.”
“Has she done this before?”
Lily looks at her shoes again.
“Where does she usually go?” Jenna’s voice must sound angry because the girl is tearing up.
“Last time it was the 7-Eleven on Wisconsin.”
Jenna doesn’t understand.
Lily shrugs, embarrassed. “Kids hang out in the back.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A few blocks from one of the most exclusive private high schools in the country stands a 7-Eleven, which is next to a Popeyes chicken and across the street from a liquor store. Such is the unpredictable landscape of even the affluent sections of Washington, D.C. Jenna paces quickly past a homeless man sitting on the sidewalk eating fried chicken out of a cardboard container and heads down the alley toward the back of the strip of businesses.
There, on a cinder-block wall near a large blue Dumpster, sits a group of kids. One of the teenagers, a boy with floppy hair and the necktie from his school uniform loosened, takes a drink from a brown paper bag and passes it to—you guessed it—Jenna’s stepdaughter.
Jenna charges over and faces the group.
Willow pauses, makes an exaggerated expression, mouth in a round O, as if unable to believe what she’s seeing.
“We need to go,” is all Jenna says. The lecture can come later.
“Jenna? Oh. My. God. This isn’t happening.”
The other kids dart looks at one another, not sure how to proceed.
“Let’s go,” Jenna says.
But Willow doesn’t move. Instead, she sets her jaw. After a brief stare-down with Jenna, she says, “I’m not going anywhere.”
The other kids look uncomfortable now. A boy, the one who handed her the brown paper bag, says something to Willow that Jenna can’t make out.
“Screw that,” Willow says to him. “She’s not my mom.”
“We don’t have time for this,” Jenna says. “There’s an emergency. You need to come with me.”
The other kids have already jumped down from the wall. They gesture for Willow to join them, but she’s not budging. She’s humiliated, and Jenna gets it, but it’s not the time to prove a point. She makes a get lost gesture with a flick of her wrist and the other kids scramble away.
“I can’t believe you,” Willow says. “That was fucking humiliating. You’re, like, following me, now?” Her eyes are welling up.
Jenna walks over and looks up at Willow. “Come down. It’s not what you think. I can explain.
But we need to go now. It’s not safe.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
They’re interrupted when a man appears in the alley. It takes Jenna a moment, but when she sees the ripped knee on his suit pants she realizes it’s the guy from the scooter. With him is another hipster who takes a hit on a vape pen, trying to look tough. They must have used the Find My Phone app.
“Lady, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but just give me my phone back and I won’t call the police. It’s got work stuff on it, and I could get in trouble if I have to report it missing.”
Willow has hopped down from the wall. She looks to Jenna, then the man, then to Jenna again, a flummoxed expression on her face.
Jenna throws the guy the iPhone. “I’m sorry. It was an emergency,” she says.
The hipster catches the device and examines it.
“What is going on with you?” Willow is shaking her head. “I’m calling Dad.” She reaches in her pocket, then seems to remember she’s left the phone at school to avoid the very scenario she’s in now
—her parents tracking her movements.
Willow says, “How did you know where I—” She stops suddenly, releases a bloodcurdling scream.
Jenna turns and the hipster is on the ground, blood oozing from his head. A woman, the one from SoulCycle and Hamilton Hotel, holds a cylindrical pipe that looks like a large flashlight or toy lightsaber. The woman turns to the hipster’s friend, who appears frozen with fear. She puts the end of the tube to his knee and there’s a whoosh sound and he screams in pain, collapsing. Then she twists the canister, ignoring the cacophony of screams, and puts something inside.
Jenna grabs Willow’s arm. Her stepdaughter’s face is twisted in confusion and shock. Jenna pulls her to the wall, tells her they need to run. Willow’s survival instincts kick in as she grasps the ledge and pulls herself up. Jenna pushes Willow’s bottom up and Jenna vaults over the wall after her. On the other side, Jenna hears a plea.
“No, please, no … “
There’s another whoosh sound, then silence.
They run. Up Wisconsin, full speed, past Z-Burger, a Mattress Warehouse, a Chinese food restaurant, and not stopping until Jenna spots a safe place: a bank. The woman with the weird weapon won’t risk the armed guards and security cameras. In the lobby of the Chase Bank, Willow’s face is depleted of all color; she’s shaking, her breaths coming out in rasps.
“Deep breaths,” Jenna says, demonstrating in-through-the-nose-out-through-the-mouth several times.
The guard is eyeing them. He comes over.
“Is everything okay, ma’am?”
“Yes. My daughter suffers from panic attacks. She’s okay, we just need a moment. Any chance you could get her some water?”
The guard nods and quickly ambles off to get the water.
“Don’t leave me,” Willow blurts, grasping Jenna’s forearm.
“I won’t,” Jenna says. “Everything’s going to be okay. Here’s what we’re going to do: We’re going to calm down. It’s a busy street, and the Metro is only a block away. We’re going to walk there, together. I’ll be right by your side. Can you do that?”