Page 25 of That's Not My Name

What the actual fuck is wrong with her?

Everyone assumes the sheriff’s daughter has all the inside information, which means every time she pulls this shit my life explodes with accusations. I have no idea how long that was up on my locker, but it’s guaranteed to have the whole school glaring daggers at me again. Explains Mr. Moore’s attempt at coaxing the truth out of me too. More spotlight where it doesn’t belong, which puts Lola in even more danger.

A lump lodges in my throat. I hope Autumn gets her hair caught in that sewing machine.

I see Lola in my mind. Walking this exact route to my car after school. Arm snaked around my elbow. Smiling at Max’s dumb jokes. Making fun of me for getting so stressed about a midterm.

It feels like walking with a ghost.

What if she never comes home?

My stomach rolls, and it makes me want to puke right here on the sidewalk. I yank my phone from my pocket, desperate for any piece of the real, living girl. When she wasn’t an empty chair or a shrine or a face on a poster.

I scroll to Lola’s name and open the last texts she sent me.

The last texts she sentanyone.

9:10pm

Lola: Can you come get me? Parentals are being dicks. Can’t handle it.

Me: sure. give me a bit. we can grab food if u want.

Lola: Thanks. Where do you want to eat?

Me: don’t know. wherever.

And then after I continued playing video games for another thirty-five minutes, because I’m a prick:

9:46pm

Lola: Are you still coming?

Me: yea. be there in fifteen.

Lola: k. Love you.

A flash of what happened next makes my hands shake. That happy vision of her in my mind shifts to tears and absolute rage as she slams the passenger door and storms off. I press the backs of my hands deep into my eyes, until it hurts, so I’ll focus on the pain instead of that look on her face.

The screech of car tires grabs my attention. I stopped in the middleof the school driveway. I jump back onto the sidewalk and some lady in a minivan narrowly misses me. She doesn’t stop either. She speeds out of the lot like she’s going to get arrested for almost hitting a student.

Or maybe she was aiming for me. I’d believe anything today.

I hurry toward my car before anyone else can come for me. Or worse—someone makes me go back inside. But I get to the spot where I parked and whirl around.

My SUV is gone. I look around the lot, hoping maybe I didn’t pay attention to where I parked, but no. It’s not here.

I unlock my phone to call my dads and find several messages from them in our group chat. In my rush to guilt myself with the past, I didn’t notice my new notifications. I scroll through a dozen texts, alternating pieces of the same story, and I get the gist pretty quickly. The sheriff delivered a warrant for my car this morning. And they took it.

They both offer to pick me up, but I’m so disgusted I can barely read their messages.

Why would the sheriff do this? Why now? I don’t understand. It’s been five weeks of questions and lawyers, but nobody’s searched my car before. Or my house. Which means they probably had no cause to get a warrant—so what changed? What do they have now that they didn’t have five weeks ago?

Heat crawls up my neck and across my face.

I storm down the school’s driveway and fire off a message telling my dads I want to walk and not to worry. They won’t be off work for a couple hours anyway.

I pause at the end of the road. Main Street stretches out on either side of me. If I cross and head through that neighborhood, it’ll take me home, but something stops me.

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