NORM•less: n. absolutely no normalcy in given situation
I sit up in a cold sweat. My sheet is wrapped around my legs, making it hard for me to move. I untangle it and swing my feet to the ground, looking around my dark room. Something woke me, and I try to remember if it was a bad dream or a noise. Just when I’m about to lie down again, thinking a bad dream was the most likely culprit, my phone chimes. I search the blackness for the lit screen, blindly groping the top of my nightstand. It’s not there. Then I remember I shoved it under my pillow before going to sleep. I pull it out.
Both messages are from Laila. The first reads, Help. The second, Forgive me.
I stumble to my dad’s room. “Dad,” I sob, grabbing hold of his shoulder and shaking him awake. “Dad, I need your help. It’s Laila.”
He sits up, groggy, his hand going to his hair first and then to the digital clock on his nightstand. “What?” he says, when he finally looks at me.
“I should’ve Searched, but I didn’t. I was going to, but Trevor left too late, and I was tired. I might’ve seen something—”
“Addie. Calm down. What’s going on?”
“Laila’s in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“I don’t know. She’s been hanging around this horrible kid from school.” Then my memory latches on to something she had mentioned as we were walking through the parking lot to the football game. “Or there’s this guy, one of her dad’s drug buddies, who threatened her. Maybe it has to do with that. I don’t know. I just know she’s in trouble, and I’m scared.”
My words seem to wake him up even further, and he rolls out of bed. “What’s his name? The drug friend.”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Is it Poison? Was his name Poison?” My dad takes me by the shoulders. I gasp when I remember one of my dad’s notes about Poison: Drug dealer—yes.
“Oh no. You have to do something.”
“It’s okay, baby, just calm down, okay?” He grabs his phone and dials a number. “Hi, it’s Coleman,” he says into his cell. “I know it’s late. I apologize. I may have another missing teenager to report.” He pauses. “You ready? Her name is Laila Stader.” He spells it out slowly, each letter like a jab to my heart. “And get someone over to Mr. Paxton’s house immediately … yes … no … Okay, let me know as soon as you have any information. Thanks.” He hangs up and then looks at me. The pain that fills his eyes is terrifying. It’s like he already thinks the worst.
I climb into his empty bed. The place he had just abandoned feels warm against my shivering body. The mattress behind me sinks down a little when he sits and places a hand on my back. “It’s going to be okay.”
“You can’t say that. You don’t know that. I shouldn’t have left. She needs me, and I’m not there.”
“What could you have done, Addie? You being there wouldn’t have changed things.”
I had seen too many alternate futures to be comforted by those words. “It might’ve. She has to be okay.” I curl into a ball. It’s not too late to Search now. Maybe I can see something. My brain is jumbled, and the anxiety in my chest makes it too hard to relax. Unless I can concentrate, it won’t work.
“Addie, there’s no need to worry before you know.”
The black screen of my cell phone taunts me. I dial Laila’s number again. No answer.
“I’m going to make you some warm milk,” my dad says, standing and moving toward the door.
“I don’t want warm milk,” I snap.
He’s quiet for a long time. “Do you want to call Mom?”
The suggestion rips a sob from my chest, and I pull a pillow against me. “I don’t want to talk to Mom.”
“She told me you aren’t returning her calls. Why are you taking this divorce out on her?”
The question is a valid one, but I’m angry with him for pointing it out right now.
“The decision was mutual. You know that, right?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. My friend is in trouble. That’s all that matters.”
“Yes, right now that is all that matters. But later you need to talk to her. Your mom misses you.”
This is the last thing I need right now—him making me feel worse than I already do. I’m scared and sad and I just want him to be scared and sad with me, not try to tell me how to make my mom feel better about a decision they made. “I don’t care about her.”
I can tell that was the wrong thing to say because his face pales. “It was me, okay?” With the one statement he seems to age a hundred years. His shoulders droop forward, and his mouth pulls down into a deep frown.
“What?”
“I wanted to leave. I couldn’t live there any longer, watching you surrounded by semirealism. And she couldn’t bear to leave and risk the proper development of your ability. We fought about it for years. Maybe it would’ve been different if I couldn’t see through lies, but I could, and they were everywhere I turned. No matter how often she Persuaded me to stay, I couldn’t do it. So hate me, Addie. Hate me for my selfishness. Don’t hate her.”
He leans against the dresser as if the lie had been keeping him upright and now that he expelled it, he couldn’t hold himself up on his own accord. Was that speech supposed to make me feel better? Aren’t parents supposed to say, Our divorce had nothing to do with you; it was all us? Their breaking up had everything to do with me.
I take a deep breath. I had drawn my loyalty lines early in this battle—my mom, with her overbearing personality who drove my father to escape, on one side; my dad and me, who had to put up with her all these years, on the other. I’m not sure if I’m ready to hear that I might’ve drawn the wrong line or stood on the wrong side of that line. But then I think about what he had actually said—living in semirealism. I didn’t want that either. Did I?
“I’m sorry.” He looks so tired and broken and Normal. Then, as if reading the thoughts on my face, he says, “Addie, that came out wrong. It wasn’t about you. It was a fight we had for years, before it became centered on you. It was our beliefs. They were nearly opposite from each other. And then with the new mind program that’s even more invasive—” He stops short, as if he had said too much. “This wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault.”
I open my mouth to say something, I’m not sure what, when his phone rings and drowns any thoughts I had, replacing them with fear. I throw the pillow aside and sit up.
“Coleman here … yes … I see …” His eyes dart to me. “Are you sure? … Have you arrested him? … There? Well, yes, I did say that, but … I can’t leave my daughter here alone … No, she’s sixteen, but … yes, of course … okay, an hour, I’ll be there, thanks. Bye.” He hangs up the phone and slowly lowers it to his side. Dread has numbed every muscle in my body, and I’m frozen as I wait for the news.
“They don’t know anything for sure yet, so we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”
“What did they say? Where’s Laila?”
“Her parents haven’t seen her since this morning. But just because she isn’t at home, doesn’t mean that something has happened to her. An officer is stationed at her house, so when she comes back he can inform me immediately.” He goes to the closet and pulls out a duffel bag. “And I promise to keep you updated.”
“Updated? Where are you going?”
He puts the bag on top of his dresser and starts loading clothes into it. “Most of the time, a video of an interview is all I need to determine if someone is lying or not. But Mr. Paxton is an expert liar, so I need to feel his energy to confirm some findings. We’re hoping that if he happens to know where Laila is, we can get that information from him as well. The Bureau is flying me there in an hour. I’d like you to call a friend to come stay with you while I’m gone.”
“A friend? I don’t have any friends.”
“I’ve met several of your friends. What about that Stephanie girl? She seems nice.”
I have a death grip on the corner of his sheet. “I want to come with you.”
“I’m sorry. This is a private Bureau jet, and you don’t have clearance.”
“Can’t they give me clearance? This is my best friend we’re talking about here. Please, Dad.”
“Addison, I’m sorry. There are policies for a reason. I can’t be worrying about your safety if we want to find Laila. Do you understand?”
“Of course I do.”
He zips up his bag. “Promise me you’ll call a friend,” he says, then studies my face as I prepare to answer.
I avert my gaze. “I don’t lie to you, Dad. No need to analyze me.”
“I’m sorry. I know you don’t. And I’m grateful for the trust that gives me in you. I hope you can trust me again one day too.” He starts to put his hands on my shoulders but stops. I can’t reassure him in this moment. There are too many feelings swirling around in my chest to sort them all out. He disappears into the bathroom, and when he comes out he’s dressed in a suit. He gives me a worried look.
“I’ll call a friend.”
“Thank you. I’ll let you know as soon as I land.” He kisses my forehead.
I hug him tight, and then he is gone and I stand in his room all alone, rubbing my arms. The clock on his nightstand reads 3:30 a.m. The screen of my cell phone is still black. When I run my finger across it, the light makes me squint. I go to my phone book, hesitant to call Trevor this late. I stop on my mom’s number, and my thumb shakes as it hovers over the Call button. I finally let it fall and listen to it ring four times.
“Addie? What’s wrong?” her sleep-deepened voice answers.
“It’s Laila. She’s missing. Dad’s on his way home. It’s bad, Mom.”
I hear her bedside light click on. “What?” she says at first, and then processes the information without me having to repeat it. “Oh, Addie, I’m sorry. What can I do?”
“I don’t know. I’m scared.”
We share a few quiet breaths. I know she’s angry with me for shutting her out. I wonder if she’s going to hold it against me now.
“I’m going to make some calls, see if I can help. When they find Laila, I should be there for her, since her parents probably won’t.”
Hot tears fall down my cheeks. “That would be great, Mom. Thanks.”
“Why don’t you call Trevor? I’m sure he would come over.”
“How do you know about …” I wipe my face with the back of my hand.
“Laila has kept me updated. I miss you. Trevor sounds great, Addie.”
I smile a little. “I miss you too.”
“Everything is going to be fine, okay?”
“Okay.” I start to think that maybe it is.
I hang up. I want to call Trevor, but it’s so early. I text him instead. Call me when you wake up. It’s important.
Less than five minutes later, my phone rings. “Are you okay? What’s going on?” he asks. I explain to him what’s happening.
“I’m on my way.”
Trevor shows up, his disheveled hair proving he rushed, and wraps his arms around me. “I’m so sorry.”
“She’s going to be okay,” I say into his chest.
“Of course she is. She probably has no idea we’re all worried about her and is just hanging out with some friends.”
I want to nod my head and agree, even though my stomach is trying to tell me the opposite as it churns and bubbles with unease. He leads me to the couch, sits me down, and pries my phone out of my hands, setting it on the coffee table.
“What do you need?” he asks. “Water?”
I shake my head no.
“A milk shake?”
“Ugh.”
He sits down next to me. “I wish I had that power to soothe your emotions like we gave Russell in the book.”
I lean into him. “No, I’m glad you don’t. I don’t like to have false emotions.”
“I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t go.” I know I sound like a child.
“But I brought books. Some really boring classics from my dad’s library.”
I smile and sit up so he can stand. He comes back holding a few books. “Do you want me to read to you?”
“Yes.”
He settles into the corner of the couch and lifts his arm. I lie alongside him. He’s an amazing reader, pausing at the right times, putting emphasis in just the right places. And the tone of his voice is so soothing, it makes me wish he were more talkative. “You do have the power to soothe my emotions,” I say when he pauses to turn a page. “Thank you.”
He squeezes my arm, and I kiss him. For the first time today I feel relaxed enough that I know I can perform a Search and hopefully help Laila. I try to formulate a choice that will most likely give me the information I need.
My phone rings, and we both turn toward it. “Will you get it?” I ask, my anxiety instantly returning.
He picks it up. I scoot back, as if putting distance between myself and the phone means any bad news won’t be able to reach me.
“Hello? … Hi, Mr. Coleman, this is Trevor.… It wasn’t a problem at all.” After this there is a long pause. Trevor nods and grabs my hand. “Did you want to talk to her? … Okay, here she is.”
He hands me the phone and inches toward me. His face blurs through my tears.
“Hello?”
“Hi, baby.” I know pity when I hear it.
I wipe my eyes, hoping that with clear vision, a clear mind will follow. “What’s going on?”
He’s quiet for a while, and I can picture his face in my mind, the way it looks, serious and thoughtful, when he tries to formulate the perfect words. “It’s Laila.”
“Did you find her?” I say, hope filling my chest.
“We did … she’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Addie, she’s dead. I’m so sorry.”
My mind, most likely in an attempt at self-preservation, goes completely blank.
My dad continues. “It wasn’t Mr. Paxton. Mr. Paxton gave us the name of a kid from your school who is responsible, but it was too late.”
“A kid from my school?”
“Yes, Bobby Baker. Do you know him?”
I nod, too dumbfounded to realize he can’t see me. Finally I stutter out, “M-maybe he’s l-lying. Maybe he just doesn’t want you to find her.” Bobby may be a jerk, but I never thought him capable of something this serious.
“He’s telling the truth. We’ve already taken Bobby into custody. I’ve interviewed him. Bobby is responsible.”
“But maybe Bobby just thinks she’s dead, and that’s why you got the read that he’s telling the truth. Maybe—”
“I saw her.” His words effectively crush my attempt at denial. “She’s gone.”
I must’ve dropped the phone, because Trevor is holding it and saying something to my dad. Then he hangs up and pulls me against him, smoothing my hair and telling me he’s sorry over and over. I can barely feel him or hear him.
Then his mouth is next to my ear. “Addison, listen to me. Are you listening?” I nod, and he continues. “You don’t pick this. This has to be a Search. There’s no way you would pick this. Everything will be okay.”
I wrap my arms around him. He’s right, and I love him for saying it.