text message. “ PLEASE PROCEED TO THE SPOTTED FROG ,” it says. It’s from a number I don’t recognize.
“Who is this from?” I demand, shoving the phone into Cooper’s face.
“Um, Tyler,” Cooper says. He’s still looking around, all nervous and squirrelly-like.
“Right,” I say. “Why does he want me to go to the Spotted Frog?” The Spotted Frog is a coffee shop around the corner from Cure. Marissa and I have gone there a couple of times, when we felt like going into the city and having brunch, or when we needed to cram for a test and wanted somewhere fun to study.
“He probably wants you to do something else from your notebook,” Cooper offers up helpfully.
“Duh,” I say, rolling my eyes. “When is he going to give it back?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “But listen, I’m going to help you. We can—”
“Where is it?” I demand.
“Where’s what?” he asks.
“The notebook!” I say. Honestly!
“I don’t know,” he says. But his eyes shift to the right, which everyone knows is, like, the universal sign of lying, but it doesn’t even matter because I don’t need to know that sign since I already know he’s a big liar.
“Excuse me,” I say. I push past him and start to head back toward the front of the club. Cooper, proving just how ridiculous and stupid he is, follows me.
“Where are you going?” he asks. I’m walking super-fast, but Cooper, unfortunately, is having no trouble keeping up with me. It’s these damn shoes I’m wearing. Whoever thought five-inch wedges were a good idea is obviously insane.
“I have to find Clarice and Marissa,” I say.
“They’re gone,” he says.
“No, they’re not,” I say. Shows how much he knows. Clarice and Marissa would not just leave me. They know I’m in a state of duress.
“Yes, they are.” I push past him, so not in the mood to deal with his craziness. But after another look around the club and calls to their cells that go unanswered, I realize he’s right. They’re gone. Clarice and Marissa are gone. They’ve deserted me.
Okay. New plan. Head to the Spotted Frog, where hopefully Tyler and the 318s are waiting to give me my notebook back after I do whatever ridiculous thing they have lined upfor me next. Then, I will order a nice coffee or cappuccino and a chocolate-chunk cookie, and I will wait for Marissa and Clarice to call me, and then this whole night will be over, and we will all go back to my house and order romantic comedies off On Demand.
I go back outside, and Cooper is still standing there, leaning against the building.
I don’t say anything and just start walking in the direction of the Spotted Frog. My phone starts vibrating in my pocket. Clarice. Thank God.
“Where,”
I say, “the hell are you?”
“Oh.” She sounds startled. “Sorry, I just … I thought you left.”
“You thought I
left
?” Is she crazy? Why would she possibly think that I left? That makes no sense. Why would I leave? Where would I go?
“Yeah, Cooper told me you left.” Oh. My. God. I’m going to kill him. I sigh and try not to explode from stress and frustration.
I also start to pick up my pace (well, as much as I can in these shoes), because as I walk down the street, I’m starting to realize that it’s pretty dark out. And a little bit … rowdier, I guess you could say. Not that anything bad is happening. It’s just that there are a lot more people on the street. And some of them are drunk already. At least, I think they’re drunk. Either that, or they’re just crazy. For example, a man wearing what looks to be a jacket made out of garbagebags just went by me, singing a Jackson 5 song at the top of his lungs.
“Look, where are you?” I ask Clarice.
“I’m in the VIP,” she says. And then she adds, “With Derrick,” like I should obviously know who Derrick is.
“Oh, that’s nice,” I say. “Who the hell is Derrick?” I cross the street over to the Spotted Frog, and stop outside the door,
Learning to Kill: Stories