The Disappearance Of Sloane Sullivan

Livie made a dismissive noise. “Of course they’ll count Sullivan. My last name’s Dawson and they let me in.”

“Dawson’s a first name,” Sawyer insisted. “What about Dawson’s Creek?”

“It’s a fictional first name,” Livie said. “Have you ever met a real person named Dawson?”

Sawyer laughed. “Some of us like having a first name based on a fictional character, right, Sloane?”

I turned to Sawyer. “How’d you know my name is based on a fictional character?”

He shrugged. “The only Sloane I’ve heard of before is from that movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.”

My skin tingled as the very first time I had to pick a name—the time I’d accidentally started naming myself after fictional characters—popped into my head.

My dad spun in a circle, his eyes bouncing around the room without ever landing on anything, like he was in a daze. “What else?” He wrung his hands together. “Underwear. Did you pack underwear?”

My gaze darted to two burly guys in suits huddled between my twin bed and the desk Jason helped paint blue and purple. They were mumbling to each other, oblivious to the underwear comment. I studied the tiny duffel bag on top of my flower bedspread. “Yes.”

“We really need to get going,” one man insisted, examining his watch.

Dad nodded. He leaned toward me, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. “Pick the thing you want to bring as your personal item, okay? I’m going to go pack a few things for Mom.” He rushed out of the room, leaving me with strangers.

The two guys by the desk glanced at each other, then followed Dad into the hall.

“What do you want your name to be?”

I jumped. I hadn’t heard the third guy, who’d been keeping watch by my window, sneak up on me. He smelled sweaty and I swallowed hard, trying not to throw up again.

“Well?” he prompted in his thick Jersey accent.

I balled my shaking hands into fists and blinked uncomprehendingly in his direction. Over his shoulder, I spotted Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland sitting on my bookshelf. “Alice,” I muttered. Because that was how I felt: like I was falling down a rabbit hole.

It was easier the second time, even though I was still terrified.

Mark turned off the TV and knelt in front of me. Something about his cologne calmed my pounding heart. I took a deep breath. The spicy scent was so much better than the stale-smelling lumpy couch I was lying on.

“I know it’s only been three weeks, but we need to move again,” he said in a soothing voice. “So you’re going to have to pick a new name.”

I gazed over his shoulder at Dad, who was leaning against the cramped motel room wall. His dyed brown hair was matted to his head and his brown eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but he gave me a slight nod of encouragement.

I closed my eyes and imagined who I wanted to be. Because anyone had to be better than the broken girl Alice was.

“Beth,” I whispered. I’d just started reading Little Women and Beth’s character was described as living in a happy world of her own. That’s just what I needed.

“Hmm.” Mark rubbed his chin. “You picked Alice from the Wonderland book, right?”

I nodded, surprised he knew that. He hadn’t been in my room that day.

“Did you know Lewis Carroll based that character on a real girl named Alice Liddell?”

I sat up. “No.”

“What if we use Beth Liddell?” He stood. “It’ll be our little secret, the connection between your names.”

A hint of a smile formed on my lips. “Okay.”

And even though I soon found out Beth ended up dying in Little Women, that was how the tradition was born. I picked the first name and Mark picked the last. I went alphabetically, because it helped me remember what letter my name started with every time we moved, and he chose something related to my prior first name. Which was simple, given it always came from a book or movie or song. It gave me an easy answer when someone asked about my name. Because, like Sawyer, someone always asked. It was the one constant I found everywhere we went: people were curious.

I’d been Charlotte from Charlotte’s Web, Elise from The Cure’s “A Letter to Elise,” and Jenny from Forrest Gump. And now Sloane from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Hey, it was on TV when I was picking. And who wouldn’t want to be the girl having a fun ditch day with her boyfriend?

I nodded at Sawyer. “You guessed it—I’m named after Ferris Bueller’s girlfriend. And you—” I tapped a finger against my lip “—must be named after Tom Sawyer.”

Sawyer’s mouth dropped open in offense. “No. I’m named after Sawyer from the TV show Lost.”

I snickered. “That show wasn’t on TV yet when we were born.”

Jason chuckled.

“Busted,” Livie sang.

Sawyer blushed. “Okay, fine. I thought it would go over better with the ladies if I was named after a sensitive bad boy rather than some kid in a boring old book.”

I placed a hand over my heart. “I happen to like that boring old book. And if your ladies can’t figure out how to Google when a TV show first aired, maybe you need to find some smarter ones.”

Sawyer gave me a lazy smile as his eyes roamed up and down my body. “Maybe I should.”

Livie’s eyes danced. “It’s going to be so entertaining to watch you crash and burn again.”

Sawyer glared at her.

Dial it back, Sloane. Blend in. Be forgettable. Start asking them the questions. “So,” I said, “what other senior stuff is coming up?”

Sawyer wiggled his eyebrows at me. “Prom.”

“Career day,” Livie added.

“The senior trip,” Jason said.

Livie gasped and released Jason’s arm to point at me. “You and I can room together! This is perfect!”

Good God, how far is she going to take this First Day Buddy thing? “What’s the senior trip?”

Jason straightened a stack of napkins on his tray. “It’s a school tradition that all seniors take an overnight field trip to Charleston the last weekend in April. Everyone goes. We visit Fort Sumter and tour the city and eat good food.”

“And people smuggle alcohol along and party in their hotel rooms,” Sawyer said.

Jason shot him a pointed look. “But not too much alcohol, right?”

“What?” Sawyer’s voice was a little too innocent.

“Last time you drank, you got pissed someone beat you at cards and punched a hole in the drywall in your basement.” Livie shook her head. “I know you haven’t forgotten being grounded for a month.”

“Whatever,” Sawyer muttered. A blush crept up his neck.

Livie turned back to me. “So what do you think?”

School traditions and parties and alcohol were all things I tended to stay away from. Plus, I wasn’t sure how Mark would react to an overnight field trip. But a tiny flutter of excitement ran through me. Because traveling, actually going to a new place just to sightsee and hang out and not have to change names to do it, sounded amazing. “Is it too late for me to sign up?”

“Not at all. The forms are due in two days. You have to room with someone of the same sex and I’ve been having trouble finding someone.”

She must seriously be in need of some female friends.

“But the roommates don’t really matter,” Livie continued, “because I heard the chaperones go to bed early and everyone sneaks out and hooks up.” She peeked sideways at Jason.

Jason’s shoulders tensed. He picked up a napkin, scrunched it into a ball and held it out to Sawyer. “Bet you can’t get this into that trash can.” His eyes brightened as he pointed at an open, industrial-sized, round plastic trash can sitting about twelve feet away.

Livie rolled her eyes and pulled her phone out of her pocket.

I suppressed a smile as more memories came flooding back. When Jason and I were little, we made bets about everything, like who could run around his house three times the fastest or who had the longest french fry in their Happy Meal or who could knock the most action figures off the deck railing with a Nerf gun. Making goofy bets was one of the things about the old me that had disappeared the fastest.

Sawyer cocked an eyebrow. “Loser has to make all the shirts for the scavenger hunt?”

“You’re on,” Jason replied.

Sawyer took the napkin from Jason.

My hands itched to snatch it from him and shoot it myself. The girl Jason knew had been a horrible basketball player who never could’ve made the shot they were talking about. But I’d just left Lexington, Kentucky, home of the University of Kentucky, where basketball is king. Mark and I had really gotten into the Wildcats’ season, and had even gotten a basketball hoop at our house. We’d spent hours playing each other. I tucked my fingers under my legs so I couldn’t grab a napkin and turn it into a ball.

The boys each made their first shots and missed their second, Sawyer’s by a good two feet. At the start of round three, Sawyer got a lucky bounce, his ball ricocheting off the rim and disappearing inside. But as soon as Jason lined up for his shot, I could tell his trajectory was off. The napkin hit the side of the trash can and landed on the floor.

“Yes!” Sawyer raised his hands in triumph.

I so could’ve beaten them both.

“Your gloating is childish,” Livie said without glancing up from her phone. For a second I thought she was talking to me.

Jason turned to Sawyer. “Looks like I’ll be decorating T-shirts.”

“T-shirts?” I asked.

“Every scavenger hunt team wears matching shirts,” Sawyer explained. “It’s not a rule or anything, but people take it pretty seriously.”

“We’re going to my house after school to make them,” Jason said. “You should come since you’ll need one too.”

No way. Jason’s house meant Jason’s mom and that was just...no. I couldn’t risk being seen by anyone else who knew me. I opened my mouth to give them an excuse.

“No excuses,” Livie said, pointing at me. “You say no to everything, but we want you to come.”

The boys nodded their agreement.

“Let me guess, it’s a required part of the First Day Buddy contract?”

Livie grinned. “You catch on quick.”

Sawyer peeked at me. “We could do it at my house instead. I can give you a ride if you need one, Sloane.”

I internally winced. I couldn’t go to Jason’s house, yet I didn’t want to encourage Sawyer by taking him up on his offer.

“We can’t do it at your house,” Jason said. “You said your mom was hosting some book club thing.”

“Crap. I forgot about that.”

“Besides,” Jason continued, “my mom will be at work. We’ll have the place to ourselves.” He gave me a half smile. “Want to come over and help us decide what to put on the shirts?”

His mom wasn’t going to be there. That changed things. I wanted to see where he lived and what his room looked like and maybe find out what happened to his parents. “I can come for a little while.”

“Great!” Sawyer exclaimed with such enthusiasm you would’ve thought I’d just agreed to go to the prom with him. “I can still give you a ride if you want.” He grabbed his phone out of his bag. “Or I can text you directions to J’s.” He frowned at the phone for a moment. “There’s something wrong with my phone.” Then he looked up and gave me a lopsided grin. “It doesn’t have your number in it.”

I snorted. “I can’t fix that.”

Livie shot Sawyer a smug look. “Crash and burn.”

“No,” I insisted, “I meant I don’t have a phone.” Under the table, I ran a hand over the pocket where my phone was hiding. My secret only-use-to-keep-in-touch-with-Mark-and-never-share-the-number-under-strict-penalty-of-death phone.

All three stared at me like I’d just sprouted wings.

“I had one,” I mumbled. “I got really addicted to it a few years ago and gave it up cold turkey. No social media accounts either. You should try it. I have so much more free time now.”

Livie’s mouth dropped open. “I could never live without my phone.” From the seriousness of her voice, she clearly ranked phone on her list of necessities right next to food and oxygen.

I reached into my backpack, pulled out a piece of paper and a pen and slid them over to Jason. “You can be old-school and write your address down. I’ll find my way there.”

He scribbled something, folded the paper, and slid it back to me just as a middle-aged woman wearing a suit and stiletto heels approached us. “Gentlemen, I expect you to clean up the remnants of your little basketball game.” She rapped a knuckle on our table as she walked by.

“Yes, Principal Thompson,” Jason and Sawyer replied in unison.

They both jumped up to collect the trash. As soon as they were out of earshot, Livie leaned across the table, her voice low so the boys wouldn’t hear. “How’d you get Oliver Clarke to talk to you?”

“Who?”

She made an impatient sound. “Oliver Clarke? Voice so smooth you just want to eat him up? Eyes so green they make everyone else’s jealous?”

Um, okay. I’d admired his voice earlier, but eating him hadn’t popped into my head. “Oh, him.”

“Yes, him.” Livie sighed. “He broke up with his girlfriend about a week ago. Or maybe she broke up with him. No one knows exactly what happened, but the rumors are flying. He basically hasn’t been talking to anyone since. They’d been dating forever, even though she’s probably the worst person in this school, so it was kind of a big deal.”

“Let me guess. His ex-girlfriend has short black hair?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“She didn’t seem to like it when I talked to him.”

Livie slapped a hand on the table. “I knew it! He must’ve dumped her.”

“What’s her deal?”

Livie watched Oliver’s ex for a few seconds, eyes serious. “She knows everyone’s secrets and likes to share.”

I peered over my shoulder at Oliver, reading quietly at his deserted table. He’s in some kind of self-imposed social exile because of a gossip-inducing breakup with the secret-sharing “worst person” in the school? There are so many reasons to stay away from him.

“Nobody in their right mind would break up with Oliver,” Livie said. “I mean, there are definitely hotter guys here.” Her gaze darted around the cafeteria, presumably landing on all the boys she thought were better looking, but she never once glanced in Jason’s direction. “But that voice.” She looked at me. “I would do absolutely anything he asked if he sang it to me.”

Hold up. Did she just imply Oliver was a better catch than her boyfriend? He was kind of cute. And apparently single, not that I would’ve done anything about it. I’d learned the hard way not to get attached to anyone because I never knew when I’d have to leave at the worst possible time. But Oliver didn’t have anything on Jason.

Livie launched into a story about some elaborate revenge Oliver’s ex got on the last girl to hit on him, but I wasn’t listening. I unfolded the piece of paper in my hands. Under his address, Jason had written two sentences: Bet you Sawyer uses at least five inappropriate pickup lines on you while you’re at my house. Loser has to teach him the meaning of moderation?

I smiled. Oliver definitely didn’t have anything on Jason.

Four

The back screen door slammed shut behind me. “Mark?”

“In here, Kid.”

I smiled at the nickname and followed his voice to the family room of our rental house. It was smaller and a little more run-down than some of the other places we’d lived in, but it had the beachy feel of home. Mark was sprawled on the blue couch, legs propped up on the square glass coffee table next to a pile of mail.

“Did you hear about this one?” he asked, shaking his head at his laptop. “Nineteen-year-old broke into a condo, stole a bunch of electronics, including a cell phone, and left his own phone sitting on the condo’s kitchen table.”

I snorted.

“Wait! There’s more. When he realized what he did about an hour later, he called his phone. The condo’s owner, who had since come home and realized she’d been burglarized, answered and he gave her his name and asked if he could have his phone back.” Mark grinned widely. “The cops arrested him half an hour later.”

I plopped on the couch next to him. “Amateur.”

“Seriously. What’s happening to criminals these days?”

I watched Mark laugh as he set his laptop aside. I’d always been amazed at how much older or younger he could look with a few little changes. When he let his hair grow longer and was clean-shaven, he could easily pass as someone in his early twenties. But when he looked like he did now, with a shorter haircut and a few days’ worth of facial hair, he seemed fifteen years older. It was a skill that let him pose as a wide variety of men in my life, from father to uncle to older brother. Which was funny, because he’d never felt like an actual father or uncle or older brother, not even when I was younger. He’d always been more like the older brother’s best friend you see in the movies, the one who’s always around, teasing and annoying you, but who’ll beat up the guy who’s mean to you at school without blinking an eye. The one you choose to count as family. That’s Mark.

“What?” he asked, realizing I was staring.

“Just admiring my old man.” I ruffled his hair, which was its natural medium brown color. The only thing about him that wasn’t natural were the contacts that turned his brown eyes hazel. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you look so distinguished.”

“Shut up,” he muttered with a laugh as he smoothed out his hair. “So how was the first day?”

I studied my feet resting next to his on the coffee table. “The usual. Nothing exciting.” Guilt flared red hot in my chest.

I’d only ever lied to him once before, and even that was more of an omission of a detail than a full-blown lie. The desire to tell him about Jason was stronger than I’d been expecting. Mark was my person, the one I could tell anything to, the only one who’d always been there for me. Lying to him sucked.

Then I remembered why I wasn’t telling him the truth. No one had ever been officially released from WITSEC before. Once you’re in, you’re in for life. But I was special. A “one-of-a-kind situation,” Mark had said when we started planning Sloane and Mark Sullivan. But if the Marshals knew I’d been seen by someone from my past? Who knows how long it would be before they thought it was safe enough again to let me out.

Mark bumped my shoulder, trying to get my attention. “Any stalkers?”

My heart fluttered as I smiled. It sounded like a joke, but he was serious. I hadn’t been smart about someone once before, and I’d promised to never make that mistake again. “No. I did get forced into a group of overly friendly people though.”

He pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “I’m so proud of my little girl, making friends on her first day.”

I whacked him on the arm. “I’m actually about to head over to one of their houses in a few minutes.”

His smile faltered. “Going to someone’s house already? Is that a good idea?”

“They gave me a First Day Buddy.”

“Oh.” It came out like a laugh, like he knew how much it would annoy me.

“Exactly. There’s this senior scavenger hunt thing tomorrow, and I’m on her team and I have to help with something for it. But don’t worry, I won’t stay long. Wouldn’t want to come home late and disturb your beauty sleep, not with the new job starting tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes. The rigorous demands of a college maintenance man require much rest.”

“Don’t make fun of your fake profession. It’s served us well.”

“That’s true,” he agreed, stretching his arms above his head. “Who knew there were so many colleges and universities across this great land of ours? Plus, I never feel guilty when we skip out without giving notice.” He stood, scattering a few pieces of junk mail to the floor.

I crumpled an ad into a ball and threw it into the middle of the small trash can across the room. “Ha!”

Mark chuckled. “Are you going to be back for dinner? I’m making fettuccine alfredo.”

I followed him into the kitchen, groaning with pleasure the whole way. “I would never miss your fettuccine. It’s one of your best dishes.”

“Well, at least not having any friends has paid off. I don’t have to answer their nosey questions, and I’ve had all this free time to master my cooking skills.”

I frowned. I knew he’d given up everything for me. I wondered, not for the first time, whether he regretted it. “We have each other for a friend. Who needs anyone else?”

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly as he studied me. Something I didn’t recognize flashed in his eyes.

I pursed my lips. “You know I appreciate everything you do for me, right? Including making fabulous food.”

Mark dropped his eyes. “I know.” He was quiet for a moment. “I like doing things for you.” He patted his ridiculously toned stomach. “I certainly don’t need the extra calories.”

“Please,” I scoffed. “Like you have an inch of fat on you.”

“I do!” He looked up, eyes bright. “We’ve been slacking on lesson number eleven lately.”

I placed my hands flat against the small kitchen island and glared at him. “We have not been slacking on our long distance running! And I’ve played many a basketball game with you shirtless recently, and you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

He flashed a grin, the one where the right side of his mouth rose more than the left. It was the grin he used when he was giving me a hard time, and guilt spread through my chest again.

I intertwined my fingers and examined the lines across one of my palms, tracing them with my thumb. “So apparently there’s a senior trip coming up.”

Mark had his head buried in the refrigerator. “Like a beach trip after graduation? Do seniors still do that?”

“No, like a chaperoned overnight field trip to Charleston the last weekend in April. It sounds like all the seniors go. It’s a school tradition.”

The sounds of his rummaging stopped. “I don’t know.” There was a long pause before he spoke again. “What if something goes wrong? What about your eyes?”

“I can keep my contacts in. It’s just one night.” I continued to study my palm, afraid of looking at him when I said what I’d been rehearsing all afternoon in my head. “Plus, I was kind of thinking this placement could be like a test. Once I’m out, I’m going to have to deal with things myself. It might be good to get some practice making my own decisions while you’re still around to back me up. And I think I want to go.”

The silence made my heart race until I finally glanced up, unable to take it any longer. Mark was leaning against the speckled laminate countertop, nodding his head slowly. “You’re right.” His eyes locked on mine. “You’re prepared, but you need to be confident you can handle yourself. And I want you to make your own decisions. So if you want to go, go.”

I was surprised at how much lighter I felt. He may not have known about Jason or that I’d already begun making my own decisions, but it felt like he was telling me I’d done the right thing. And I trusted his judgment without question.

* * *

I walked up the path to the small blue house with a bounce in my step. I felt empowered by Mark’s approval to go on the trip, and the sight of Jason’s house, with flowerpots scattered across the front porch and lace curtains in the windows, reminded me of New Jersey. I rang the doorbell.

Sawyer answered the door with his usual lazy grin. He stepped aside and swept an arm toward the inside of Jason’s house. “Sloane Sullivan, come on down. You’re the next contestant in the Sawyer James game of love.”