Brandon: Well, first off. I'm not that guy anymore. Cushman was a conceited asshole. Everyone here calls me Brandon.
Me: Um. Okay.
Brandon: You said you were somewhere good for you. Are you learning looks and partying aren't all that important?
Me: I'd say I'm learning that life is all about balance. I have to go. It was nice talking to you, Brandon.
The Cushman is dead.
And I want to cry.
The computer chimes. Cooper stops pacing and looks over my shoulder. "Are you chatting? You're supposed to be deleting."
"I am. I just . . ."
RiAnne: Please say hi to me.
Me: Hi.
RiAnne: Is it really you?
Me: Yes. Thank you for messaging me every week. You are the only friend to do that. It's so sweet.
RiAnne: Vanessa is still mad you left us, but she's with me at the coffee shop every Saturday morning when I post it.
Me: Tell me what's going on. I miss you.
RiAnne: I miss you, too. Vanessa is dating the rugby player. They were Homecoming prince and princess this year.
Me: That's cool.
RiAnne: And guess what? I was nominated!
Me: That's a big honor, Ri.
RiAnne: Thanks. Where are you?
Me: I can't tell you. Random question, but I saw some pictures of V and Bam and there was a guy there. That hot older guy I talked to at the hotel. Do you hang out with him?
RiAnne: We see him at the club sometimes. I think he's a creeper. But V thinks he's hot. She's gone to his house and stuff. Like for the whole weekend. You know.
I want to throw up.
RiAnne: But not lately. She's actually pretty into rugby. Like she's gone to all his games. And she hasn't cheated on him in three weeks, which is a record. Apparently, he's great in the sack.
Me: I'm glad she's happy. What about you?
RiAnne: Same. So many guys to kiss, so little time. Lately I have been kissing on Alex Littleton.
Me: Ri!! He is hot!!!
RiAnne: I know, right? I'm all that. We've been working out together and I've lost 6 1/2 pounds.
Me: Is he a good kisser?
RiAnne: The. Best.
Me: I have to go. I'm deleting my profile.
RiAnne: No! You can't.
Me: I have to. There is a girl here who hates me, and I don't want her to know about my old life.
RiAnne: Keatyn, you of anyone ought to be able to handle a mean girl.
Me: Yeah, I know. And I promise, if I ever get back home, I'll call you.
RiAnne: Pinkie swear?
I get tears in my eyes as I type.
Me: Yeah, Ri. I do.
RiAnne: You know, if you would've stood up to Vanessa, like to her face, she would've respected you for it.
Me: That's good advice. You taking it yourself?
RiAnne: Yeah. And I'm much happier. (That, and I'm skinnier than her.) I don't reply. I wipe a tear from my eye. Then I do it.
Delete, delete. Yes, I'm sure.
"Done," I say to Cooper.
"Tonight after curfew, meet me in the small gym. We'll get to work."
Vincent logs on to Facebook to look at her wall, like he does every morning. Only, her profile is gone. He enters it again, wondering if somehow he's been blocked. He checks every social media platform, only to find all of her accounts gone. He logs into his own account and searches her again. Nothing. She's gone. Her social media footprint is completely gone. The question is, why? Why did she delete it? Or did she? Is this another ploy to keep them apart? Is it because she saw him in Vancouver? Was there something on her social media account that they thought allowed him to find out she would be there? What would make her visit when she did?
He calls the man who watches Tommy and Abby's home. "Do you know why she came home? On a Monday? Shouldn't have Tommy and Abby been filming?"
"I don't know the answer to that exactly. First, a guy showed up. He played in the backyard-"
"What guy showed up?" Vincent asks, interrupting.
"I don't know his name."
"What did he look like?" Vincent is trying hard to control his temper.
"Shaggy blonde hair, tall, tan. California surfer-looking, based on his clothes."
"Are you freaking kidding me? Why didn't you tell me that?"
"Uh, you just told me to watch for the girl?"
"That was her boyfriend, you idiot! That must have been why she went there."
"Well, that and for the party, probably."
"What. Party." Vincent can barely contain his anger. If there weren't many miles between them, he would reach out and kill this man with his bare hands. He's hired an imbecile.
"Birthday. The littlest girl. There was a cake and balloon delivery that morning."
Vincent presses his face down into his palms, hoping it will keep his head from exploding.
"You still there?" the man asks after a few minutes of silence.
"Yeah. And I'm calling your boss to tell him about your ineptitude at your job."
"Oh, man. Don't do that. He'll kill me!"
"That's the idea," Vincent says, slamming down the phone. Then he realizes there is someone else who should have notified him that the boyfriend was going out of town. He calls her.
"It's my understanding that Mr. Wright took a trip recently to Vancouver? Why was I not informed of this?"
"Because he didn't tell me he was going," she pouts.
"Why did he go?"
"He said it was a birthday party for a family friend."
"Where is he now?"
"We're both in Portugal."
"What's after that?"
"Thanksgiving in Hawaii."
"And how are you getting along? I'm assuming you're not as close as you led me to believe if he didn't bother to tell you where he was going. I will stop paying you immediately if you fail me again."
"I'm sorry. I was upset, too."
"If any of his friends visit him, I want to know about it."
"Oh, well, one did come. When we were in Japan. But it was just a guy friend of his. Damian Moran. He's in a band."
"I see," Vincent's anger flares again.
"I want to know everything about him. Do you understand me? Anyone he talks to. Anyone from his past. Or even if he starts hanging out with someone new on the tour. I must know about it. If not-"
"Yeah, yeah. I get it," she says. "You'll fire me."
I'll do more than that, he thinks.
If things aren't already spiraling out of his control due to idiots, he gets another call. This one from the man who can track anyone through his or her money.
"No trace of her," he says, without prelude. "Is she on the run from the mob?"
"Her mother's pissed at me. What can I say," Vincent lies. "I can't be tied down to just one woman."
"A woman's wrath. I feel ya."
"Is there anything else we can do?"
"I'll keep the feelers out there. If anything hits her credit cards, I'll notify you."
"Right away?" Vincent asks.
"Like immediately?"
"Yes. My men found her once, but they didn't notify me soon enough, and she got away. I'm concerned for my daughter's well being."
"Sure, man. I've got a twelve-year-old. Can't imagine my wife taking her away from me. I'll call immediately. Promise. You know, something like this, you might consider getting the cops involved."
"Thanks, I'll consider that," he says, rolling his eyes and slamming down the phone. It's been a hell of a day.
Even after what happened in Vancouver, Keatyn insists on going to her loft this weekend.
After soccer practice, Cooper herds me into his office and shuts the door.
I'm tired from being up late last night learning an assailant's attack zones. Muscles I didn't even know existed are sore.
"You need to lay off on the workouts. I'm so sore from last night. Thank goodness I don't have dance or a game tonight."
"Tonight is what I want to talk to you about. Going to New York is not a good idea."
"I'm going."
"Then I'm going with you."
"No, you're not."
"Where are you staying?"
"I'll be at my loft, Cooper. No one from my old life-not even my family-knows about it. A few people from school have been there but other than that, only Garrett and the guy that handles my money know where it is. I'm safe there."
"What if someone sees you in the street? Or worse, in front of your loft, and thinks you look like Abby and calls him? He already did auditions there."
"That's why New York City is safe. Everyone is too busy to notice me. And I really don't look that much like her in passing. It's only the combination of my voice and gestures when people seem to notice. So I won't talk to anyone. I'll wear sunglasses."