Return to Paradise

“Hey, where are you going?” she asks, clearly ticked off.

I shrug and point to Agent Walker.

“Red’s taking care of our lunch,” I say. And then I’m gone.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SARAH’S WAITING FOR ME ON THE SIDEWALK A few stores down. When I get close, she starts to walk away quickly, and I have to jog a few steps to catch up to her.

“What was all that about?” she asks.

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific,” I say.

“All that stuff about Sam, for starters.”

“I was just trying to cover my ass if they didn’t already think he was with John after I stupidly said his name. Trying to throw them off the trail.”

“Okay, then what about holding my hand. What was that?”

I stop and turn to her. We’re on the corner. The wind whips her hair back and forth across her face, and she looks like tears might fall from her eyes at any moment. I have no doubt that the agents are still watching us, so I step to the side to make sure that they can’t see her face from inside the pizza place.

“Sarah, if they think you’re his girlfriend, they’re going to keep watching you,” I say softly. “You know that. I was just trying to throw them off you as well.”

“I can look out for myself,” she says.

“I know you can. But you shouldn’t have to. John shouldn’t have—”

“I know.” She cuts me off in a huff. “Trust me, I know. I’m well aware of how messed up this situation is. All of it. And if there was some way I could fix everything, I would. I half wish John would get arrested because at least that way I’d know where he is, and that he’s safe.”

The wind whistles a little as we stand, not talking to one another. I want to hug her—to touch her in any way—and it takes a good amount of my willpower to remind myself that if I freak Sarah out, I lose the only person I care about, and the only person I can talk to about everything that’s happening. Other than a bunch of random people online who are probably old dudes living in their moms’ basements and surviving on caffeine and corn chips.

Besides, I’ve already pushed her as much as I can today.

“Sam doesn’t believe in Sasquatches,” Sarah finally says with a faint smile. “We talked about it before. No Bigfoot hunting for him.”

“At this point I’m not sure that I don’t believe in Bigfoot,” I say.

This gets a little laugh out of her, which makes me smile.

“I don’t know. I think I’d trust Sam on this one. He was way ahead of us on all this alien stuff. He probably knows more about John’s history than John does.”

This is true. It’s something I file away for the future. What did Sam know? How did he find stuff out? And did he leave any records?

“I’ve got to get out of here,” Sarah continues.

“Okay, where do you want to go?”

She shakes her head.

“I just need to be alone for a little while,” she says, digging for her keys in her purse.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I ask. “I can come over if you want. Or we can stay out in public where no one can get to you.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. Besides, my brothers are home this weekend, and there’s nothing they love more than trying to act tough and protect their little sister. We’ll talk later, all right?”

“Yeah,” I say.

I watch her walk away and make sure she gets to her car okay. She’s just a speck down the road when my senses come to and I start putting things together about our weird encounter at the pizza place. Agent Noto was sitting behind me.

Does that mean I’m being followed too?

I walk around our tiny downtown for a little while, half to clear my head and half to keep an eye over my shoulder and see if I’ve got some kind of tail watching me while pretending to read a magazine or something. But there’s no one. At least not anybody I can see.

The card Agent Walker gave me gives me absolutely no info—it’s blank other than a phone number, which goes straight to voice mail when I call it from the only pay phone I know of in Paradise. I don’t leave a message. Instead, I pull up the “Aliens Anonymous” blog on my phone and message GUARD, telling him that I’ve had a really weird run-in with the FBI and that this is the contact number they gave me. GUARD is good with computers and stuff, so maybe he can use it to find some new information or something.

When I’m walking back to my truck, I run into Kevin, an offensive lineman from school. He’s a giant of a guy, with patches of red hair all over his face that almost make it look like he’s capable of growing an actual beard. Almost. A few of the younger members on the team are with him, but they hang back, letting him lead. I briefly wonder if that’s what I looked like when I was always running around town with my own posse.

“Duuuude,” he says when he sees me. We do an elaborate series of handshakes and fist bumps. “We were grabbing burgers and saw you talking with Sarah on the corner. Looked pretty intense. What’s going on with you two—you hitting that now that Bomberman is gone?”

Fire rages in me, and I can feel my face turning red with anger.

“Look, man,” one of the younger guys says. “He’s blushing.”

“Don’t talk about Sarah like that,” I say. My jaw is clenched.

The whole pack “Oooooooo”s as if they were a studio audience.