“Ali’s a mastermind,” Spencer said aloud. “She knows by now that we found that receipt. She’ll probably never come by here again.”
Aria’s eyebrows furrowed. “Well, we’re already here. We might as well do something.”
Spencer peered again at the mini-mart. A bunch of preteen boys on BMXs hung out by the doors, passing around a cigarette. Inside, the cashier leaned behind the counter, her chin in her hands. It looked like she might fall asleep at any moment.
“I guess we could ask questions,” Spencer suggested, climbing out of the car and striding across the parking lot. “Maybe someone knows something.”
She passed the BMX boys and pushed open the door, and was greeted by a very loud Faith Hill song on the stereo. The air smelled of burnt coffee and microwaved burritos, and there was a yellow A-frame sign on the floor warning that the place had recently been mopped. An older man was standing at a wall of beef jerky. Of course there was no Ali.
But she had been here—days ago. Spencer tried to imagine it. Had Ali taken her time, walking up and down the aisles, trying to figure out what she wanted to buy? Or had she darted in and out fast, afraid someone might recognize her? Had anyone? Maybe not recognized her, per se, but brushed against her, or gave her change, or held the door for her on the way out?
Emily walked to the counter, and Spencer followed. The sleepy woman she’d seen from the car was now reorganizing a display of Trident gum.
“Um, excuse me,” Emily asked politely. The woman looked up for a brief second, then returned to the gum. “I’m wondering if you’ve seen a blond girl in here. About my height. Kind of . . . rough-looking. Missing some teeth. She might have acted cagey.”
The woman, whose nametag said MARCIE and who had oily hair and a smooth, lineless face, folded her hands. “When was this?”
“Three days ago,” Emily volunteered. “Around three in the afternoon.”
Marcie shook her head fast. “Nope.”
Spencer’s heart sank. “Is there someone else who was working here at the time who might remember?” She tried to control the edge in her voice. “Someone you can call?”
Marcie’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to know, anyway?”
“This girl is a really good friend of ours,” Emily piped up quickly. “But she, um, ran away. And we really want to find her.”
Marcie stared at them long and hard, her mouth twitching. Spencer wondered if she recognized them and was trying to place why. Even though all charges against them had been dropped, they were still kind of notorious . . . and their pictures had been everywhere. Maybe this was a bad idea. Marcie might call the police. Fuji would scold them for making trouble.
The cashier shrugged. “We get lots of people coming in and out of here. One blond girl buying water is the same as the next.”
“What about surveillance tapes?” Aria asked desperately. “Can you show us those?”
Marcie looked at them like they were crazy. “Honey, why do you think I would have access to those tapes? I think the management uses them to watch the staff.” She turned back to her register. “Go to the police if you’re really worried. Girls your age shouldn’t have to find a runaway on your own.”
Then she peered behind them, smiling. Mr. Beef Jerky was now in line, holding several long sticks of Slim Jims. There was nothing else to do but move aside and let him pay.
“Shit,” Hanna muttered as they trudged out of the store. “Now what do we do?”
“I don’t know,” Spencer said, feeling aimless.
Emily kicked a pebble on the sidewalk. “That hair on that hoodie had better be a DNA match. Then we could get Fuji up here. She could access those surveillance tapes.”
Hanna put her hands on her hips and faced the road. “Maybe we could drive around and look for random barns. We could get lucky.”
“In the dark?” Spencer scoffed. “I doubt it.”
“Party pooper,” Hanna mumbled, slumping back into the car.
The other girls climbed in, too, leaving Spencer alone in the parking lot. Hanna looked out the window at her. “Maybe we should all sleep at my place tonight. I don’t like the idea of us being apart. We could be easy targets for Ali.”
“Yes,” Emily said quickly. “There’s no way I can sleep alone.”
“I’m in,” Aria agreed.
“Me too,” Spencer said. It was a wonderful idea—in case Ali showed up again, four against one were much better odds.
They promised to meet at Hanna’s in an hour. Then Spencer retreated to her car, sinking heavily into the leather seat. The whole day felt wasted. The only thing they’d learned was that Ali was alive . . . and furious. And they already knew that.
Her phone buzzed loudly, jarring her from her thoughts. Spencer stared at the unfamiliar 212 number on caller ID. Swallowing hard, she answered.
“Spencer Hastings?” said a woman’s voice. Spencer said that she was. “My name is Samantha Eggers. I’m the head of the National Anti-Bullying Council in New York City. It’s a new initiative created by Congress last year.”
“Of course,” Spencer said, sitting up straighter. “I know about you.” She’d researched all the bullying outreach programs available to teens while putting together her website. “You’re doing great stuff.”
“No, you’re doing great stuff,” Samantha said, her voice mirthful. “I’m a huge fan of your website. You’re giving kids a voice.” She rushed on. “Listen, I’m calling because we’re making an anti-bullying film that will be used as a tool at schools nationwide next year. I’m looking for voices on bullying, and your name kept coming up among my staff.”