She stiffened.

“Em?”

Emily rolled her eyes and groaned. “What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?”

She stomped to her bedroom, and I watched her disappear down the hallway. She’d lied for four days straight, so confronting her head-on would probably just push her deeper.

I needed another tactic.

 

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The next morning, I stuck to routine.

I watched her walk down the driveway. Then I sprinted to my car. I parked a little ways from the bus stop and watched her board the bus. So far, nothing unusual.

I followed the bus. When it wheezed to a stop in front of the high school, a flood of teenagers poured out. Emily was among them.

But as the crowd streamed toward the double doors, she peeled away.

She lingered near the bus stop sign.

What are you doing?

I got my answer quickly.

An old pickup truck pulled up to the curb. It was rusted around the wheel wells, with a dented tailgate. Emily flung open the passenger door and climbed in.

My pulse pounded in my ears. My first instinct was to call the police. I even reached for my phone… but she had smiled when she saw the truck. She got in willingly.

The truck drove off. I followed.

Maybe I was overreacting, but even if she wasn’t in danger, she was still skipping school — and I needed to understand why.

They headed toward the edge of town, where strip malls thin out into quiet green spaces. Eventually, they pulled into a gravel lot near the lake.

“If I’m about to catch you skipping school to be with a boyfriend you haven’t told me about…” I muttered as I parked behind them.

I stopped a short distance away — and then I saw the driver.

“You have got to be kidding me!”

I jumped out of my car so fast I didn’t even shut the door.

I stormed toward the truck. Emily saw me first. She’d been laughing at something he said, but her smile vanished when our eyes met.

I rapped hard on the driver’s window.

Slowly, it rolled down.

“Hey, Zoe, what are you doing—”

“Following you.” I leaned against the door. “What are you doing? Emily is supposed to be in school, and why on earth are you driving this? Where’s your Ford?”

I held up my hand sharply. “Emily first. Why are you helping her skip school? You’re her father, Mark, you should know better.”

Emily leaned forward. “I asked him to, Mom. It wasn’t his idea.”

“But he still agreed. What exactly is going on here?”

Mark raised his hands gently. “She asked me to pick her up because she didn’t want to go—”