Read Online A Girl Named Digit by Annabel Monaghan - Free Book Online Page B

time.”
    “All his fingers? Why?”
    “I don’t know really. Consensus around the FBI was always that it was to remind him not to identify them. Almost poetic, like we’ll make sure you can’t point the finger at us.”
    “Did you make that up?”
    He laughed. “No, I couldn’t make up something that dumb and live with myself.” He was quiet for a second and drained the last sip of his Coke. “But really, seriously, Steven is a nice guy and I guess a hero.”
    We sat in silence for a while. I played through my initial hilarity at Steven’s weird tic, mentally kicking myself for the tenth time that week. Who did I think I was busting on a former terror hostage when chances were pretty good that I was next? I tried to imagine what Steven had been through, the kidnapping, the torture, and the likelihood of it happening to me. At least until I got completely distracted by John’s right forearm. It was strong but not veiny in a Mr. Universe kind of way. And had just the right amount of hair to suggest he has fully completed puberty but not enough to suggest a square yard of carpet on his back.
    John broke the silence. “I guess Steven was never able to finger his captors.”
    “Ha-ha.”
    “He could never point them out.”
    “Cute.”
    “He wasn’t playing with a full hand.”
    “Stop, please.”
    “The whole thing’s hard to grasp, right?”
    “Well, now I know how he felt. Held captive by the corniest person in the world.”
    “Point taken.”
    Ugh.

So, When’s the Wizard Going to Get Back to You About That Brain?
     
    A reporter was talking in voice-over as the camera panned the front entrance to my high school. “Local Santa Monica High School senior Farrah Higgins, seventeen, has now been missing for more than twenty-four hours. Experts say that the first twenty-four hours of an abduction are critical and that the likelihood of recovering the victim alive declines significantly after that time.”
    Switch to smiling reporter. “Cliff Townsend here at school with several of Farrah’s classmates.” Olive, Veronica, Tish, and Kat are standing (or is
posing
a better word?) next to the school entrance. “Girls, what can you tell me about Farrah? Did you suspect that she was being followed? Did she have any new acquaintances?”
    “Acquaintances?” Veronica was stumped.
    “Friends,” clarified the reporter.
    “Oh, well, not that we knew. She hung out with us a lot. She was a little brainy but normal,” said Kat.
    “Did you notice any erratic behavior?” Veronica’s face went blank again, so the reporter went on. “Anything different from normal?”
    “Well yeah, there was that weird thing in Schulte’s class, where Mr. Schulte was upset and she ran out of class.” The proverbial light bulb, though dim in this group, lit up over Olive’s head.
    Veronica caught on. “That was really strange, or erotic as you say. Plus I heard he called her at home after that.”
    Kat finally got it. “And she missed school for the rest of the week. Has anyone like even questioned him?”
    Cliff looked back into the camera, looking like he’d cracked the case. “You heard it here. Potential foul play in the disappearance of the Higgins girl. Leaves parents wondering how safe their children are at even the toniest of public schools. Back to you, Allison.”

Don’t Ya Think Hard Work Must Have Killed Someone?
     
    On our second full day of captivity, the first set of documents arrived with cold toast and warm yogurt. We had two cups of gas station coffee with powdered milk and Sweet ’n Low. While the food was disgusting, the documents gave us a renewed sense of purpose—in short, something to do.
    “We might as well dig in,” John said, running his fingers through his nearly dirty hair. “If not into the food, then into these.” He picked up an accordion file full of paper. Not stapled, not binder-clipped, not even rubber-banded to suggest order or segments. It was a mess. Dig in was all we could