one hand over the back of his neck. “I thought you’d moved past this. Colin Firth isn’t your father. There isn’t a big choreographed group dance number in your future. Real life doesn’t work that way.”
I instantly felt like an idiot and wished they would take their sarcastic comments, and worse, their pitying looks, and just shove it. Go analyze someone else for a change.
“I looked for him, Em.” Audrey hugged her knees to her chest, probably because she knew I’d become claustrophobic if she wrapped her arms around me. “I ran a thorough search for Daniel Danvers. I even expanded it to include Danny, Dan, Denny, and Dennis Danvers, just in case he’s been using a nickname. I came up empty.”
“The dead guy said his name was Morgan.” I couldn’t resist pointing out, before amending myself. “Actually, he said that Morgan would know what to do, but that’s pretty much the same thing, right?”
“This would be the same dead guy who stole your drink then handed you a Slate? Yeah, you should
definitely
follow his advice. He doesn’t sound mentally unhinged at all,” Ben snorted. “Seriously, Em, hand it over to the cops and then turn the whole thing into a great college admission’s essay.”
I stubbornly ignored Ben’s advice. “We never looked for a Morgan Danvers.”
“We also never looked for a Morgan Denvers or a Morgan Danningham; should we start looking for your dad in that needle stack of needles, too?” Ben demanded. “Best case scenario: your dad’s first name really is Morgan, which means he lied to your mom about his name before he left her. Remind me again why you want to find this asshole?”
“Maybe he had a good reason.” The excuses I’d dreamed up a billion times came spilling out. “Maybe he thought he was putting my mom at risk, or someone was after him, or he needed to help somebody in trouble.”
“If any of that is true,” Audrey said softly, “then don’t you think that’s one more reason to keep your distance, Em?”
Probably.
If I saw it laid out as a multiple choice question, it would probably have looked something like this: A sixteen-year-old girl is delivered a cryptic warning in a coffee shop. She can either:
(a) Tell the police.
(b) Tell her mom.
(c) Accept a stranger’s invitation to attend a private academy while she futilely searches for a father who might not want to be found.
The correct answer should have been obvious. Ben and Audrey had no trouble selecting the most practical solution. Except I couldn’t shake the feeling that option C was my best bet.
I needed to find my dad. Maybe he wasn’t any better than Pierre the thief, or Kristoff the tooth-fairy terrorist, or Felix the scumbag, but he couldn’t be much worse. I mean, yeah, theoretically it was possible. Maybe he
was
a murderer or a gangbanger or a stodgy accountant who enjoyed reporting people to the IRS. But the man that my mom had described—the one who had said that he believed in the beauty of her dreams—sounded wonderful.
He sounded like the kind of person who could help me become
more
. And if he was a disappointment, well, then at least I’d know for sure. It would be one less thing to spend my time imagining.
“You guys don’t have to support it,” I said. “But this is happening. I’m going to track down my dad. I’m going to follow some crazy dead guy’s advice, because if I don’t I’m going to hate myself for taking the coward’s way out.” I unzipped the suitcase and began tossing in the shirts that lined my dresser drawer. “You’re both welcome to say ‘I told you so’ when . . .
if
this whole thing blows up horribly in my face.”
Ben glared at me. “Are you ser—”
“Okay, Em,” Audrey cut in smoothly. “You know we’ll always have your back. But that’s going to be a whole lot harder if you flee the country.”
“I’m going to Emptor Academy. I’ve got a scholarship there.”
That left Audrey at a complete lack for
I instantly felt like an idiot and wished they would take their sarcastic comments, and worse, their pitying looks, and just shove it. Go analyze someone else for a change.
“I looked for him, Em.” Audrey hugged her knees to her chest, probably because she knew I’d become claustrophobic if she wrapped her arms around me. “I ran a thorough search for Daniel Danvers. I even expanded it to include Danny, Dan, Denny, and Dennis Danvers, just in case he’s been using a nickname. I came up empty.”
“The dead guy said his name was Morgan.” I couldn’t resist pointing out, before amending myself. “Actually, he said that Morgan would know what to do, but that’s pretty much the same thing, right?”
“This would be the same dead guy who stole your drink then handed you a Slate? Yeah, you should
definitely
follow his advice. He doesn’t sound mentally unhinged at all,” Ben snorted. “Seriously, Em, hand it over to the cops and then turn the whole thing into a great college admission’s essay.”
I stubbornly ignored Ben’s advice. “We never looked for a Morgan Danvers.”
“We also never looked for a Morgan Denvers or a Morgan Danningham; should we start looking for your dad in that needle stack of needles, too?” Ben demanded. “Best case scenario: your dad’s first name really is Morgan, which means he lied to your mom about his name before he left her. Remind me again why you want to find this asshole?”
“Maybe he had a good reason.” The excuses I’d dreamed up a billion times came spilling out. “Maybe he thought he was putting my mom at risk, or someone was after him, or he needed to help somebody in trouble.”
“If any of that is true,” Audrey said softly, “then don’t you think that’s one more reason to keep your distance, Em?”
Probably.
If I saw it laid out as a multiple choice question, it would probably have looked something like this: A sixteen-year-old girl is delivered a cryptic warning in a coffee shop. She can either:
(a) Tell the police.
(b) Tell her mom.
(c) Accept a stranger’s invitation to attend a private academy while she futilely searches for a father who might not want to be found.
The correct answer should have been obvious. Ben and Audrey had no trouble selecting the most practical solution. Except I couldn’t shake the feeling that option C was my best bet.
I needed to find my dad. Maybe he wasn’t any better than Pierre the thief, or Kristoff the tooth-fairy terrorist, or Felix the scumbag, but he couldn’t be much worse. I mean, yeah, theoretically it was possible. Maybe he
was
a murderer or a gangbanger or a stodgy accountant who enjoyed reporting people to the IRS. But the man that my mom had described—the one who had said that he believed in the beauty of her dreams—sounded wonderful.
He sounded like the kind of person who could help me become
more
. And if he was a disappointment, well, then at least I’d know for sure. It would be one less thing to spend my time imagining.
“You guys don’t have to support it,” I said. “But this is happening. I’m going to track down my dad. I’m going to follow some crazy dead guy’s advice, because if I don’t I’m going to hate myself for taking the coward’s way out.” I unzipped the suitcase and began tossing in the shirts that lined my dresser drawer. “You’re both welcome to say ‘I told you so’ when . . .
if
this whole thing blows up horribly in my face.”
Ben glared at me. “Are you ser—”
“Okay, Em,” Audrey cut in smoothly. “You know we’ll always have your back. But that’s going to be a whole lot harder if you flee the country.”
“I’m going to Emptor Academy. I’ve got a scholarship there.”
That left Audrey at a complete lack for
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