As she pulled into the school parking lot on Monday morning, Rosie tried to think of an explanation for the red scratches on the car. She got out to examine the beige bumper in the daylight, and a jeep that apparently lacked a muffler rumbled in next to her.
Rosie kept her eyes on the bumper. Someone had definitely scraped those words into it. But why? She covered them with her hands.
Jack got out of the jeep. “Something wrong with your bumper?”
“It’s just . . . ,” Rosie started. “Someone scratched something into it.”
“Let me see.” And before Rosie could stop him, Jack pushed her hand out of the way.
They both stared at the bumper. Then Jack broke the silence, his voice level and low, “ ‘Go to him’? What is this, some kind of a joke? It’s bad enough that Omar killed my brother, but to taunt me about it? And now you’re in on it too?”
Rosie was stunned. She didn’t know what to say. Omar taunting Jack? And Jack thought she was doing something too? “I didn’t . . .” Rosie looked up at him. “What do you mean?” she managed to mumble.
“All the texts looking like they’re coming from Mackie’s old phone. I blocked Omar’s number for a reason; I don’t want to talk to the dude. So to hack into Mackie’s phone to send me messages . . . It’s nasty. Mackie was my twin. What Omar did . . . He needs to leave me alone. Writing ‘44’ all over too. I don’t know how he’s doing it, but it’s twisted.”
“Writing ‘44’?” The images came rushing back to Rosie: the jersey at the graveyard, the condensation in the car, the water on the table in the diner. Rosie tried to keep her voice calm. “Look, Jack. I’m not doing anything to you and neither is Omar. Do you even know how hard this has been on him?”
Jack’s eyes widened. “Seriously? How hard this has been on him?”
“I know Mackie was your brother, your twin, and I know what it’s like to lose someone close to you, believe me,” Rosie said. “But Omar is suffering too. He’s suffering a lot. Did you think of that? Not only did he lose his best friend, his ‘brother from another mother,’ but it’s like you and the whole town think he killed Mackie. Whether his car hit Mackie or Mackie jumped out of the way and lost his balance over the edge, it doesn’t matter. It was an accident. A terrible accident. Don’t you see that?”
Jack held her stare. “Of course I think of that. If things hadn’t happened the way they did so much would be different.” He looked up, blinking back tears. “But now it’s like this. And it’s all because one night Omar was careless.”
“Jack! You don’t even know if Omar hit Mackie!”
“Doesn’t matter.” Jack’s voice shook with anger now, “He was careless and . . . he’s the one living. He needs to pay for what he’s done!”
And with that last outburst, Jack rushed into school.
Rosie stared after him, stunned. Jack had it out for Omar for no other reason than Omar was there when the accident happened. Rosie knew he was upset with Omar, but she hadn’t thought Jack meant him any harm. But from the look on Jack’s face—the anger in his eyes—it seemed like Jack would stop at nothing to make Omar pay for what happened.
Her mind went back to the day in the lunchroom. That deep pine smell. Could Jack have splashed some of that hardware store cleaner near the table when he walked by? And the Spanish index cards, her bumper . . . could that all have been Jack, telling Omar to ‘go to him’—to die, just like Mackie had? It was so disturbing it was hard to think about. And now Jack was saying that Omar was pranking him, hacking Mackie’s phone to send him texts. Why would Jack do that? To give him an excuse to hate Omar? But that still didn’t explain everything—the number 44 appearing everywhere, what had happened in the theater. There was no way Rosie wouldn’t have seen Jack if he was there. Besides, how could Jack have known about the movie in the first place?
The wind picked up, sending a chill over Rosie. The thick clouds threatened rain, and a low mist seemed to roll out from the trees to the lot.
The same creepy feeling she had in her car the first day of school came back. It was as if someone was watching her, following her. She tried to shake it off but it wouldn’t leave her alone, so she gave up waiting for Omar and headed into the school.
***
At lunch Omar was completely zoned out, methodically taking bites of his burger and sipping his milk. Rosie tried to keep the conversation light, “Are there any good places to bike around here?” Omar continued to stare ahead, silent. She waved a hand in front of his dull eyes. “Omar?”
He slowly lifted his head. “Yeah, Geister Park has a trail, it’s a little steep. Zumbay Road . . .”
“Great! Maybe I’ll head out for a ride tonight if it’s not raining. What are you up to?”
He shrugged. Thunder boomed outside the window and rain pattered against the glass.
“It’s storming pretty badly out there,” Rosie said. “How about I give you a ride home after school?”
Omar managed a small smile. “Sure, Rosie. Thanks.”
After the last bell Omar strolled up to her car and tossed his backpack into the back seat. “Man, I love everything about this car,” Omar said, running his hand over the convertible top. “I’m a total vintage fan. I was saving up to buy something like this before . . .”
“Yeah, it’s a classic. Hey, do you want to drive it?”
Omar shook his head no and got in.
“Is it because you don’t know how?” Rosie teased him as she started the car.
“I know how to drive a stick shift!”
“Really?” Rosie said as she started the car. “Shift for me then. I’ll take the back roads so we don’t run into any other traffic.” She pushed in the clutch and Omar shoved the gearshift up to the left.
“Go, New Girl,” he said, and she eased her foot off the clutch and gently pressed the gas. The car jerked forward and she gave it more gas. “Again!” she said, pushing in the clutch. Omar shifted down into second, then, as they drove further, up to the right, third, and then down into fourth.
“Now that you’ve got a feel for it, maybe you can drive this car for real sometime,” Rosie suggested as she pulled onto his street. “If you think you can handle it.”
Omar smiled. “I know how to handle a nice car.”
“Good thing too. My dad would have killed me if we had gotten into an accident.” Rosie pulled up Omar’s driveway. He seemed like he’d relaxed and might be open to talking about Jack if she brought it up now.
“Omar.” She turned off the car and touched his forearm. “I talked to Jack today.”
Omar nodded and pulled his backpack onto his lap. She looked into his eyes. “He thinks—and I don’t think you are—but he thinks you’re texting him from Mackie’s old phone.”
“What?” Omar’s eyes shot wide open. “No,” he said with conviction. “No, come on, you know that’s not me.”
“I know, but why would he say that?”
Omar just shook his head back and forth then flung the door open and got out. He put his head in through the window. “You know that isn’t me, right, New Girl?”
Rosie nodded and he stepped back. “Thanks for the ride,” he said, but his look was doubtful—like he wasn’t sure whose side Rosie was on now.
She drove home. Why would Jack make up a story about Omar taunting him? What was really happening? There were three possibilities: One, Jack was actually making it all up about getting texts from Mackie. Two, Omar really was texting Jack by hacking Mackie’s number. Or three, someone—or something—else was texting Jack and leaving the number 44 all over. A shiver ran up Rosie’s spine. What if it wasn’t option one or two?