Fact: Hide-and-seek is a game for kids.
Truth: The older you get, the better you are at hiding.
The next day during lunch, we gathered at my thinking bench in the park across the street from school. It was sunny, and in winter even a cold sun feels good on your face. Asma and Rachel sat on the bench. I was too fidgety to join them, so I bounced on my toes in front of them with Usman almost statue-still next to me. He and I had shared our plan with Asma and Rachel for our secret (for now) spread on Jawad’s disappearance. I hadn’t totally figured out a plan B if Ms. Cary vetoed it, which she probably would, but I wasn’t going to let this story die. I’d figure something out.
“So, what have we got?” I asked.
“I emailed Jawad’s parents,” Usman said. “They go to a different mosque, but our moms sort of know each other because they were on the Chicago Eid planning committee last year. His mom said I could go talk to them at their dry cleaner’s. I’m free last period, so I’m heading out early to meet with them.”
“Ugh. They still have to work?” Rachel asked in a quiet voice.
I shrugged. “They probably don’t have a choice.” If they were anything like my parents, Jawad’s mom and dad probably were the owners and employees and couldn’t afford to shut down their business for too long. My parents didn’t talk to me about their money concerns, but if they had a bad month at the store, I could see the worry in their eyes.
“That sucks,” Asma said. “I hope it at least gives them something to do. Can you imagine? My parents would absolutely be unhinged and terrified if it were me, but at least they wouldn’t have to worry about losing their jobs, too, if they took time off.”
“This country is total bullshit sometimes,” I said.
“Sometimes?” Usman added.
We were all quiet for a moment. I dug the toe of my worn Doc Martens into a small pile of dirty snow and tucked my chin into my scarf. I was the only one of us on scholarship; the only one who lived the kind of life that we were talking about. It’s why I understood. Maybe it’s also why I couldn’t let this story go.
“I went to the police station and asked some questions,” Rachel said. Then, glancing at our three surprised-looking faces, she added, “What? I’m white. I told them I was doing a research project. Besides, my dad is the precinct sergeant’s doctor.”
Usman shook his head. I think we could all guess what he was thinking. Hard to imagine he’d ever be able to walk into a police station with his kufi on and ask questions without rousing some suspicion. I mean, Jawad had gotten arrested on suspicion of terrorism for making a costume jet pack out of plastic soda bottles.
“And…,” Asma prodded.
“So, the sergeant gave me some basic background on virtual kidnappings and also real kidnappings and why time is of the essence. The first twenty-four hours are the most essential if it’s a kidnapping. Most missing kids are found—I think he said only one in ten thousand or so is not. But of the ones who are murdered, like, over seventy percent are killed in the first three hours.”
“Three hours?” I gasped. “It’s been a week since the Amber Alert for Jawad, and everyone seems to have forgotten about him already.”
Rachel nodded. “The sergeant said they are doing what they can. But there weren’t any eyewitnesses except for the one who saw a car driving around, and even that was uncertain. Plus, Jawad’s cell phone looks like it was turned off, because they can’t locate it.”
“People don’t just disappear,” Asma said.
“Sometimes, I think, they kinda do,” Rachel added in a soft voice.
I felt an anger rising inside me, like a tiny flame starting in my belly, ready to turn into a bonfire and burn everything up. “We’re not going to let that happen to Jawad,” I said through gritted teeth. “No way.”
Usman placed one of his mittened hands against the back of my coat. I took a deep breath. “No, we won’t. Look, I found—”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Richard bounding toward us. “Hey, so what’s the newspaper crew up to?” he asked as he slipped in between me and Usman. He leaned his arm into mine, and I leaned back, all while trying to be so cool, like this was no big deal even if my earlier flames of rage had started flickering into mushier feelings. I was surprised at how quickly my anger started to dissipate when Richard turned to me, dimples bared, his smile dazzling in the winter sunlight. Everything inside me felt like a whirly muddle almost all the time now. Even if it was sometimes good, it was dizzying.
“We were talking about how the Spectator desperately needs a full-page spread on the captain of the swim team,” Asma deadpanned.
“Don’t forget lacrosse.” Richard smirked, then flexed his arm muscles. “I think Yo and Bro would look amazing in a pinup. Should I wear my Speedo?” he said, and pretended to kiss each of his biceps through the wool of his coat, his bare hands in fists as he curled his muscles.
“Oh my God, you’re ridiculous,” I said, gently elbowing Richard.
“It’s the paper, not a thirst-trap challenge, dork,” Rachel added.
“On the other hand, it might increase our hits.” Usman laughed, and we all joined in.
“Why do I feel like you’re not taking this seriously?” Richard asked, then turned to me with a wide grin. “Of course, it would need the right editorial touch.”
I bit my lip and looked away, absolutely wordless, which was a rarity.
“As shocking as it may seem, there are more things in heaven and earth, Richard, than are dreamt of in your ego.” Asma glanced at me and grinned. Richard burst into laughter.
Asma had been right. Richard was an expert-level flirt. He oozed charm. And he knew it. The thing is, I liked it. Maybe more than I was willing to admit out loud.
“We were talking about Jawad’s case,” Rachel said. “You know, the missing kid?”
I scrunched my eyebrows at her. She wasn’t spilling state secrets, but I didn’t want anyone to know what we were planning, not yet. Not that Richard would run and tell Hardy or anything. Ugh. I dunno, maybe I’m too paranoid. I do hold things close to the vest. A lot. Especially feelings. Maybe too much.
“Is there new info on the kidnapping?” Richard asked.
“No, but you think it was a kidnapping, too?” I asked.
“Isn’t that what it usually is with kids who go missing this long?” Richard wondered. “I hope they find him. He seemed like a nice guy.”
I think all our jaws dropped at the exact same time. “You know him?” Asma asked.
Richard shrugged. “Sort of? The entire varsity swim team kinda knew him. Cross country and soccer, too. All our coaches organized a volunteer program at Bethune, so a bunch of us did, like, ten hours of volunteer work there with ninth graders during first quarter. You know, like tutoring, painting lockers, helping out after school.”
He turned to look at me with a sad half smile. I put my hand on his forearm for a second. “That has to be tough to know he’s missing.”
“He wasn’t in my group, so I didn’t really see him much. But I felt bad for all the crap he went through with that whole Bomb Boy thing.”
“Did you ever see kids bully him? The police said he had problems with that at school,” Rachel said.
Richard shook his head. “No. Nothing I can remember. But I was only in his school for those ten hours. It sucks what happened to him.”
I gave Richard a small smile, and he squeezed my hand before he glanced back at the school doors. “I gotta grab some lunch before next class. Let me know if you need to take photos for the feature on me.” He chuckled and then leaned over and whispered in my ear, “It’s all happening.” He smiled as he jogged off.
“Did you all see those looks those two were trading?” Usman said, fanning himself, as soon as Richard was out of earshot. “And so much suggestive nudging.”
“Hello? I’m standing right here,” I pled.
“That flirty banter?” Asma added, ignoring me. “Hot.”
“And what does ‘It’s all happening’ mean? What exactly is happening?” Rachel asked as my friends burst out laughing.
“Oh my God. Whatever. You’re all drama queens. It’s a line from a movie.”
Usman raised an eyebrow at me.
“Nothing is happening, okay?” I said, then hid my face with my mittened hands. “Can we please get back to the point of meeting up?”
“Oh, was it not to discuss your bone-dry social life?” Usman grinned.
“Ouch. Besides, I have you three.”
“A girl cannot live by newspaper friends alone. Especially when dimpled boys are, like, happening right in front of you,” Rachel said.
“Exactly. Variety. Spice of life, et cetera,” Usman added.
I shook my head at Usman. “Dude. I can’t believe you referenced spices and a white guy in the same sentence.” Rachel and Asma giggled. “Anywaaaaay,” I continued, “let’s check back in tomorrow after you’ve talked to the Alis, Usman. The rest of us will keep digging.”
“And tell them all of us are doing dua for Jawad to be found safe,” Asma added.
“Oh! I forgot,” Rachel said as we started walking back to the building. “Why did you text me about wanting to know where Nate went for winter break?”
“You know how he whispered ‘God is dead’ at the end of Current Events?” Everyone nodded as we neared the red doors of the main entrance. “The threatening letter my mosque got during break quoted the same words. And it was postmarked from London. Usman said it was a famous quote and all, so it could be a coincidence, but—”
Rachel put her hand on my arm, stopping us all in our tracks. “On the first day back from break, some of us were talking in Senior Seminar about where we’d gone, and when Nate walked in, someone asked him. He said he was in London.”
I sucked in my breath. Maybe there was no such thing as a coincidence.