Chapter 6

Diane handed the bagged microchip to a tech. "Rush this. I want to know what's on it yesterday." Her hands were steady, but a deep weariness had settled in her eyes. It was the look she got after a 24-hour shift.

Courtney put a hand on her shoulder. "Let's go home. There's nothing more we can do here tonight." He was already thinking about Javon. "We need to make sure he's not stressed before the game."

"What about Kelsie?" Diane asked, her voice barely a whisper. For the first time, a genuine crack appeared in her composure. "Courtney, what if Charlotte is right? What if something is really wrong?"

"Diane, stop," he said, his voice firm, shutting down her moment of doubt. "She is fine. This is classic Kelsie. She pulls a stunt, we panic, she gets the attention she craves, and life goes on. We are not playing her game this time."

"But-"

"No," he said, his tone final. "She will call. She always does."

He was thinking of last year. I had been at the library, studying late. On my way home, a flash flood had trapped me in a low-lying underpass. My phone was dead. I spent the night huddled in a concrete drainage pipe, terrified, listening to the water rush by.

I got home the next morning, soaked and shivering, my clothes torn.

The first thing I saw was my father's face, twisted with fury. He didn't ask if I was okay. He didn't ask where I had been.

He slapped me.

Hard. The force of it sent me staggering back.

"Where the hell were you?" he roared. "Do you have any idea the trouble you've caused? We were up all night! We thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere!"

I tried to explain, to tell him about the flood, but the words wouldn't come out. I was shaking too hard.

My mother stood behind him, her arms crossed, her eyes cold. "Your father is right to be angry, Kelsie. This behavior is unacceptable. You are selfish and reckless."

From the top of the stairs, Javon watched, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

Later, my sister Charlotte called. She was the one I finally told the truth to. She was the only one who believed me. She screamed at my parents over the phone, but it did no good. To them, I had lied. I had run off to be with a boy, and the flood was just a convenient excuse.

The narrative was set. I was the liar. The drama queen.

So now, as I hung in the air watching them, I knew. They wouldn't look for me. They would wait for me to crawl back, tail between my legs, ready to apologize for the trouble I'd caused by getting myself murdered.

They would wait forever.

The call came less than an hour later. The lab was fast.

"The microchip is from a pet tracking company," the tech's voice crackled over the speakerphone in Courtney's office. "It was registered, but the registration is... odd."

"What is it?" Courtney demanded.

"The owner's name is listed as 'Kelsie Ochoa.' But the pet's name is listed as 'Stray.'"

A heavy silence filled the room.

"She had a dog?" Diane asked, confused.

"I had a dog," I whispered. A scruffy mutt I found behind the grocery store. I had fed him for weeks, using my allowance. I named him Buster. I had him chipped and registered, putting my name down as the owner. 'Stray' was my little joke.

When my parents found out, they were livid.

"A filthy animal in this house? Absolutely not," my father had declared. "Get rid of it."

I cried. I begged. But they were immovable. They made me take him to a shelter. It broke my heart.

Now, my dead dog's microchip was the only thing that could give me back my name.

"Where was the chip registered?" Courtney asked, his voice tight.

"A place called 'Paws and Claws Pet Supply' on the east side."

"Get a warrant for their security footage," Courtney ordered. "Now."

He hung up the phone. For the first time, I saw real fear in his eyes. Not fear for his career, or for the city.

Fear for me.

The shop was small and cluttered, smelling of cedar chips and dog shampoo. The owner, a kind-faced older man, looked nervous as my father and a detective entered.

"Yeah, I remember the girl," he said, after they showed him my school photo. "Quiet kid. Sad eyes. Came in a few days ago. Bought a collar."

He went to a shelf and pulled one down. It was simple, red leather.

"She bought this one," he said. "For a little dog, she said. A friend's dog."

My father took the collar. His hand was shaking.

"Do you have security footage from that day?" the detective asked.

The owner nodded. "Yeah. It's all here."

This was it. The moment of truth.