Girl, Missing

  I wondered what was wrong. In the past few days Annie had seemed calmer than before. She’d even stopped creeping around me all the time. But tonight she was definitely jittery as hell.

  At seven o’clock the doorbell went. Annie jumped like she’d been shot. ‘Lauren, would you get that?’

  I trotted across to the front door.

  Mum and Dad stood on the mat outside.

  My mouth fell open.

  ‘Hello, sweetheart.’ Mum drew me into an enormous hug.

  ‘What’s going on? I thought you weren’t due back until tomorrow.’

  ‘Annie and Sam invited us.’ Dad raised his eyebrows, as if to say ‘we’ve got no more idea than you do’.

  We went through to the living area. Sam and Annie were standing there looking ultra-serious. Mum and Dad stared at them. I caught Jam’s eye. This was by far the most bizarre situation I think I’d ever found myself in.

  No one said anything.

  I cleared my throat.

  ‘Er, Mum and Dad, this is . . .’ I turned to Sam and Annie. ‘This is . . . er . . . my mum and dad.’

  Jam laughed. Everybody else looked awkward.

  Sam held out his hand. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said.

  Mum and Dad sat down on the sofa opposite Annie and Sam.

  ‘I’ll make some coffee in a minute,’ Annie said. ‘But I think if I don’t say this now I’ll burst or cry or something stupid.’

  I stared at her.

  Sam coughed. ‘First off, we wanted to apologise for ever believing you were involved in Lauren’s kidnapping. We know that you did . . . er . . . what you did, thinking you were saving her.’

  Annie nodded. ‘And we want you to know that we think you’ve done a wonderful job as her parents. She’s a lovely girl.’

  Mum gave a half-smile. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘And thank you for what you told Lauren and our lawyers about not fighting to keep us out of Lauren’s life altogether. Knowing that you understand . . .’ Her voice faltered. ‘Is that what you wanted to talk about?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Sam said. ‘We know that you love her very much and we’ve talked to Lauren. It’s obvious she feels she belongs with you . . .’ Sam’s voice croaked. He stopped and looked down.

  Annie squeezed his hand. She looked at me. ‘When I saw your face . . . the way you lit up when we told you we weren’t going to fight you seeing your . . . your parents, I – we realised . . .’ She took a deep breath and looked over at Mum and Dad. ‘We wanted you to be here when we told Lauren that . . . that if it’s what she wants, once the hearing establishes the earlier adoption was invalid, we won’t fight your application to formally adopt her, legally this time, and have her go back home to England.’

  I gulped. Glanced over at Mum and Dad. They were both staring at Annie and Sam. Mum’s eyes filled with tears.

  No one spoke. My heart thumped loudly in my ears.

  ‘Thank you.’ Mum’s voice was a whisper. She looked at Dad. He nodded.

  Mum cleared her throat. ‘It’s up to you, Lauren. We know finding your birth parents meant everything to you. It’s your decision. Whatever you decide, we’ll support it.’

  What?

  They all looked at me. I blinked rapidly. I could choose? I felt Jam’s arm round my shoulder.

  Mum and Dad meant rows and school and boring England. But it also meant being with Jam. And it was home.

  But how could I leave Annie and Sam’s? I hadn’t spent enough time here yet – with my family. I wanted to get to know Annie better. And my grandparents. Jeez. I had relatives I hadn’t even met yet. And I wanted to go sailing with Sam again when he got his new boat. And, most of all, I wanted to be here for Madison.

  I gazed round at my parents’ anxious, tearful faces. Glane’s words came into my head.

  You have four parents who love you. For that maybe it is possible to belong in two places.

  A slow smile spread across my face.

  ‘I don’t want to choose,’ I said.

  They all stared at me. Dad cleared his throat. ‘We don’t want to make you,’ he said. ‘But we have to . . .’

  ‘I mean I don’t want to choose between you,’ I said. I looked at them, grinning.

  Mum and Sam were frowning. Annie sniffed. ‘But how . . . ?’

  ‘Don’t you get it?’ I said. ‘I choose all of you.’

  And that’s how we worked it out. I’m probably the first person in the history of the world with four legally recognised parents across two continents. I spend school terms at home in London, and at least half the holidays in Evanport. Annie and Sam and my sisters come to England for holidays sometimes too.

  Jam and I are totally an item. I see him all the time at home in London – and he often comes with me to Evanport too. Sam pays for the flights. Jam still doesn’t see his dad and, well, he’s never got on with Carla. To be honest, I think he looks on Annie and Sam as substitute parents. Sometimes Glane pops down from Boston and takes us out too.

  So that’s how it is. I never spend more than a few weeks at a time away from either of my families and we talk and text loads too. It doesn’t leave much time for other stuff and it isn’t always easy, especially when I’ve just arrived somewhere, but all in all I probably get on with everyone better than I would if I lived with them fulltime.

  We got a new teacher the other day. She made us do one of those Who am I? essays again. This time it was easy. I just wrote about my life.

  About me.

  Girl, found.

  Acknowledgements

  This story started with the internet, in particular: www.baaf.org.uk (the website of the British Association for Adoption and Fostering), www.missingkids.com, www.ukadoption.com and Vermont Statutes Online at www.leg.state.vt.us/statutes.

  I am especially grateful to Julia Alanen, supervising attorney for the international division of the US National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, for her time and her interest.

  And thanks, also, to Elizabeth Hawkins, Moira Young, Gaby Halberstam, Julie Mackenzie, Sharon Flockhart, Melanie Edge, Jane Novak, Alastair McKenzie, Pam McKenzie and Ciara Gartshore.

  READ THE FIRST EXCITING BOOK

  IN THIS BRAND NEW

  SOPHIE MCKENZIE SERIES!

  I’m Nico and what I’m about to tell you is Secret and Dangerous and True. It’s also several planetary systems beyond Weird. Here’s how it started . . .

  Picture this . . . Friday morning. A whole-school assembly in the big hall. Rows and rows of teenagers in lines of plastic chairs. I was sitting there, towards the back – dark hair, brown eyes – the guy all the girls wanted to get their hands on.

  Only joking.

  Anyway, there we all were, sunlight blistering in through high windows and the head teacher, Fergus Fox, droning on.

  He’s not just the head teacher. He’s also my stepdad. I’ve lived with him in his boarding school since my mum died of cancer when I was five. We don’t get on, for reasons which will soon become obvious.

  But this isn’t about him.

  If it’s about anyone, it’s about her . . . Ketty.

  She was sitting two rows in front and four seats to the left of me. You’re probably surprised I can remember that little detail. Well, get used to it. When it comes to Ketty, I tend to remember everything.

  That day she had her dark, curly hair in a ponytail, tied back with a piece of string. Very Ketty, that string. She doesn’t go in for girly things like ribbon – she’s practical. Doesn’t wear loads of make-up or jewellery either and I’ve never seen her in a dress.

  My eyes kept sliding over to where she was sitting. Which is when I saw Billy Martin put his arm round her shoulders. My mouth fell open. Everything else dropped away, even the sound of Fergus’s droning voice. I waited for Ketty to push the arm away. But she didn’t. Instead, she leaned in closer.

  No way. But there it was. My best friend . . . with Billy Martin.

  I looked away. Tried to calm myself. But my eyes kept g
oing back to them.

  I couldn’t believe she’d go with Billy. What did he have that I didn’t? Apart from a load of money, of course. But Ketty wouldn’t be interested in that, would she?

  I looked up at the stage and tried to concentrate on what Fergus was talking about. Some long, dull lecture about the appropriate way to wear your school uniform.

  Billy’s hand was on Ketty’s arm now, his fingertips moving slightly up and down.

  I tore my eyes away and felt the fury building in my chest.

  It’s your own fault, said the voice in my head. You’ve been friends for months. You’ve had every chance to ask her out yourself.

  It was true. Worse, I didn’t even know why I hadn’t said anything to Ketty so far.

  Actually, I did.

  It was because I’d been sure Ketty would say no. I mean, we got on really well, but she was so completely into her running it was like there wasn’t room for anything else important.

  I didn’t want to think about that so I tried to focus on Fergus again. But everything about him was annoying me now – his solemn face . . . his serious voice . . . I mean, he was talking about school uniform, for God’s sake, not war or dying babies.

  Billy squeezed Ketty’s arm and smiled. I half thought of jumping up and pointing and shouting for the teachers to stop them. But even I’m not that crazy.

  And then Ketty turned her head to look at him and right there, in front of everyone . . . in front of me . . . she smiled back at him.

  A great, big, loved-up smile.

  My stomach turned over. I could feel my face flooding red. I stared through the nearest window. It was open just a fraction. I imagined storming over to it and slamming it shut. Hard.

  With a sudden swerve, the window swung wide open. I jumped. Before I could even register what was happening, the window slammed shut.

  Several people sitting nearby looked round. I watched as the window opened and slammed shut again, then opened once more.

  I glanced at the curtains beside it. As I did, they lifted away from the wall, like a gust of wind had rippled through them.

  My eyes tore round the room. More curtains moved. Some floated up for a second and dropped again. Others flew high into the air. What was going on? Around me I could hear people gasping. Whimpers and anxious squeals from the younger kids filled the air.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Why’s everything moving?’

  In the background Fergus’s voice was a loud appeal. ‘Be quiet. It’s just a freak gust of wind. Stay in your seats.’

  My eyes lit on the clock beside the stage – a big, open, white-faced clock with black hands and numbers. The clock hands moved – first slowly, then faster and faster, whizzing until they were a blur.

  I blinked and the hands stopped.

  Which is when it struck me. This was no freak wind.

  It was me.

  I was making everything move.

  My heart hammered like a machine gun. I glanced away from the clock, to a vase that teetered on the table by the stage . . . to the windows on the other side of the room. More curtains flew up. A chair tipped against the wall. The vase smashed.

  Whatever I looked at was moving – violently, angrily. Like I was riding a wave of anger and every time I looked at something that wave crashed down.

  How am I doing this?

  For a second I felt like I was two people: one watching what was going on along with everyone else; the other somehow making it happen.

  My eyes swept back to the clock. As I stared, it fell off the wall and crashed to the floor. Jesus. Screams now around me. A girl sobbing in the row behind.

  ‘Help! Make it stop!’

  My eyes flashed back to the window where the whole thing had started. It was still standing wide open. Mr Rogerson, the maths teacher, was walking towards it, hands outstretched.

  Before he reached the window, I willed it to shut.

  It did. Noisily.

  I closed my eyes. My heart pounded. How was this happening?

  From the stage, Fergus’s voice sounded low and reassuring.

  ‘Calm down, everyone. Like I said, it’s just a freak wind. It’s over.’

  I took a deep breath and looked up, my pulse slowing. It was over at last. People in the hall were glancing round – some nervously, others with wide, wondering eyes. The babble of voices rose.

  ‘Did you see that chair tip up against the wall?’

  ‘And the clock hands going mad?’

  ‘Man, that vase just exploded!’

  I looked over at Ketty. She was gazing round, her goldenbrown eyes huge circles. At least Billy didn’t have his arm round her any more. I stared down at my lap. Fergus was still talking over the hubbub.

  ‘Just a freak storm . . .’ he repeated like a mantra. ‘Everyone be quiet . . . Show’s over.’

  Slowly the anxious voices died away.

  ‘Stand and file out from the back, row by row,’ Fergus went on. ‘If you are close to the smashed clock or the broken vase, please be careful.’

  I kept my eyes on the ground as we stood up. At least Fergus had assumed it was a freak storm. Not a freak stepson. My heart was still beating fast. What if I looked up and the whole thing started again? I shot a swift glance sideways, at my vacated chair. No movement. Good.

  My stomach twisted with cramps as we walked out. None of this made sense.

  Everyone around me was still talking about the ‘storm’. And then a large hand clamped down on my shoulder. ‘There you are.’ Fergus spun me round and glared down at me. ‘This way,’ he said.

  Reluctantly, I followed him away from the crowds. As we reached his office Fergus looked round, as if to make sure we couldn’t be overheard.

  ‘What in God’s name did you think you were doing?’ he spat.

  ‘What?’ I said, startled. ‘When?’

  ‘Don’t play games with me, Nico. I know it was you causing that mess in assembly.’

  My mouth fell open. How could Fergus possibly know it was me? ‘What?’ I said, weakly.

  Fergus frowned. ‘How long has it been going on?’

  My mouth closed, then opened again. My head felt like it might explode. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I stammered.

  Fergus crossed his arms. ‘Okay, you don’t want to talk to me. So listen.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘The power you have is evil. I don’t ever want you to use it again. Understand?’

  I stared at him.

  Fergus gripped my arm and gave me a little shake. ‘Nico, are you listening to me? This power – moving things . . . telekinesis, whatever you want to call it . . . I’m telling you it’s evil.’

  ‘And I’m telling you I have no idea what you’re on about,’ I said, pulling my arm away. I turned to go.

  ‘Come back here!’ Fergus barked.

  No. I stuck my finger up at him and dived back into the crowd. As I made my way up to my dorm, my heart started pumping hard again.

  How did Fergus know that it had been me moving things with my mind? And why was he saying it was evil?

  An ice-cold shiver circled my throat.

  What on earth was happening to me?

  Fergus didn’t mention me giving him the finger later. Well, he didn’t really have a chance. I arrived at the last minute for his history class and left as soon as the bell rang. As usual he picked on me all through the lesson, asking me the hardest questions, and giving me the least time to answer. Whenever I asked him why he gave me such a hard time in class, he’d say that because I was his stepson, it was important the other students didn’t think he was showing me any favouritism. Like it might hurt their feelings.

  What about my feelings? He never stopped to think how embarrassing his behaviour was for me.

  It didn’t used to be like that. When I was younger, we got on great. Maybe that was the trouble – Fergus still wished I was nine years old, or something. He certainly still treated me like I was.

  After lessons f
inished, I went to the library and searched the internet. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for exactly, then I clicked through to this psychic phenomenon site and there it was. Telekinesis – that word Fergus had used. Also known as psychokinesis: the power to move objects without touching them.

  Apparently loads of people throughout history have claimed to be able to do this. In the olden days they’d be burned as witches. More recently they were likely to get their own TV show.

  But no one had ever scientifically proven what they could do. And I couldn’t find any records of people unable to control their abilities either, though similar stuff happened quite often in horror movies.

  Not exactly a reassuring discovery.

  It was almost 5 p.m. by then, and the light was fading. I went outside and spent about half an hour trying – and failing – to move a twig on the grass near one of the school benches.

  I didn’t get it. I’d hurled a clock off the wall when I hadn’t been trying . . . but now I couldn’t move a twig? I slumped onto the bench, closed my eyes and tilted my head towards the dying sun.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  I jumped. Ketty was standing over me. She was dressed in her running gear – sweats and trainers. Her curly hair was still scraped back into a string-tied ponytail and her skin was glowing. She smiled, like she was really pleased to see me.

  My heart skipped several beats.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.’ She paused. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Course I am, babe.’ I stood up, shoving my hands in my pockets so she wouldn’t see they were shaking. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

  Ketty’s smile deepened. Her eyes really light up when she grins. And her nose wrinkles. It’s beautiful.

  ‘Whatever. I’ll get on with my run, then.’ She turned to go.

  ‘Wait.’

  She turned back, eyebrows raised. I ransacked my brain for something to say. Part of me wanted to tell her what had happened in assembly, but I was scared she’d think I was a complete freak.

  After all, I thought I was a complete freak.

  ‘Saw you with Billy earlier.’ I smiled. ‘You know he used to bully Curtis to do his homework?’