You are now Kelsey deStrisse.
You wander into the library to find your study partner, Kyle Gwaltney, so you can study for your Accelerated Math II exam tomorrow. Placing your floral lunch bag on the wooden table, you shift in your Chaco sandals, turning around to see if Kyle's already in the library.
You notice a blond guy; about six feet tall, with a spiffy haircut and strong cologne wander your way. "Oh, hey, Kelsey. Let's start studying…I really can't do badly on this." He sets his book down onto the table and grabs a pencil from his book bag.
"No problem," you tuck a strand of your cocoa-colored hair behind your ear and sit down, taking in his delicious aroma. "So, should we start with the binomial theorem or factoring polynomials first?" You open your lunch sack and take out a ham-and-cheese finger sandwich that Barbie made for you.
Kyle shrugs. "Let's start with…binomial theorem. That'll be a cinch, right? I really, really need to ace math this year…my mom will let me try out for the football team if I do. Aren't you a cheerleader?"
You nod and reach inside your lunch bag, retrieve a bottle of water, and close it with a snap. Suddenly, the thought of Erika Warlett, one of your best friends, comes to your brain. You sigh and rub your forehead vigorously. You haven't seen her since yesterday afternoon, when you had a small argument over the phone before the homecoming game that Centerscore won.
The game that she didn't ever show up to.
You are now Special Agent Natara Fallon.
You count the apartment numbers at the Oliver Apartment Complex and approach #1039. Beside you, Mal shuffles through his pockets and pulls out a squished stick of mint gum. He pops it in his mouth. Your icy glare meets his eyes.
"Mal. Don't tell me you didn't brush your teeth this morning." You try not to sound too grossed out.
"I was in a hurry!" Mal pleads.
You sigh and knock on the door. A heavily tanned, pole-thin girl walks out with a can of store-brand orange soda in her tiny hand.
"Who...who are you?" she asks, in a dazed state. She points at Mal. "Uncle…Uncle Kevin? You said you wouldn't visit anymore…you swore it!" She begins to slap Mal with her trembling hands and screams.
"Lady, please!" Mal pulls Nicolette off of him. "What the hell is going on?"
You whisper: "She's obviously drunk or high, Mal. But we're not here to bust her for the drugs. The murder, remember?"
You eye Nicolette, who is gasping for breath and trembling. The can of soda falls from her hands to the redwine-colored carpet in her apartment.
"Nicolette Reeves, I'm Natara Fallon with the FBI. Last night, Erika Warlett was murdered in an alley by Walker Avenue. The fingerprints on her weapon have been traced and you're our match. Right now, the evidence isn't looking too good for you. Come down to the station with us and answer some questions. You have the right to remain silent." You seem to get that information through to Nicolette's head. She shudders and turns very pale.
"Oh my God…Eri? Eri was murdered? No..no! I never wanted it to turn out this way! I…gahhhh!" She falls to the floor. Mal catches her just in time.
"Whoa now…" you watch and gasp as Nicolette slowly gets up…she doesn't look too good. "Just come with us to the station."
You hand the handcuffs to Mal and watch as he slaps them on Nicolette's wrists. She almost falls to the floor…you can notice tears spilling out of her eyes. There's a wild, but pained gleam in her eye—you recognize it from somewhere. You just can't remember where you last saw it…
Shrugging to yourself, you help Mal escort Nicolette into the squad car, where she looks as if she's going to pass out. You try to remember where you've seen that painful look before…what it resembled…who wore it…
As you sit down in the squad car and shut the door, you catch a glimpse of a tall man with a nice suit on. He has tanned skin and a briefcase in one arm, with a pink polka-dotted raincoat that a child would wear in the other. He looks at the watch on his wrist and then at the red door of Marcus's, a drug store that you and Mal often visit to pick up cold medicine for Katie and Thomas during the winter, when they come home from school with runny noses.
A girl, looking to be about 7 years old, walks out of Marcus's carrying a yellow balloon. She wears pink polka-dotted rain boots that match the coat in the man's arm. He takes her hand and walks down the busy sidewalk, catching a glimpse of the sky, which is beginning to turn grey. You get a good glance at his face and your mind begins to whirl.
He looks so familiar…you say to yourself as Mal begins to drive the car. Black hair, tan skin, tall…where have you seen him before? You shrug and look ahead at the dashboard and see a hectic street ahead of you.
Mal places one hand on your lap and pats it gently. "Well done, partner." He says in a flirty tone.
You smile. "Why thank you, Mal. You're dashing."
"You know," Mal says and looks at you for one moment. He drops his voice to a low tone that only you can hear. "I'd kiss you right now, but we'd get into an auto accident."
You laugh softly. "I thought we were gonna separate work from love, remember?" You playfully remind him, even though you're enjoying every second of his flirty attitude. "Besides, we've got Nicolette in the backseat."
Mal shrugs. "Well, she's only about half-conscious, and I don't remember us discussing work and love…" He smiles.
You sigh, grinning, and sit back in your chair. Suddenly the thought of the mysterious man comes to your brain again. You skim your memories and try to remember his name…his lips look familiar…perhaps you've kissed them before?
Your stomach gives a great lurch. Oscar Santos. It could only be him. And…is that his daughter?
"Er…on second thought, Mal…" Your stomach churns as you gulp out the words and remember Oscar. "I really could use a kiss right now…"
Before you know it, Mal's lips are gently touching yours as the car comes to a stop in front of a red light. "Mmmm…" you smile, and all your memories about him melt away from your mind. You pull away quickly and sigh in relief.
And you remember.
You are now Natara, age 16.
You awkwardly walk through the halls of high school and peer into Mr. Jacobson's classroom. Your wavy, dark-coffee colored hair falls a bit past your shoulders as you take a sideways glance at Mr. Jacobson, who is drawing figures on the blackboard with a smooth piece of chalk.
"Umm…hi," You manage to squeak out of your throat as you slowly walk into the classroom. You smooth out your black miniskirt and peach-colored blouse and shiver slightly. Mr. Jacobson's room is always so cold.
He turns around and flashes you a white, toothy smile. "Natara!" he places his chalk down. "You're back at school! Your mother told me you had the flu. Are you feeling fine?" he gets closer to you, and you catch a whiff of his amazing-smelling cologne.
"Yep…what did I miss yesterday?" You nod and feel your hoop earrings moving to the beat of your quickly-swaying head. The smell puts you into a small trance, as your bat your long eyelashes ever-so-slightly.
Mr. Jacobson walks over to his desk and hands you a literature packet. "Oh, we analyzed The Little Prince and answered questions in essay format from this packet. Today, we're going to see how shapes affect our thoughts and inspiration towards writing. There's a quiz this Friday on poem analysis," he grins and points to the chalkboard, where there are assignments written on the board. He then hands you the literature packet.
"Thank you," you smile a straight, white grin at Mr. Jacobson, your heart pounding. Only twenty-three years old, you consider him to be the cutest person you've ever seen in your life. As your straight smile hits his eye, you're relieved that your father paid for a full set of braces for the fixing of your teeth.
"Of course, Natara. Anytime!" Mr. Jacobson motions for you to leave the classroom. "Now, you're going to be late for music class if you don't hurry. See you in class today!"
You sigh and walk out of the classroom in your clear jelly shoes. You catch a far glimpse of Stella Carrington and Kora Waters, two of your very good friends. You don't bother catching up to them, though…instead, you gracefully walk to orchestra class and take out your violin, where Kora is tuning next to you.
"Hi, Nat!" she grins.
"Hey," you smile and play a quick G-major scale. "What's up?"
Kora shrugs. "Nothing much…do you want to sleep over Friday? Stella, Lindsey, Isa, and Paige are coming over. We've all got a surprise for you! It's a…Natara Special! Just to say 'Happy Sixteenth', you know?"
You nod. "Sure…but I have Book Club on Friday…maybe we can have it after?"
Kora almost laughs at the word "Book Club." She then restrains and has a grin pursed on her lips. "Sure. That'll work. Be at Isa's at 8. Bring a sewing needle!"
You nod and place your bow to your violin's string and begin to practice "Prelude and Gavotte" by Arcangelo Corelli. Your A-string is a bit flat, so you tune and begin to play again. Most of your thoughts are focused on the music, but a tiny bit of your brain thinks: Wait…a sewing needle? Are we going to learn to sew blankets like Mom does for baby Ananya? Your mind then drifts to your baby cousin, not on the sleepover at Isa's on Friday.
But you still ponder about what Kora told you. "A needle…?" you whisper to yourself as Maestro Patterson raises his baton to begin orchestra class. He leads the cellos into beginning Prelude and Gavotte.
You don't think about the needle all day.
You are now Robert Willard, Coach of the San Francisco Greyhounds Baseball team playing in Austin, Texas.
You shuffle in your seat carefully as you eyeball the wall phone. Little Thomas hasn't shown up in eight hours… I've gotta make the phone call now. You reach into your suitcase and pull out your blue three-ring binder and pull out your contacts sheet.
Malachi and Natara Fallon. 555-839-9201.
You don't feel well. The ham-and-cheese sub you ate for lunch rises in your throat as you dial the three fives, the eight, and the three. You sigh and swallow the awful taste in your mouth down as you finish dialing the number.
You've got several cops out investigating Thomas's disappearance. Your baseball team nervously waits in the living room of the hotel suite you're staying in. But still, that doesn't seem like enough support.
"Hello?" a familiar voice comes on the other line. "This is Natara Fallon…who am I speaking with?"
"Robert Willard…" your voice is hoarse. "Thomas's coach."
"Oh, yes! Coach! How'd the team do today?" she asks in a hurried voice. You know she's at work, and she's busy. But you've just got to tell her…
"Er, fine… But I have to inform you, Ms. Fallon, that Thomas disappeared around noon. We last saw him at Villa Rica, the baseball stadium. We've got cops searching his disappearance right now."
There is a bitter pause from the other end.
"Wh…what?" Natara's panicked voice is the last thing you hear before you pass out of nervousness.