Punch Like a Girl (15 page)

Dad starts walking toward the den. Joel is forced to stumble alongside.

“I didn't do anything!” he yells.

“Let's talk, son,” I hear Dad say before he closes the glass doors to the den and I'm left alone in the kitchen with my mother.

I shiver. “Can we call the police? See if there's any news?”

“We need to take care of you first.” Mom is all business. “I'll wash your cast the best I can. You hop in the shower.”

“But—”

“Don't fight me on this, Tori. You know how worried I've been about you, and now this! I'm going to take care of you whether you like it or not.”

I let her tug the Velcro straps on my cast loose one by one.

“Now I know you're upset about Casey,” she continues, “but the police are doing everything they can right now, and your job is to wait. You've already told them what you know.”

“It's not enough.” I hang my head. “This is all my fault.”

She lifts my chin and stares fiercely into my eyes. “No, Tori. You're the one who told the authorities what happened! You didn't do this to Casey. Her father did. Do you hear me?”

My chin trembles. “I hear you.” But I don't agree.

“I know you care a great deal about Casey, but the best way to help her at the moment is to take care of yourself, so that when she comes back to the shelter, you'll be there to do your job.”

“What if she doesn't come back?” My voice rises. “What if they never find her? What if she's—?”

“That kind of thinking doesn't help anyone.” Mom lifts my arm and gently pulls off my cast, revealing my pale forearm and hand, caked with grime. “You do stink.” Her nose wrinkles. “Joel's right about that.”

“Fine.” I sigh. “I'll shower. But then I'm calling the police to see if there's any news.”

I trudge to the upstairs bathroom. My head feels heavy, and my legs are wobbly. I strip off my clothes, drop them on the floor and prop myself against the wall of the shower.

The warm water flows over me, washing the pond scum down the drain. As my tight muscles ease, my mind replays the events at Mill Pond Park. When I shut my eyes, all I can see is Casey getting snatched by her father, over and over again. I lather, rinse and get out. It's hard to do with one hand, but I manage.

I'm too tired to shave the peach fuzz off my head. In my room, I throw on some sweatpants and an old T-shirt of Dad's that's strangely comforting. I find my cast on my bed. Somehow Mom has washed and even dried it.

The smell of Dad's spaghetti sauce drifts up the stairs, and my stomach growls. How can I be hungry when Casey is missing?

I look up the phone number of the nearest police station. My cell phone only works sporadically, so I plug it in to charge and head downstairs for the home phone in the living room.

“I'm calling to find out about an investigation,” I say when a woman answers.

“I'm sorry, but we can't release any information about ongoing investigations,” she drones.

“It's about a friend of mine named—”

“To request information about another person, you must supply signed authorization from that individual. You can come down to the station and file a—”

I hang up the phone and march into the kitchen.

“Can you believe the cops won't tell me anything?” I plunk down in a chair at the table, which is set for dinner.

Mom switches on the small
TV
by the window. “We'll listen to the news while we eat.”

“Thanks.” I try not to sound surprised. She usually forbids
TV
during family dinners, and I don't want her to change her mind.

Dad drains the pasta in the sink, and a big cloud of steam billows around his head. “Call your brother. It's almost ready.”

I push the pasta around my plate. I'm hungry and nauseated at the same time. The news announcer talks about everything but Casey.

Joel shovels the spaghetti into his mouth and takes a second helping. Mom and Dad quiz us about our upcoming exams, but I can't care about school. Then they go on about how I need to focus on myself, maybe cut back on community service. As if that's the problem.

When a picture of a cop appears on the screen beside the news announcer, I shush everyone.

“Regional police released details of an
AMBER
Alert today,” the announcer says, “after eight-year-old Casey-Lynn Foster was allegedly abducted at Mill Pond Park by her father, Stewart Foster, who does not have custody of the child.”

They cut to a video of a police officer giving details of what happened and then a description of Casey and her father and the clothes they wore when last seen. Their photos flash side by side on the screen as the announcer mentions the restraining order against Stewart Foster.

The announcer reappears on the screen. “Police have located the suspect's car on a street near Mill Pond Park, and the quick response of search-and-rescue teams means that the suspect and child may still be in the area. The girl's mother, Carita Foster, gave this impassioned plea for her safe return.”

Then there's the annoying reporter Janice Reese with Rita in front of the empty swings at Mill Pond Park.

“Please, Stewart, I just want my daughter back. Whatever may have happened between us, she's not involved.” Rita's eyes water, and so do mine. “It's not too late to do the right thing. Please. Bring Casey-Lynn home.”

The camera cuts to a close-up of Janice Reese, with the pond behind her. “At
4
:
30
PM
, Mill Pond Park was filled with joggers, kids with their parents and many others, but as one distraught witness points out, no one was able to prevent this abduction from happening.”

Then, to my horror, they show a clip of me. “The girl has a right to be safe,” I explode onscreen. “Where were you when she needed help?”

Joel cheers. “Good one, Tori.”

I swat him to shut him up. How is ranting at a reporter a good thing?

“What was that for?” He rubs his arm.

I sink lower in my chair, ignoring him. I looked more like a maniac than a reliable witness.

“Stop hitting your brother, Tori,” Dad says absentmindedly as he watches the
TV
.

Janice Reese is still talking. “Friends and neighbors have joined local police officers in the search for Casey-Lynn in the surrounding area. Officers have set up a volunteer base in the parking lot at Mill Pond Park.”

I don't wait to hear any more. “I have to help.” I stand. “Don't try to stop me.”

“You need to eat more,” Mom begins.

I scoop a huge forkful of spaghetti into my mouth. “Are you coming or not?” I say through my food.

“Of course we are.” Dad pushes back his chair.

Joel gets out his cell phone. “I'll call Roger.”

“Fine. But it's against my better judgment.” Mom's eyes settle on me. “We should take some flashlights for when it gets dark.”

I take the stairs two at a time. When I get to my room, I grab my phone and send out a mass text to my friends, begging them to help with the search. I don't care if I sound dumb or desperate. Only Casey matters now. I hope at least Alena and Jamarlo will come.

When I get a text back, I check my phone.

It's from Matt. My fingers tighten around the phone.

Saw u on tv. Looking good. We should finish what we started.

I throw my phone across the room and head out.

SEEK
to search for an end

My family piles into the
SUV
, with Mom driving and me stuck in the back beside Joel. Dad turns on the radio, and we hear about the
AMBER
Alert again. We stop at the
7
-Eleven for flashlight batteries, even though it's still light, and Dad reports that the alert is on the lottery terminal screen too. I hope all this attention will be enough to bring Casey back safely.

Joel taps a beat with his fingers against his thigh. I strain against my seat belt to see how fast Mom is going.

“Can you at least go the speed limit?” I grip the back of Dad's seat with my good hand.

“It's not me,” Mom says, frowning into the rearview mirror. “It's this traffic.”

The cars ahead of us are crawling, even though it's after rush hour and we're on a side street.

“Shouldn't these people be at home watching
TV
or something?” I scowl.

When we turn the corner onto Mill Street, a line of cars with red brake lights jams the road. More cars are parked in front of the houses, on both sides of the street.

“This is as far as we go.” Mom wedges the
SUV
between two other cars.

“What are all these people doing here?” I grab a flashlight and open my door.

“Maybe they're joining the search,” Dad says.

“You think?” I glance at all the people heading toward Mill Pond Park.

As we hike the few blocks to the park, a stream of people joins us, and clouds cover the evening sun just above the treetops. When the playground and pond come into view, I can't help but relive the horrible moments with Stewart Foster and Casey.

I shiver. My broken hand throbs.

Dad grips my good hand as if he understands. Mom squeezes my shoulder.

The parking lot across the street from the playground is packed with people. The two entrances are blocked off by police cruisers with flashing lights. I'd be overwhelmed by the number of people if they weren't all here for Casey.

Red and white lights from the police cars blaze across the faces. I see my World History teacher, Mr. Hadley, with a woman who must be his wife. There's Jamarlo with Carmen and a few other people from school. I spot Alena with both of her parents. Her bald, round father is still in his suit. Her mother gives me a somber wave. Janice Reese blabbers while her cameraman films her and the crowd. Residents and workers from the shelter meet up with Sal and a boy who has to be his brother. They have the same swoop of dark brown hair across their foreheads.

“There's Roger,” Joel says, and then he pushes off into the crowd.

“Keep your cell phone on,” Dad calls.

“He forgot his flashlight.” Mom follows Joel.

Marla, Nong and Trish from the Screamin' Demons swarm me. They look different out of uniform and with their hair down.

“Tori!” Marla yells. “You were awesome on
TV
. Coach is here too. And Alena.”

“I can't believe you came.” I shake my head.

“Of course we did.” Nong elbows me.

“We're a team.” Marla smiles. “Even if you can't play.”

They ask me how I know Casey, and I tell them about working at the shelter. I don't mention that it's community service for my supposed crime.

Then I see Lenore from the house with the blue door. She's at the far end of the lot, near a group of six or so police officers wearing fluorescent vests. I catch glimpses of her passing out flyers. Her cane is propped beside her.