Finding Abbey Road (5 page)

“March first . . . that's six days from now,” I say. “But that might not be his apartment. He could be in another one. And just because he lived there a long time ago, doesn't mean he's still there . . .”

“Yeah, but these pictures with Melanie,” says Caleb, “that little painting in the guitar case . . . This place was obviously important to him, sentimental. Jerrod said he's been using a fake name. Maybe once he got it all set up, it was safest to stay put?”

“But then he came to New York, and now Jerrod's telling him to disappear . . .” My brain is so overloaded that I start counting on my fingers. “He's been back from New York for two . . . maybe three days, depending on what time his flight was. It will take him at least a few days to move, won't it?”

“We can't get this close and then just lose him!” says Caleb.

Sitting there, I feel wild thoughts spinning in my head. Things a sensible person wouldn't say. But given everything we've been through, and now this picture, and even that email from Andre, I just say them anyway:

“What if we don't let him get away?”

“How are we going to stop him?”

“Let's go,” I hear myself say, almost like someone has taken control of my body. Except I also feel like,
no
, this is me, really me, Summer and Catherine, all of us, my terrified, hopeful, brave core. “We have five days before the first of March. Five days to get to London before Eli moves. Eli will never expect us to show up right away. Neither will Jerrod.”

“Because that would be crazy,” says Caleb.

I can't help smiling, while also shivering inside. “Yes, it would be.”

Caleb cracks a smile. But then it disappears. “But how the hell are we going to do that? There's no way to get a gig on that short notice, and besides there's school and the cost and no way our parents will go for it.”

“But yours
will
,” I say. “If you tell Charity and Randy about this? I bet they'd let you go. They might even come along. Either way, they'd help us. Don't you think?”

“Maybe,” says Caleb. “But yours? That seems pretty unlikely.”

I know he's right but I keep working through it, no matter how it makes my heart hammer. “They might if I'm going with you and your mom and Randy. And you know what? Why
shouldn't
they? They're getting everything they want from me. Their Stanford girl. And this is so important—”

“They just grounded you.”

“They grounded me for being dishonest,” I agree. “What if I'm finally honest?” These thoughts are rushing out of me, wild and half-formed but also things that have been bubbling in my brain ever since Dad bought me that plane ticket home from New York. The realization that I never truly express how I feel, that I predict what they think, label them Carlson Squared, and use that as an excuse to avoid telling them the truth about me.

The truths that would be difficult for them to hear.

But there again, I don't even know that for sure! It's not like I'm pregnant or taking drugs or want to join a cult or be a veterinarian. I just want to follow my passion for music. Not exactly scandalous. But it does go against the expectations that have been there my whole life.

The
plan.

“I've never tried to really tell them how I actually feel about any of it,” I say to Caleb, my words spilling out. “I always assume that I know what their answer will be. I've hidden some of my biggest dreams from them.” As I say that, it feels impossible that I've let this happen. “What
could it possibly hurt to ask them? And what could possibly be the big deal about missing, say, three days of school? I'm practically valedictorian.”

“Yeah, but,” Caleb says, “they're your parents.”

“So what,” I snap, “don't even try?”

Caleb grins. “God, no, that's not what I'm saying.” He kisses me. “Yes, definitely try. It's completely crazy, but yes. We can have my mom call your parents, even. That will make them see how big a deal this is. They'd have to let you go, wouldn't they?”

I nod, my brain feeling spinny. “Maybe it would work. But what about Val?”

“Nothing's stopping her from coming except the same money issue we all have.”

“And Matt? Do we see if he can go?”

“We at least tell him what we're up to and see what he thinks.”

“And Jon?” I hate to even bring Jon up. He's a sore topic for all of us, but especially for Caleb. They disagreed the most, and I know Caleb feels on some level like Jon's departure was his fault.

Caleb stares out the window for a moment. “The whole drive home this weekend I was back and forth between
screw him
and
maybe we can get him back.
But . . . I don't trust him. He's so hooked in with Ethan and Jason now. I hate saying that. I just think it's too risky.”

“Yeah,” I say. I'm not ready to agree that we can't trust
him, but even just being reminded of the names Ethan and Jason makes my skin crawl.

“What about the cost?” says Caleb. “Should we ask my mom and Randy to pay for the plane tickets?”

“We can pay them back with show money,” I say. “Summer jobs, anything we can do. My parents
should
be able to chip in, but let's ask Randy and Charity first.”

I try to think of what we're missing. . . . “Passports. Do you have one?”

Caleb nods. “Mom and my grandmother took me to Italy when I was thirteen. You?”

“Mexico vacation,” I say. “Do you think Val does?”

“I'll ask her.” Caleb types into his phone.

I check the time. “We should be back by the end of school. If we talk to Matt, then go talk to your mom and Randy. . . . Then we try my parents tonight. Worst case, they say no and you go without me.”

Caleb wraps his arm around me. “There's no way I'm going without you.”

We kiss, and the warmth of it beats back the drumming of my nerves. “We could leave by Wednesday,” I say hopefully. “We could be in London by the end of the week.”

Caleb nods. “I'd say this is crazy, but, what hasn't been in all this?”

I kiss him again, and our faces stay together for a minute, breathing each other's air. “All we can do is try.”

2:24 p.m.

We walk past the main school doors just as the first students are rushing out. I already feel like a foreigner, like we've forever broken the bonds that keep us trapped in orbit around Mount Hope High day after day.

Everyone is chatting, laughing, rushing to the next thing. Part of me wishes my biggest worry today was band practice, or a PopArts project, or where Caleb and I were going on our next date. Classic senior year stuff. We pass my old friends, Jenna, Callie, and the rest, with a couple guys I don't know. I have this weird feeling, a sort of vague itch, like all of them bother me, or like I feel left out? Which doesn't really make sense. But I've given up on expecting all my feelings to make sense at this point. None of us make eye contact as I walk by.

Caleb and I head for the Green Room, staying outside school, buffeted by the exodus. I keep flipping back and forth between thinking we can pull off finding Eli and thinking it's insane. But if I've learned anything these past few months, it's that sometimes you just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other and not worrying about the what-ifs. There's a very good chance this won't work out, but until it's actually dead, there's still a chance.

The Green Room is already crowded when we arrive, but I see that the hierarchy of bands still applies, and that despite our current troubles, Dangerheart's table by the
espresso bar remains vacant. Waiting for us.

As we cross the room, I hear a few whispers amidst the usual din:
Denver, New York, she ran away . . .
It's gossip but, in a way, the band might be even more revered, now that our road trip adventures have leaked out.

The question is, will any of the other members show up?

A few minutes later we get our answer: Matt, yes. Jon, no.

“Hey, Matty,” I say, giving him a gentle hug before he sits down. His eye is still purple and swollen; so's his nose. Two butterfly bandages cross his eyebrow, a couple stitches beneath that. It's like an abstract artist has attacked his boyish features.

“Hi.” He notices me noticing. His voice is muffled from the swelling.

“How are you feeling?” Caleb asks.

Matt smiles, but the injuries make it lopsided. “Not bad. The headaches have mostly gone away. Except for the headache that is my pissed-off parents.”

“They weren't happy, huh?”

Matt laughs, but then winces, as if laughing hurts. “Randy called them from the ER, once we knew it was serious enough that I needed stitches and scans and stuff. So, they were prepared, and they even bought the story that I slipped on icy steps, but when they actually saw me last night? Yeah, they still freaked out.”

“I'm sorry,” I say.

Matt nods. “It's okay. So . . . ,” he starts but then glances up and pauses.

Maya Barnes is at the front of the espresso line. She leans on the counter, eyes straight ahead, face stone.

“Hey, Maya,” Matt says weakly.

Her face twitches, her eyes looking big and wet, but she shifts her body so she can't see us.

“Ouch,” says Caleb quietly.

“That went well,” says Matt with a sigh.

“I don't think either of us are very high on her list,” I say.

Matt lowers his voice. “Any word from Val?”

“She's safe,” says Caleb. “But I don't know many details.”

“At least somebody's heard from her.” Matt sounds like he wishes that was him.

“You're really into her, aren't you,” I say.

Matt shrugs. “But I don't think it matters. We started hooking up months ago, but it always felt like it was just sort of random for her. Like she wasn't all there. I mean, I get it. . . .” It sounds like it still hurts.

I think of what Val said when we were going to her mom's house and I know that Matt's right. Not that Val isn't into him, but it's never going to be a crush or a real relationship, not now anyway. “She's going through a lot,” I say, and it feels like a vague and lame thing to say, and it
makes Matt's face fall because it sort of confirms what he suspected, but that's probably best for everyone.

“Has anybody talked to Jon?” he asks.

“No. You?”

“Nope.”

“So, now what?” Matt wonders. “Find a guitarist? Practice for the release show?”

“Um . . .” I'd totally forgotten about our EP release show. I booked it right before we left on tour. It's a couple weeks from now at Haven, with All Hail Minions! “I should maybe reschedule that.”

“Yeah. And what about Candy Shell?”

“Actually, things have gotten complicated. Listen . . . ,” Caleb begins, and in a hushed voice he fills Matt in on what we know about Eli. “You can't tell anyone,” he finishes, “under any circumstances. Swear it.”

Matt is speechless for a second. “Sure, I swear. Let me guess: you want to go to London and find him before he disappears.”

The way he says it cracks my fragile confidence. Like it's completely far-fetched. Even though I know he doesn't mean it that way, it gives voice to the very reasonable doubt I've been feeling, that there's no way we can pull this off. “That's what we're thinking,” I say anyway. “Are you in?”

Matt's fingers run over the swollen skin beside his eye. “Come on, are you serious? There is no way I'm asking my parents for that. They would lose their minds. You guys go.”

“We're a band,” says Caleb.

“Sure,” says Matt, “and we just got off an epic tour. But you're a family. Go figure it out, and we'll take it from there.” Matt checks his watch. “I gotta get going. Mom's taking me for a second opinion on my face.”

As Matt leaves, Caleb slumps in his seat.

“It's okay,” I say, rubbing his leg. “We couldn't really expect him to come along, after what he's been through.”

“I know. I just wish it could be all of us.”

We grab much-needed americanos and get in Caleb's car. It's time to tell Charity and Randy, and hopefully get their help. We pull out of the parking lot and Caleb's phone buzzes. He checks it and hands it to me.

Val: Yes passport. Cruise with cousins, age fourteen. Drank rum. Not pretty.

“At least she's covered,” I say. “Did you text your mom and Randy?”

“Yeah, I told them we wanted to chat after school, that it was important. No replies yet, though.”

As we drive I check out airfare. “It's going to take a lot of gigs to pay back Randy and Charity,
if
they even go for this.”

“How much?” Caleb asks.

“Like about fifteen hundred dollars each,” I say, trying another travel site. “Looks like Wednesday would be the cheapest day to fly. Maybe if there's record label money . . .”

“The label,” Caleb groans. “What are we going to tell Jason?”

“I don't know,” I say. “One thing at a time.”

“Okay. I— Oh shit.”

“What?” I look up and see that we are turning onto Caleb's street.

And I see the police car parked in front of his house.

2:56 p.m.

Randy's stalker van is in the driveway. We park beside it and shuffle slowly up the walkway, holding hands, not speaking.

They are in the living room: Charity, Randy, a uniformed police officer, and another woman in a suit, sitting stiffly on the couches across from each other.

“Hi guys,” says Charity, her face tight.

Caleb and I stand frozen in the doorway, no idea what to do.

“You're Caleb?” says the plainclothes officer, a badge around her neck. She checks a notepad. “And . . . Catherine?”

“Yes.”

We both answer like it's elementary school attendance. My heart is slamming, and I can feel Caleb's hand shaking in mine.