“Wow, you really let those cops do a number on you.” Audrey’s expression of concern turned into a mischievous smile. “But think of it this way—at least then you could go to prison. That ought to be pretty manageable. Who knows, you might even be prom queen.”
But I’m like, “That’s not funny. I mean, listen, you have no idea what it was like sitting in that police station having a couple of cops trying to hound you into confessing to something you didn’t do, treating you like everything you ever did doesn’t matter. I guarantee there’s nothing more depressing than knowing morons have complete power over you.”
“Really, Dylan? What do you think it’s like being g*y? I have the whole legal system telling me I’m not good enough to fall in love and get married, but that’s because they’re losers, not me.”
“Yeah, well, good for you.”
Brenda, the waitress, walked up to take our order, and when she left, I’m like, “My problem is I don’t have any mojo. That’s what I need. I need to get some mojo.”
“Some what?”
“Mojo. You know, power.”
“I don’t think that’s what mojo is.”
“Of course that’s what it is. Mojo. Juice. Pull. Clout. Respect.”
“No.” Audrey shook her head. “I don’t think that’s it. I don’t think you know what you want.”
“Why do you always have to disagree with me so much?”
“Because you’re wrong so much?”
“Really? Think about this—what if Hector had been some rich dude? Things would be different now. The cops would do a whole lot more investigating into what happened instead of just rubber-stamping it as an accidental overdose. And on top of that, I’d get a lot more respect for finding him that night. That’s mojo.”
“And you think that’d change everything?”
“It’d be a start.”
“Then why don’t you go looking for Ashton Browning?”
“Ashton who?”
“Browning. Ashton Browning. The missing girl who’s all over the news.”
“What missing girl? I haven’t heard anything about it.”
“Of course you haven’t. And that’s exactly why you’ll never be the editor of the school paper—because you never actually pay attention to the news.”
Audrey was always trying to goad me into taking the paper more seriously.
Acting all exasperated, she pulled out her phone—which I’d like to point out was a lot more expensive than mine—and started looking up the news story online. “Here it is. Come here.”
I moved over to her side of the booth. Sure enough, it was a big story. There was even a video about it from the local news. Apparently, this Ashton Browning girl was the daughter of a banking big shot. I don’t even think he was president of the bank—he was more like the boss of the president. Anyway, Ashton told her friends she was going jogging at the nature park north of town, where you can go hiking or running if that’s what you’re into, among the squirrels and foxes and lizards and whatnot. She never came home. Officials—whoever they were—found her car there but no trace of her.
I stared at her photo—seventeen, blond, blue-eyed, rich. It’s funny—some people you can tell they’re rich just by looking at them, and she was definitely one of those people. But there was something else about her too, a certain mystery in those blue eyes. It made a weird contrast to her little thin smile. I felt like she was looking straight into me, asking, “Can’t you help me?”
I guess maybe I fell a little bit in love with her right then.
“There you go,” Audrey said. “Made to order. You find her, and you’ve got your mojo—or whatever.”
“Yeah, but how am I going to find her?”
“I don’t know, Dylan. You’re the detective-show junkie.”
Then I’m like, “Wait a minute. Look at this. They’re asking for volunteers to come out to the nature park tomorrow to help search the place, I guess for clues or who knows—maybe her body.”
“Well, you’ve got experience with that.”
“You’re right. I do.” That’s when it hit me, the whole investigative-journalist thing and all the mojo that went with it. Sure, I didn’t know Ashton like I knew Hector, but in a weird way I felt like if I could find her, it’d be like making things up to Hector. “This is it,” I said. “This is what I was meant to do. We have to go out there.”
“What do you mean, we? I’m not going out there. I was just kidding you. They have all the cops they need to find her. You’d just get in the way.”
“I won’t get in the way. It says right here they need volunteers. I’d make as good a volunteer as anyone. Besides, I could write about it for the school newspaper, and you could take the pictures. After all, you’re the one always telling me I need to take on some more hard-hitting topics.”
I had her there. She sat staring at the phone for a second. “You know, you’re actually right for once. This would make a great story. And I could get some seriously kick-ass photos.”
“I’m telling you.”
Brenda came back with our order and I moved back to my side of the booth. The Number 11 sat there on the table, gazing up at me with all its fat-packed goodness, like a reward for coming up with the best idea since the invention of the emoticon.
“There’s just one problem,” Audrey said as she lifted her meatless Number 2 from the dish. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. Don’t you work Saturday?”