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“Which class?”
“I don’t know. We have different schedules. Listen. I should go now. I’ve already missed ten minutes of class.”
“Yeah. Sure. Of course. But, Lark”—Jessica pulls a business card out of her jacket pocket and passes it to the girl, who eyes it blankly—“please just call if you’re worried about anything. Anything at all.”
Lark nods and slides the card into her jacket pocket. “Okay,” she says. “I will.”
Jessica watches her leave then, her books tucked under her arm, her teeth chewing hard at the inside of her cheek.
Just as Jessica is leaving, she sees a familiar face. Jefferson. The boy at the birthday dinner at the Bleeding Heart, Fox’s best friend.
She approaches him. “Jefferson?”
He looks at her quizzically. “Er, yeah?”
She flashes her ID card at him. “Jessica Jones. I’m a private investigator. I’m working on a case involving your friend Fox Randall. Do you happen to know where he is right now?”
“Er, yeah. I think he went home right before lunch. Said he was feeling nauseous?”
Jessica looks at the time on a clock on the wall. It’s nearly two. “Are you sure he was going home?”
Jefferson shrugs. “I mean, I guess? That’s what he told me, anyway.”
“Jefferson—” she begins.
“Wait. How did you know my name?”
“Fox’s mother told me about you.”
“But how did you know what I looked like?”
She tuts and sighs. “She showed me a photo. Okay? But listen, I’m trying to find a boy named Sly. Do you have any idea where he might be?”
She sees a muscle twitch in Jefferson’s cheek. “That dude, I mean, I don’t even know who he is. He just started showing up everywhere.”
“Yes, but do you know where he might be right now?”
“No. I have no idea. But, like, half his stories didn’t check out. He said his dad was some kind of, like, sports agent? And that he went to this public school? But Fox checked it all out, turns out he was lying. Fox was really pissed.”
A chill surges through Jessica. “Really pissed when?”
“Last night. Said he was meeting up with him, was going to call him out on it.”
Jessica points at the phone in Jefferson’s hand. “Call him,” she says. “Call Fox right now. Find out where he is.”
“Wait,” says Jefferson. “I mean, you don’t really think he’s done something?”
“I don’t know if he’s done something. So call him. Please.”
“Okay. Okay.”
Jessica watches as Jefferson brings Fox’s number up and presses call.
The call goes straight to voicemail and Jefferson shrugs. “Do you think Sly’s in danger?”
“Yeah. I think he might be.”
“From Fox?”
