Need Page 8

  And when the doorbell rings and my mother’s angry voice calls for me to come downstairs, I am glad for the reminder as I grab my laptop and prepare to face what’s ahead.

  Gina

  DENIED? HOW COULD her request be denied? She did exactly what the site asked her to do.

  Okay. Maybe not exactly what it said. But she shouldn’t be penalized for taking creative license. After all, who could blame her for giving the note a little extra panache? Maybe the bright red lipstick print and the extra line about being turned on by keeping their little secret weren’t part of the instructions, but clearly the note was designed to upset the Frey family’s perfect little world. Getting revenge and concert tickets all in one fabulous package—how awesome that should have been.

  Except it isn’t, because NEED doesn’t understand or appreciate dramatic flair. And she’s being punished for its lack of vision. That’s just plain wrong. Especially since she already told some of her friends that she’d gotten the tickets from NEED. After hearing about Dani’s new camera and Jeanine’s professional makeup artist’s kit, Gina wasn’t going to admit she hadn’t received anything yet. So she swore them to secrecy (yeah, right), since they aren’t supposed to tell others what they received, and told them about the tickets. The way they looked when they heard about the passes—jaws dropped, eyes wide and filled with envy—made waiting in the freezing cold for Luke’s dad to leave the house totally worthwhile. She even parked way down the street and slouched in the seat so no one would see her. Her friends hadn’t had to sit in the cold and they didn’t slip on ice and almost break an ankle walking up Luke’s driveway to deliver a dumb note. They didn’t do anything . . . not really . . . to earn their rewards. She did, and now everyone is expecting her to go to that concert. If she doesn’t go, they’ll all think she lied. Her reputation will be ruined.

  No way in hell is that going to happen. NEED doesn’t know who it’s dealing with, but Gina isn’t one to accept defeat. Especially not when her reputation is on the line. She’s going to get those tickets if it’s the last thing she does.

  Brushing a piece of her dark hair out of her eyes, Gina rereads the infuriating message.

  YOUR NEED REQUEST HAS BEEN DENIED DUE TO INCORRECT COMPLETION OF YOUR FULFILLMENT REQUIREMENT. IF YOU CHOOSE TO RESUBMIT, CAREFULLY READ AND FOLLOW ANY INSTRUCTIONS PROVIDED TO ENSURE YOUR NEED REQUEST IS GRANTED.

  Gina grits her teeth and wants to scream, but catches herself before she does. Her little sister is probably listening at the door, just waiting to run to Mom and tell her that something is wrong. It’s her sister’s fault that Mom and Dad are upset. She borrowed the car to deliver NEED’s note, and they wouldn’t have noticed the car was gone or insisted that she give back the extra set of keys if Krissy hadn’t tattled. Sisters really suck.

  So does this idiotic website. But Gina isn’t going to let it beat her. No one beats her.

  Taking a deep breath, Gina places her cursor in the request field. She frowns at the chip on one of her newly polished nails and starts to type, trying to decide if she should ask for something even more glamorous. Maybe add a limo to take her to the concert.

  With a smug smile, Gina adds the car to her request, rereads what she typed to ensure there’s no miscommunication (since NEED has already demonstrated it has issues with making itself clear), and when she declares the message perfect, hits Send. Take that, NEED. Now when she gets this request granted, she’ll be able to tell her friends that she secured two gifts from the site: the tickets and the limo. They’ll be totally jealous they’re stuck with ordinary things while Gina gets to live like a star.

  The NEED clock ticks away and Gina pushes back from her desk and walks over to her dresser to snag her pink polish. Might as well touch up her nail while she’s waiting for the site to respond.

  Damn. It isn’t just one nail that’s chipped. It’s two. If Gina’s parents weren’t so stubborn, she wouldn’t have to live here and drive two towns over to get a decent manicure. She touches up her nails, carefully replaces the cap on the pink polish so she doesn’t spill it, and then notices the monitor. The clock is gone. Her NEED request must have been accepted. Good. Now she can do whatever it asks and no one will ever know . . .

  Wait. She reads the message on the screen three times to make sure it says what she thinks it does. Are they kidding?

  “Gina. It’s time to go.”

  Ugh. She forgot. Her mother is taking her and her sister to Kenosha so they can spend their Christmas money at the outlet stores. After the whole car thing, it’s a miracle her mother hasn’t canceled.

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” Gina yells, then reads the red lettering again.

  “You have thirty seconds, or we’re leaving without you.”

  “Okay!” Gina stands up, grabs her purse, and casts one last look at the screen before hurrying toward the door. She’s glad to have an excuse not to have to make a decision yet. Because while Gina is normally up for taking a razor to someone’s reputation, she’s never had to destroy a life. Are concert tickets and a limo worth it? Is it worth it to one-up her friends and maintain her reputation?

  For the first time, Gina wishes she were a better person. A better person would say no.

  NETWORK MEMBERS—689

  NEEDS PENDING—684

  NEEDS FULFILLED—165

  Kaylee

  MY MOTHER IS WAITING for me at the bottom of the stairs. She glances at the laptop I hold to my chest. “Officer Shepens says you called the police station this morning. I told him he had to be mistaken.”

  Her dark hair is pulled back, which makes her face look strained. Tired. More disappointed. I didn’t think that was possible. A small corner inside me, the part that wishes for her approval more than anything, wants to agree with her. To say there is a mistake. That there’s no reason for me to call the police without telling her about it before the cops arrive at the door.

  Down the hall, I can see Officer Shepens standing near the kitchen table. His back is to us, but I’m pretty sure he is trying to take in every word we say. I would be.

  “I called and asked to talk to Officer Shepens since he was here yesterday. There’s something I think he needs to know.”

  I walk around my mother and head toward the kitchen. Officer Shepens turns the minute I step through the doorway. Yeah—he was listening all right. Good. Despite the way my cheeks heat, I’m glad he isn’t just phoning it in. NEED is smart. It’ll take someone smarter to shut it down.

  “Thanks for coming,” I say, setting my laptop on the table.

  He nods, unzips his black jacket, and pulls a small notebook from an inside pocket. “You made it sound pretty important. Do both of you want to take a seat?”

  My mother reaches around me for her cup of coffee and then offers Officer Shepens one. He thanks her for the coffee and pulls out the chair directly opposite from where I have sat down. Without waiting for my mom to sit, I say, “Amanda Highland died a few hours ago. I came across something that makes me believe her death was caused by the same thing that’s responsible for what happened in our yard yesterday morning.”

  “Oh my God.” I jump as my mother’s coffee cup clatters to the counter. “Did she confront someone while they vandalized her house?”

  “No.” I cut my mom off before she can start imagining all the awful things that could have happened. “Someone gave her cookies. She ate one and had an allergic reaction that killed her. Isn’t that what happened, Officer Shepens?”

  I assume he’s heard.

  With an unreadable expression, he studies me over the rim of his cup. “Amanda Highland died this morning from anaphylaxis.”

  “That poor family.” Mom sags against the countertop. “When I think about what they must be going through . . .”

  It’s easy for us to imagine what it’s like to lose someone. To have that hole in the fabric of a family. We live with that every day, and without a donor we could lose one more. Amanda’s family must be in hell.

>   “Wait.” Mom shakes her head. “I don’t understand why you called the police about this.” The sadness and concern in her face are replaced by an expression that makes everything inside me go still. “It’s terrible that a girl died, but I don’t see how an allergic reaction could have anything to do with DJ and what happened here.”

  “Kaylee must have seen or heard something that made her believe the two are connected. Right, Kaylee?” Officer Shepens says calmly.

  I rub the palms of my hands on my jeans and swallow down the hurt. I shouldn’t care. I should be used it. But I’m not. I hate that I’m not.

  “There’s this website.”

  “A website?” My mother sighs. “Kaylee . . .”

  Officer Shepens holds up a hand. “Tell me about the website, Kaylee.”

  I keep my eyes on Officer Shepens and say, “It’s new. The site is called NEED and it’s only for Nottawa High School students, but no one is supposed to say what their profile name is or post information that gives away their identity.” Officer Shepens frowns, and inside I cringe. I’m explaining this wrong. So I try again. “The website asks the users to tell it what they need. Once the request is accepted, the site gives you a task to perform in order to get what you asked for. And there’s this message board where people can post links to things they want or post pictures and comment on them. One of the pictures was of the hole in our yard. And there was another with a bakery box sitting on Amanda’s front porch. I—”

  “Kaylee, let me make sure I’m understanding you.” Officer Shepens rests his elbows on the table. “You’re saying there’s a website with photos of your front yard and of Amanda’s house?”

  “Not her house,” I answer him. “The front stoop. There was a green and white bakery box sitting next to the front door. And the photo of our yard was taken before I ran outside. The box hadn’t been put into the hole yet. And—”

  “And you realize this is hard to believe.” Officer Shepens’s voice is kind, but his words turn me cold. “Unless you can show us what you’re talking about . . .”

  “I can.” I open the cover of my laptop as the doorbell rings. “I can prove that I’m not making this up.”

  “Hey. Is someone here?” DJ’s voice calls from upstairs.

  Yes, but I don’t care. I type in the password as my mother goes to see who’s at the door.

  “Hey, Mom. Who’s here?”

  My desktop appears and I click on my Web browser.

  Footsteps pound on the stairs.

  “Is Kaylee around?” Nate’s voice calls from the front door. “I got a message from her and thought I should come over.”

  “Here,” I say as I click on the bookmark for NEED and turn the screen around to face Officer Shepens.

  “Hey, Nate! Are we going to watch movies again today? That would be awesome. Wow . . . what are the police doing here? Did something else happen?”

  “Nothing happened,” my mother snaps. “Nate isn’t staying and you, DJ, are going back upstairs.”

  DJ yells at Mom that Nate has every right to be here. Nate apologizes for not calling to make sure it was okay for him to come over. He says my name. But I say nothing as I wait for Officer Shepens’s reaction. When he frowns, I turn the screen back around and try to understand what I’m seeing.

  The Internet connection is still working.

  The Web address is correct.

  But the screen is black.

  NEED is gone.

  Sydney

  “I’LL BE THERE in a minute, Dad.” Get a grip. It’s not like there’s any hurry. Sydney’s dad insists they salt the sidewalks and driveways for the properties he represents every weekend.

  “Opportunities can be lost if you aren’t paying attention. You never know when a prospective buyer is going to drive by and call for a closer look.”

  “Never” is right. So far it has never happened. But every Saturday morning they have to go out and make sure each house is ready for the phantom people who will want to see it. His dad says it’s good business. His dad is wrong. Good business pays money, and as far as Sydney can tell, his dad hasn’t pulled a paycheck since early December. But Sydney has.

  Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out the envelope he found under a pile of boards near the shed. Just where NEED said it would be. Five hundred dollars. Not a bad payday for the job Sydney was asked to do. More should be on its way, now that he’s finished the most recent assignment, and more after that if things work out the way he hopes.

  Sydney shuts down his computer and stashes the envelope of cash in the drawer along with his knife.

  “Come on, Sydney,” his dad calls. “Time is money.”

  Yes. Yes, it is. Sydney smiles as he locks the drawer. Unlike his dad, he plans on making money. Lots of it. No matter what it takes.

  Hannah

  HANNAH SWIPES THE BOTTOM of her nose with the back of her hand and looks around for the Kleenex she just had. Where did it go?

  There. She picks up the crumpled tissue and checks her cell phone just in case. Nate still hasn’t returned her call. Calling his house today was a terrible move. He must think so too; otherwise he would have texted an apology for missing her call, or called her back.

  Something.

  Anything.

  Unless Jack didn’t give Nate the message. She should have called Nate’s cell phone, of course, but she was too upset to pay attention to what number she had dialed until Jack picked up. If only she’d hung up then. But Nate and Jack sound a lot alike on the phone, and she had poured her heart out about how life is short, and she didn’t want to regret not telling him how she felt, before Jack interrupted and filled her in on her mistake.

  How mortifying. And now if she dials Nate’s cell and Jack already told him about the first call, she’ll look desperate on top of looking like an airhead. She wishes she could take it back. She was an idiot to call after learning about Amanda’s death. But the shock and the sadness made her think about how much she wanted to be with Nate.

  And how lame is it that her first thought wasn’t for Amanda and the life she’ll never lead, or for her family, who have to be so devastated? Instead, she focused on herself. No wonder Nate isn’t interested. Why would any guy want a girl who can’t grieve for a friend without freaking out about the inadequacies of her own life?

  She needs a do-over. Or a rock to crawl under. She doesn’t want to face Nate or anyone else right now. School next week is going to suck, and not just because she hasn’t been able to force herself to read that stupid book.

  Ah. There she goes again. Thinking of herself. Still . . . she can’t help but wonder if NEED can actually make her request come true. A school cancellation would solve her problem, at least for a while. Maybe there’s an update or something on the website. If nothing else, it gives her something to think about besides how foolish she was this morning.

  Wiping her nose again, she sits down at her computer and logs on, trying not to think about how she basically threw herself at Nate’s feet and begged him to go out with her. She clicks the NEED bookmark on her toolbar a second time. A third. What the hell? She tosses the tissue in the trash can and goes in search of another computer, because after everything she’s already lost today, she can’t possibly lose the hope NEED was giving her, too.

  Kaylee

  IT’S GONE.

  “I don’t understand.” I type the address in just in case the bookmark link is broken and hit Enter. Nothing. “The site was working this morning.”

  “What site? What’s going on?” DJ asks.

  “This isn’t right.” I check the Internet connection and click on several other sites. Everything is working. Except NEED. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

  “DJ, go upstairs,” my mother orders. “Kaylee, I’m going to call Dr. Jain.”

  “Why does Kaylee need to talk to Dr. Jain?” DJ asks. His eyes narrow at Officer Shepens at the table. “And why are the police here? Did something else happen? What happened, Kaylee?
” He turns to me because he knows I’ll answer him.

  But Mom answers first. “Nothing happened.” My mother shoots me a look that warns me to keep my mouth shut. I am not to mention Amanda or anything that could upset my brother. “Kaylee overreacted and made a mistake calling Officer Shepens. Isn’t that right, Kaylee?”

  Her tone makes it clear that I had better agree or else.

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” But I’m not. I’m angry, and I’m doing everything I can to not show it as I turn back to the screen. “The website was working this morning. It’s real. So is everything I’ve said. This isn’t like what happened after Dad left.” I’m not faking illness or telling everyone that my father is dead or offering rewards to strangers that I never intend to fulfill. “NEED is real. Nate’s seen it.” My words trip over themselves as I turn to Nate, desperate to have someone explain that I’m not crazy. I’ve never been crazy. “He’s the one who sent me an invitation to be a part of the network.”

  For a moment there is only silence.

  “Nate.” Officer Shepens pushes back his chair and stands up. “You’ve seen the website Kaylee told us about?”

  “Yeah.” Nate sticks his hands in his back pockets, then glances at my brother. “DJ, before I forget, I wanted to grab that comic you were telling me about last night. Can you get it for me?”

  My mother nods and moves toward DJ. “I think that’s a great idea—”

  “I’m not leaving.” DJ shakes off my mother’s attempt to lead him from the room. “If this has anything to do with what happened in our front yard yesterday, I have the right to hear it.”

  Nate looks at my mother. When she remains quiet, he says, “The website is what Kaylee said. It riffs on the other social media sites out there. But instead of asking about how you feel or what’s happening in your life it asks what you need. Right, Kaylee?”