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“I wish. Don’t you think I would’ve found him already if I could?”

I pause. It’s hard to say. She’s the one who told me she has a plan. What if she’s purposely stalling so she can spend more time with me? But then again, we’ve already made a lot of progress. I don’t think she’s stalling. “Well, the sooner you find him, the sooner I can get that thing over with that you wanted me to do. What was it again?” Maybe she’ll slip up and confirm my suspicions.

“Aw, charming. Thatthinghappens to be very important, and I can’t have you messing it up.”

“It would be easier if you told me more about it.”

“Nice try, but I’m not going to tell you who it is yet.”

“Fine. Then answer my other question,” I say. “Why are you hiding in your bathroom?”

“Who said I was hiding?”

Is there another reason that would make sense? Because I’m fairly certain it’s not a place where people hang out. “Aren’t you?”

“Maybe I just like the acoustics in the bathroom. Haven’tyou noticed every singer on social media nowadays sings in the bathroom? I’m telling you I sound great in here.”

I picture Margo. She’s probably huddled in the corner, lights off, and the door locked. “So you’re hiding.”

“Yes, I’m hiding,” she says. “I don’t want Annie to hear me talking to you.”

I don’t know if that’s good or bad. “Why not?”

“She wouldn’t understand. It’s complicated, and I don’t feel like explaining it to her right now.”

“So I’m a secret?” My chest tightens.

“Yeah. For now.”

For now? I don’t know if she can be any more obvious. She plans to tell her sister about me eventually, which means I have to be right. She likes me.

“I’m going to have to hang up now. I still have homework to finish before tomorrow,” she says.

I’m not sure why, but I like being Margo’s secret. I shouldn’t, but I do. “Yeah, sorry to distract you.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. I like distractions.”

Shelikesdistractions, and right nowI’mthe distraction. My smile breaks free. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you,” she replies before hanging up.

I lie down on my pillow, fully ready to drift off to sleep, when I hear the washer machine click on. It’s so loud I swear I could hear it from two houses down.

My eyes bug out.

The picture. It was in my jacket pocket. It’s the only shred of hope I have of finding my dad.

I jump out of bed and run into the laundry room. Laura still stands in front of the washer, putting the detergent away.

I tug on the door, forcing it open. With flailing arms, I rush to the washing machine. The clothes are only starting toget wet. I crouch down in front of the opening and pull clothes out by handfuls.

“What are you doing?” Laura asks.

“My jacket.” My temples are sweating and my lungs sting. Tears prick my eyes. “I need my jacket.”

Laura bends down on her knees in front of the washer. She puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll find it for you.” She reaches in, moving things around until she pulls out my jet-black jacket. “It’s right here.”

It’s damp, and I chew my lip as I reach into the pocket. Carefully, I pull out the picture. It’s crumbled, and the bottom corner’s colors are bleeding into each other, but I can still make out the most important part. Mom’s friend is still clearly visible.