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Story: The Maverick

Excitement rushedthrough me as I drove home a day earlier than expected. I’d signed a deal with Creative Minds. They had accepted my terms, and now I was part owner of a company that would distribute books and art supplies to schools all over the world.

Even though my creativity was hindered during my youth, I knew what creativity could do for a child—for this world. Innovative ideas were an unstoppable force, possessing the power to bring about massive change. Schools often lacked funds for the arts because society had concentrated on certain methods of teaching. Education shouldn’t be a cookie-cutter template. Academics were necessary. But to me, creativity was more important. Creativity expanded thoughts and ideas, opening a person up to limitless possibilities. Combine that with knowledge, and you had a well-rounded person contributing to society effectively.

Vanessa’s art had helped me see life differently—that there was beauty in pain and darkness. I now looked at life fromthat perspective—that wisdom and beauty were woven into everything.

I stopped at a set of red lights, glancing at a mural on the wall. The week before the attack in high school, I’d agreed to help my art teacher, Mrs. Borri, paint a mural on an apartment building that needed an update. It was part of my community service project, but I never got to do it. So much of me crumbled that day.

A car horn blasted behind me, and I realized the lights had turned green. I waved an apologetic hand and drove off.

I glanced at my phone in the charging dock. Where was Vanessa? As soon as I got off the plane, I sent her a text. Usually, she replied right away. But it had been twenty minutes.

Did she want me to pick up dinner? I called her number from my car, but it went to voicemail. Something twisted in my stomach.

I sped home and noticed her car wasn’t in the garage or driveway. She’d been working at the gallery today. Maybe she was still there chatting with customers. I drove over to the gallery, and relief settled in me when I saw Vanessa’s Land Rover. I’d convinced her to sell her Honda Civic because it was a waste of car insurance. She could use any of my cars.

I parked, got out, and strode to the gallery, but the doors were locked. The lights were still on. I glanced at the business hours, which showed the gallery was closed. I knocked on the glass door.

Willow walked up, saw me, smiled, and opened the door. “Hey, Attikus.”

“Hi, Willow. Is Vanessa here?”

“Her purse is still in her office, but I don’t know where she is.” Willow frowned. “I tried calling her, but it went to voicemail. She was hereearlier in the day, but then she left wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and a cap. She said she’d be back before closing . . .”

I headed to Vanessa’s office, and Willow followed me.

“I thought she might have gone home and forgot to tell me, but I saw her car was still parked outside, so I waited a while.”

Her purse was still on the counter behind her desk.

“I assumed she was meeting up with some friends. But why would she leave her purse?”

“Did she wear these dress shoes today?” I gestured to the pair on the floor.

“Yes. She wore those black flats.” Willow placed a hand on her stomach. “Did something happen to her?” Tears welled in her eyes.

“I’ll find her, don’t worry,” I said, trying to comfort her and myself.

I called Detective Farmer to make the report official. It didn’t take him long to stop by, as he was already on his way home.

After he reviewed her office and interviewedWillow, he waited for his team to arrive. She’d been missing for a few hours, so it wasn’t an official missing person’s case yet. But he and I knew something was off.

“I’ll do what I can,” he told me. “I’ll head back to the office and check out the city cameras.”

“Thank you.”

When Detective Farmer and his men left, I walked Willow to her car. “Go home. We’ll find her.”

“Please let me know when you hear something.”

“I will.”

As soon as she drove off, I rushed to The Gathering. I accessed the cameras on her street and hacked into those at the nearby shops. It would take Detective Farmer longer to get the footage. He had to go through city protocols that I didn’t.

Fear twisted my gut as I searched the most recent video, starting with the one in front of the gallery. She’d worn a RISD T-shirt with a backpack and took the bus.

I called Orion. “Hey. Can you do me a favor?”

“What’s up?”

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