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gentlemen. They were a bunch of jackasses dressed in fancy shirts. I stayed in the tunnel for a while, still leaning against the wall. I needed to make sure no one knew I was listening. Once I was sure thecoast was clear, I still couldn’t get my feet to move. I slid down and sat on the concrete bottom. Why is this happening? Why can’t anything be easy for me?
    I tried to figure out what I should do, but all I kept coming up with was calling my dad and getting the hell out of Hazelton as soon as possible. Panicked, I took out my cell phone and called him.
    “Hey, honey,” he said.
    “Hi, Dad,” I said sadly.
    “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
    “What makes you think something is wrong?”
    “’cause you sound like you just gave up a home run in the bottom of the ninth.”
    “I’m just beginning to think this isn’t the place for me,” I said.
    “Is this about Gabby?”
    “How do you know about that?”
    “Dr. Richards called and gave me an update,” Dad said. “He said he was just keeping me in the loop.”
    “I guess that’s part of it.” I didn’t want to tell my dad that she was framed, or that I might be the next target. I hated to worry him.
    “Listen, sweetie, don’t let one little bump in the road throw you off. I know you’re not a quitter. You’re a closer.”
    I sighed. “Dad, enough with the baseball metaphors, okay?”
    “Sorry, force of habit,” he said. He paused. “But it’s true. You’re not the quitting type.”
    No matter how much I wanted him to pick me up right now, it was important to make my dad proud. “Okay, Dad. Thanks for listening,” I said. “I’m gonna run.”
    “Studying to do, right?”
    “Yep,” I lied.
    “Love you, sweetie.”
    “You, too. Bye, Dad.”
    I remained slumped in the tunnel. I stared at my phone, which I still gripped in my hand. I could call him back right now and tell him to come get me. I could just pack up and leave and go back to my old high school—you know, the one whose baseball team I’d quit. I was heading for a job at the local Wawa, slicing deli meat, where everyone would know what a big failure I was.
    I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t give up without a fight. My dad was right. I was not a quitter.
    And just like that, I was up on my feet.
    The first thing I was going to do was tell Dr. Rich about what I’d heard. Maybe he could put a stop to it and get Gabby back. I knew I’d been wrong, thinking the Abernathy lawsuit had something to do with my silent treatment. I had to find out who Mike McCarthy was, and why I was paying for what he did. Maybe Dr. Rich would tell me, since none of the students talked to me.

    I entered the Richardses’ kitchen and found Mrs. Richards cooking spaghetti. “Hey, Taylor. How was your day?” she asked sweetly.
    “Uh, okay, I guess,” I said, trying to hide how upset I was. I needed to talk to Dr. Rich, and fast. “Is Dr. Rich around?”
    “He should be home shortly.” She buttered a piece of bread and handed it to me. “Hungry?”
    I took it, even though I was too nauseated to eat.
    “I’m really sorry Gabby is gone. I know it must be hard for you, being the only girl stuck here with us,” she said, dumping a box of spaghetti into the boiling pot on the stove.
    “Oh, that’s fine. I like it here. You guys have been great to me,” I said, deciding to hit her up for more information before Dr. Rich came home. “But could I ask you something?”
    “Sure.” She stirred a small pot of tomato sauce.
    “I heard some guys in the gym talking about a guy named Mike McCarthy. Who is he?”
    She didn’t seem surprised by my question. She answered calmly. “Mike McCarthy was thrown out of school last year. I think the official reason was leaving campus after curfew,” she said. She put the spoon down lightly on the counter. “Hazelton is pretty strict about rules whose violation jeopardizes a kid’s safety.”
    So maybe these guys are just pissed their friend got pinched.
    “He