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sounds crazy. But it’s not made up. It’s a thing.
    I narrowed my eyes at Garrett again, because that fishy smell was emanating from his pores like stale BO. He was scared about something. But his fear smelled slightly different than what I thought of as the usual nasty dead-fish Help, Mommy, I’m gonna die smell that most people gave off when under duress. Garrett’s fear had an overtone of lemon to it, which made it oddly less awful.
    I realized that although Garrett was definitely scared about something, he wasn’t scared for himself. He was scared for someone else. That was new. And he wasn’t joking around. He really wanted our help.
    “All right,” I said. I looked at Cal. “Drive.”
    “Sky!” Cal scoffed. “For real?”
    “You’ll have about ten minutes,” I informed Garrett. “Fifteen tops.”
    He was already nodding. “Okay. Yeah. I think I can—”
    “Giiiiiirl,” Cal growled warningly through clenched teeth. “What the fuuuuuh.” He silently mouthed the words, “Dana’s gonna shit monkeys if we show up with McDouche in the car.”
    “We’ll get rid of him before that,” I said aloud then turned to tell Garrett, “FYI, we’re gonna drop you at the Sav’A’Buck. You’ll have to find your way home from there.”
    That gave Garrett pause. “The Sav’A’Buck ,” he repeated incredulously. “You mean, in freaking Harrisburg?”
    “In mother-freaking Harrisburg,” I confirmed. “Or you can get out now.”
    Garrett looked from me to Cal, who was glaring at him in his rearview mirror, and swallowed hard. And now I smelled a more regular fish scent. Garrett was afraid of going to Harrisburg. Who wouldn’t be? It was a dangerous place.
    “Do I need to count to three?” I said. “One…”
    I smelled that lemony smell again as he finally squared his football-player shoulders and simultaneously shook his head and nodded. I realized his concern for someone else—I couldn’t wait to find out who—trumped his fear for his own safety.
    “Okay,” he said. “You can drop me at the Sav’A’Buck.”
    “Go,” I ordered Cal, who grimly used his hand-controls to jerk his car into gear. He came the closest that he’d ever come to peeling out of the parking lot as I turned back to Garrett and tapped my watch. “Talk. Fast.”

Chapter Three
    “My dad’s latest girlfriend,” Garrett said as we pulled onto the interstate heading for Harrisburg, “has a daughter named Jilly, who’s kind of a freak show, and I think maybe Rochelle, her mother—you know, my dad’s girlfriend? I think Rochelle did something bad to Jilly, because Jilly’s just, like, gone. You know?”
    I nodded. I got it, but what I didn’t understand was what this Jilly girl being gone had to do with Calvin and me.
    Garrett continued. “And it’s doubly weird, because for the first, I don’t know, five months that Rochelle dated my dad—her name’s really Rachel, but she calls herself Rochelle, and I think it’s because she thinks sounding French makes her hotter, and she is pretty hot for, like, a forty-year-old or whatever—”
    It’s possible my snort of disdain or maybe the expression of incredulity on my face got Garrett back on track.
    “But see, the weirdness is that Rochelle didn’t even mention she had a daughter until, like, I don’t know, maybe a month or two ago, when she suddenly went up north and then came back with Jilly in tow. Like, here’s my daughter, boom ,” Garrett told us. “It was freaking bizarre. And now, again, boom , Jilly’s just gone.”
    “Maybe she went back north,” I suggested. “If she was living there with her dad—”
    “Yeah, no. She told me she was staying here in Florida,” Garrett insisted. “That she was here for like forever—and believe me, she wasn’t happy about that. And her crap’s still scattered all around Rochelle’s living room—she rents a beach house not too far from ours.”
    Garrett’s dad’s “beach house” was a castle at the