Page 50 of Belong With Me
The station is deserted, without a single other person or car anywhere, which adds to the creepy atmosphere. It’s completely outdoors with no buildings or workers. There are designated signs for each bus, with a singular dull light barely highlighting them. The entire lot is dark and cold and eerie, and even with Jason, who I know would protect me with every last bone in his body, I still don’t want to be here for a second longer than I have to.
Jason illegally parks the car right in the spot where the bus to LA would pull up, and I jump out, scanning the area for a little girl with a sparkly purple suitcase.
“Gia!” I yell, but I’m met with deathly silence and a cold wind in return. “Gia!”
Jason appears beside me, eyes roaming the empty lot.
“I don’t get it,” I say, refreshing theFind My Friendsapp again. “It says she’s here and it was updated two minutes ago.”
She couldn’t have dropped her phone because it had to have been turned on for the location to update. So, she, orsomeoneelse, has the phone; it’s not lying on the ground somewhere. But Jason and I are staring at an empty, barely lit lot.
The bus lot seems to stretch on forever, and a wave of dizziness hits me. I’ve been trying not to think about Lily, about how she’s a pretty teenage girl who went missing in the middle of the night, but now that I’m here I can’t stop my mind from drawing comparisons to Gia, from worrying that Gia could meet that same fate. The thought makes me want to throw up.
“Gia!” I yell again, my fingers shaking as they press her number on my phone. It rings once, then she, or someone, sends me to voicemail.
“Wait,” Jason says, putting his hand on my arm to steady me. “Do you hear that?”
We both freeze, ears straining.
My whisper breaks the heavy silence. “What am I listening for?”
“Shh!”
We move stealthily, our footsteps soft against the rough asphalt. I hold my breath, heart racing, as I let him lead me through the deserted lot. Jason clearly hears something, but the only sound I can hear is the distant hum of light traffic on the main street.
Jason suddenly stops at the curb before the grass and trees, and I’m about to shake him and ask what the hell we’re doing when I hear it. It’s faint, but I can make out the sound of muffled music, like when the person next to you is wearing headphones and the stifled beat from their speakers leaks through but you can’t make out what they’re listening to.
My heart thuds with a mixture of hope and anxiety.
We inch closer to the sound, through the grass, and when we round a crop of bushes, I almost fall to my knees in relief and burst out crying.
There, curled up against the trunk of an oak tree, scrolling through her phone while wearing almost obscenely large headphones, is my little sister, safe and sound.
“Gia!” I cry out, launching myself at her. She startles, letting out a surprised shriek as I tackle her to the ground.
We land on our sides on the grass with a soft thud, her headphones askew on her head, music still blaring as I pull her into a bone-crushing hug. I hold her tiny frame tightly, as if I can squeeze away all the fear and worry that consumed me.
“Siena?” She sounds almost out of breath, and her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen like she’s been crying.
We sit up, and Gia pulls her headphones completely off, leaving her hair sticking up in every direction. “What are you doing here?”
“What amIdoing here?” I repeat. “What the hell areyoudoing here? You can’t justrun away, Gia! Do you have any idea how worried I was? I saw the car and thought you were seriously hurt! And now you’re here alone at night? Anything could’ve happened to you! And then you go and turn off your phone and screen my calls? You could’veat leastlet me know you werealive! You can’t keep pulling this irresponsible shit!”
Gia sniffs and crosses her arms against her chest, little dirt patches and grass sticking to the sleeves of her baggy sweater. Her voice is raw and timid when she says, “Sorry I can’t be perfect like you.”
Is that what she thinks this is about? Me versus her?
Yelling at her isn’t going to get us anywhere, so I try—and fail—not to sound angry when I say, “I’m not perfect, Gia, and I’m not asking you to be. But at least take a step back to think about the consequences of your actions for once.”
She frowns at her sparkly purple luggage, the wheels caked with mud from being dragged over here, and says nothing. She’s so stubborn, so hardheaded, but I know deep down she’s sensitive and vulnerable and just wants to be accepted. Her note begged me not to be mad, and I know there’s not a single part of her that enjoys facing my disappointment, so I force myself to dial it back several notches.
Softly, I confess, “I was worried about you, Gia.
You’re all I have, all I care about.”
She wipes an escaped tear and wraps her arms around her knees.
“I know you’re scared, but why did you think running away would solve anything? And what are you doing here?”