Finding X

Chapter Eight

Max slammed the door of his truck, looking deeply irritated. I felt slightly bad that I was the reason. He most likely went all the way to Gainesville to find that not only did Patsy Mullin’s car not go up in flames, but that Patsy Mullin didn’t exist, period.

            Find X, find X, I was chanting as I walked slowly down the steps.

            Max saw me coming down his steps and he said, looking slightly suspicious, as if during his drive, he started realizing that said Patsy Mullin sounded very much like his sister in law, Stacey.

            “Hi, Stacey,” he said. “What are you doing here?” He locked the truck with a press of a button on his keychain.

            “Looking for you,” I said, walking slowly down the icy steps. Biding my time. X, X, what’s X? What can I do? What can I say? All my efforts canNOT be wasted! “I thought you’d be home by now. So I–” but my sentence was cut off as I slipped on the icy step. My foot twisted and I fell down the stairs (more like bounced on my butt. I probably looked really stupid). I stopped at the bottom of the steps with an “OOOMPH!” Ouch. It hurt. My ankle was twisted at an odd angle beneath me. But I didn’t think it was broken.

            “Are you okay?” Max cried, coming up and kneeling next to me, worry creasing his face.

            I was about to tell him, “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t sweat about it.” But then I found X.

            “OOOWWWOUCH!”

            “Stacey! Are you okay?”

            “No, I’m not,” I gasped and gritted my teeth to suppress screaming. (Seriously, I never thought I was this good an actress). “No, I’m not . . .” I said again and held back a yell. “My ankle hurts so bad!” But I knew that a hurting foot wasn’t enough. “My leg’s on fire. And my back! I feel like my spine is twisted and . . .”

            He stared at me, looking up and down my body. “I’ll help you inside.”

            “NO!” I yelled. He blinked in surprise. “Sorry. I just felt a knife going up my leg. And back. And neck. OOOH,” I moaned. “No, I can’t walk.” I breathed through my teeth, hissing like a snake.

            “How do you know? We have to try to get you inside. It’s cold out here.” He took my right arm and awkwardly pulled me to my feet. I felt like a rag doll. “Put pressure on the ankle that hurts. But gently.”

            I did what he said. “OOOWWW–OUCH!” I shrieked and dropped back to the stairs. “I can’t walk, can’t even put pressure on that foot. And my back is killing me! I must’ve broken something back there!” A few actual tears started leaking out of my eyes. I thought smugly, See, I can act just as well as Ryan. I pretended to be angry at my tears and wiped them away. “I’m sorry. It just . . . hurts so bad!” I gasped.

            Then Max’s cell phone buzzed. I winced, waiting for him to abandon me, injured and cold, on this icy sidewalk. He looked at where his cell was stuffed into his coat pocket. Then took it out.

            I was about to start yelling at him. It was true. He cared more about his job for Connie and now me.

            With an angry shake of the head, Max disconnected the partying line. Did you hear what I just said? He disconnected the partying line! The ringer shut off and he stuffed the cell back into his coat pocket. I loved him for it and immediately felt guilty for deceiving him so willingly. Max looked slightly nervous, like he knew it was an important call, but I forgave him that. It was going to take time, but he was starting.