Latitude Zero Read online

  “So what happened to Jake?” asked Kylie.

  “I didn’t see him again after he took off. My phone battery died, so we didn’t talk.”

  “Asshole.” Kylie glowered.

  “May I?” Sarita pointed to my phone, charging in the wall.

  “Go for it.”

  Sarita scrolled, wide-eyed. “Fifteen messages! All from Jake. Stalker.”

  I took the phone from her hand, and Sarita and Kylie read over my shoulders.

  The first text from Jake had come in at 10:05. I’d have been leaving the medical tent with my mom around then.

  Hey. Where RU? Hit mile 20 and realized u weren’t there.

  “It took him twenty miles to realize you weren’t behind him?” said Kylie.

  That did kind of hurt. I had to force myself to read the next messages.

  What happened 2U? Heard there was big crash. Tessa? U OK? Call or txt me.

  OK I stopped by med tent. They said girl w ur descript went home w mom. Wouldn’t give name but sounds like u. Hope its u. Call me OK??

  RU home now? Almost called house. Trying to respect parental situation. CALL ME.

  Tessa. I’m so sorry. PLEASE get in touch. Let’s fix this.

  Call me as soon as you get this, K???

  “Please tell me you’re not going to call him,” said Kylie.

  “I’m not. He can wait for me now and see how it feels being dropped.”

  “Good,” said Sarita. “Put us out of our misery. I know he’s got this romantic side with those moonlight picnics, and he’s adventurous, and smart. But I hate the other side of him. The side that makes you feel so bad about yourself. It’s not right.”

  A new text buzzed in.

  Sarita lunged for my phone. “I’ll get rid of him for you.” She frowned. “Who’s this?”

  I looked at the screen. The message came from a number I didn’t recognize. It had a whole bunch of zeros in it, and no name.

  YOU LITTLE LIAR.

  Then a second buzzed in:

  YOU DECEIVED ME. YOU WILL PAY.

  I chilled. I’d never gotten any kind of message like that before.

  “Oh my God. Who sent you this?” exclaimed Kylie, leaning in to see.

  “I don’t recognize that number. It’s not in my contacts list. It doesn’t even look like a real phone number.” Maybe the message was a wrong number.

  The phone vibrated again.

  YOU MADE A BAD, BAD MOVE.

  AND I KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

  So much for the wrong number theory. I reached for the Mexican blanket and hugged it.

  “You’re sure it’s not Jake texting from someone else’s phone?” said Kylie.

  “I’m sure. This doesn’t sound like stuff he’d say.” My throat tightened. Who would have gotten my number and sent me something so creepy? Who hated me that much? Not Gage or Mari. I hadn’t left my phone number in the medical tent.

  You made a bad, bad move. Someone might have known about my stupid swerve. You will pay. I was already paying, wasn’t I? I felt terrible, worrying about Juan Carlos. But you deceived me—that made no sense. Unless—a new idea flew into my head. I sat up straight. “You guys! What if it’s from that guy who chased me in the woods? The guy who was looking for Juan Carlos’s spare bike?”

  “The fence? How would he have gotten your phone number?” asked Kylie.

  I thought for a moment. “He held my phone. He deleted the video I took. Maybe he saw my number and memorized it.”

  “That’s possible. But why would he call you a liar? You didn’t lie,” Sarita pointed out. “You showed him where you’d seen the bike. He told you not to report him. And you didn’t.”

  “I think this is a spambot,” said Kylie. “Remember that scary text that was going around last year, where you had to forward it to ten people or you’d die? It’s like that. You will pay. They’ll probably ask you for money if you respond.”

  “Kylie’s right. Delete it,” said Sarita.

  I hit the DELETE button. Maybe it was random spam. I desperately wanted to believe that.

  “You seem like you have a lot on your mind,” said Kylie. “We should go. I’ll take a rain check on the mock interview.”

  “What mock interview?”

  Kylie took a file folder out of her tote bag, its edges damp and curled from her day at the pool. “You were going to coach me this afternoon for my Lane Scholarship interview.” She stared at me with a hurt expression. “You didn’t forget about that, did you? You already rescheduled our practice once to go bike riding with Jake.”

  “No. Of course I remember.” An elevator dropped in my stomach. How could I have forgotten about this? The Lane Scholarship was a huge opportunity for Kylie. Preston Lane would pay an entire year of Shady Pines tuition for a student who demonstrated commitment to social issues combined with an entrepreneurial spirit. Sarita, who was captain of our school’s nationally recognized debate team, was supposed to help her come up with talking points. And I’d agreed, weeks ago, to coach her on interviewing techniques—eye contact, voice modulation, stuff I knew from KidVision—since Kylie was on the shy side and often froze under pressure.

  Kylie really needed this money. Her mom’s cancer treatments had eaten through their savings. There was a chance, if she didn’t get the scholarship, that she’d have to transfer to another school for her senior year.

  Kylie stuffed the file back into her tote bag. “Never mind. I know you forgot all about it.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “No, you did. If you hadn’t crashed, you’d still be out there on that ride.”

  “Kylie, I’m so sorry. I’ve been trying so hard to patch things up with Jake, and when he suggested we do this ride together, and try to reconnect, I jumped at it. And forgot everything else. I completely suck.”

  Kylie shrugged. “We’ll find time.” She managed a small smile. “The important thing is you’re not hurt worse. Let’s do this when you’re not in mortal pain or thinking of a million other things.”

  “What’s there to think of?” Sarita asked.

  I sighed. “The other people I hurt. I’m responsible for a bunch of people’s injuries. Including Juan Carlos’s.”

  Sarita raised an eyebrow. “Now how could that even be possible?”

  I explained how people stopped to avoid the pileup, and what witnesses had said. “He wasn’t that far behind me,” I concluded. “My crash caused his crash.”

  Kylie leaned forward and scrutinized the gold chain more closely. “Wait. Is that his?”

  “I ran into him before the ride and he told me to take care of it for him. He couldn’t ride with it for some reason. Anyway, he said he wanted to talk to me about something after the award ceremony. Obviously we didn’t get to that.”

  “Wow. Most guys go out with you at least a few times before they hand over the bling,” said Sarita, a sly grin spreading across her face. “How long was it before Jake gave you jewelry?”

  “Jake wasn’t into jewelry. He said it was too materialistic.”

  “Right.” Sarita gave me a knowing look.

  “Don’t go there, Sarita. This is totally different.”

  “Still. Now I see why you’re taking that crash so hard,” said Sarita. “That’s intense.”

  “But accidents happen,” said Kylie. “Especially on wet, crowded roads. People crash and die on the Tour de France, don’t they? His crash is not your fault. You can’t sit here dwelling on it. Life’s for living. Not worrying. My mom tells me that all the time now.”

  “And I’m sure he’ll pull through.” Sarita patted my good knee.

  “Okay,” I said, but the word sounded hollow. “How’s your mom, by the way?” I asked Kylie. “I’m sorry I haven’t been over more lately.”

  Kylie shrugged and looked down. “She has
her good days and her bad. She’s tired a lot. But her spirit’s strong.”

  “Talk about an inspiration,” said Sarita. “Beth Sullivan. She’s my hero.”

  “Hey, can you two come over for dinner on Tuesday?” asked Kylie, brightening a little. “It’s actually her birthday. We were going to keep it simple, just family—but you guys, you’re like family, too.” Her eyes watered. “My dad said he’d come and help out, but I don’t know. My bro and I—we’re kind of on our own with this. I guess I could use some moral support. People to take pictures, sing—make it seem more like a party, you know?”

  “Oh, Kylie, I can’t.” Sarita looked crestfallen. “I wish I could. I have to present my service project idea at a Rotary club meeting. It’s too late to reschedule.”

  “Tessa?” Kylie looked at me. “My mom was just asking about you this morning. She’d love to see you.”

  Beth Sullivan had asked about me that morning. While I’d been busy crashing a cancer ride, in more ways than one. “Sounds fun,” I managed to say. “I will be there.”

  “Really? You’ll really come?” Kylie’s face lit up.

  I managed a smile, too, even though Beth Sullivan’s illness scared me. From now on I would do only good things. “I will absolutely be there,” I said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  12

  SOON AFTER my friends left, my dad came home from his retreat. After he and my mom talked in hushed voices in the kitchen, he called a family meeting in the living room, where he handed me a legal pad. “Here. Draw everything you remember about the crash scene, while it’s fresh in your mind,” he said. “We should be prepared for all possible outcomes.”

  I sighed. Possible outcomes and worst-case scenarios were a popular topic in our house. My parents always tried to help me steer clear of anything that could hurt my chances of getting into a good college and having a perfect and successful life.

  “Possible outcomes? What are you getting at, Randall?” my mom asked, evidently thinking along similar lines.

  “Police may want to question Tessa as part of the crash scene investigation.”

  My stomach lurched. Police? Investigation? No, no, no, no. I’d wanted police to look in the woods and stop a bike theft. I didn’t want them looking for the cause of a crash: me. Jake’s words haunted me. If I reported the bike in the woods now, the police might start wondering what I was doing on the route, so close to Juan Carlos when he went down. They’d ask more questions. I’d have to explain the unsafe merge. The leeched paceline. The reckless pullout. I was pretty sure I’d broken no laws, but maybe I could get in serious trouble for negligent riding.

  I should tell my parents the truth. Especially my dad. He practiced environmental law, but still he’d know what to do. But what they thought I’d done today—sneaking off with my boyfriend, riding for charity without raising money—was bad enough. My dad had already had one heart attack and bypass surgery. The death of his father and his grandfather at age sixty weighed on his mind; my dad had turned sixty last month. Even my mom suddenly looked older: silver glinting through her brown hair, shadows under her eyes.

  I couldn’t let them down or make them worry anymore.

  “Tessa?” my dad prompted gently. I took the pen and paper. I sketched a basic diagram of the crash site. I added the SLOW DEAF CHILD sign, and the downhill curve on the map. I made sure to put me, crashing, behind a downed paceline.

  “It all happened so fast,” I explained. “The road was wet. Other riders went down. I couldn’t stop in time. People were swerving all over the road.”

  “Rider errors are inherent risks of this or any sport.” My dad pressed his fingertips together. “And Chain Reaction is a reputable organization. But maybe parts of the course were not well maintained.”

  “That’s true,” I said, even though I couldn’t recall obvious road hazards, other than the rain-dampened asphalt. No sand patches, no stray rocks. The road was newly paved.

  “We’ll want to have you checked out by Dr. Ellis tomorrow,” my dad went on. He scrawled notes on a legal pad. “If Dr. Ellis thinks you have any lingering issues, we can discuss possible next steps.”

  I swallowed. Would my dad sue Chain Reaction? Then I’d have to retell this story and relive this day, and drag Jake into all of it. I’d be back on his emotional roller coaster. I wished I’d never gotten on a bike that morning.

  “What happened to Jake out there anyway?” my dad asked, as if reading my mind. He lowered his glasses to look over the rims at me. “Your mother said he roped you in to this crazy stunt.”

  “Which is completely bizarre to me, by the way, since you told us you guys were through,” my mom chimed in. “You’ve been sneaking around seeing him? That is just not okay.”

  I picked a thread on a sofa cushion. “He didn’t make me do the ride. He mentioned it’d be fun to do together, and I chose to go. Okay? I chose. And he got way ahead of me. I don’t even think he knows that I crashed.”

  My parents exchanged a look, confirming their suspicions: Jake was a champion asshole.

  “Fine. I did lie to you guys about breaking up with Jake,” I said, “and I’m sorry about that. But I didn’t think you had the right to tell me to break up with him. It’s my life.”

  “We were worried. Are worried,” my mom corrected. “I mean, he was accused of doping! Someone like you—a media personality, a role model—you can’t be dating a doper.”

  “It wasn’t a doping charge, Mom. It was possession. And he’s—oh, forget it.”

  My mom sighed. “Jake may be a great, fast bike rider, but honey, he’s going nowhere. I always thought he had character flaws, and now I really see it.”

  “Okay, okay. I get it.” I got it. I couldn’t be with a guy who’d drop me on a ride, and I was sick of him jerking my emotions around. I just didn’t want my mom to think she was the one who convinced me.

  My mom smiled sadly. “Maybe the silver lining of this whole incident is that you’ll get some clarity from it. I’m sure you’ll go on to make good decisions, like you usually do.”

  “You mean like you usually do.” The words flew out on their own. “Don’t you guys make all my good decisions? What classes and extracurriculars to take? How to budget every second of my time?”

  “Tessa. That’s enough,” said my dad. “What your mother’s trying to say is, you’re our only child, and we want the best for you.”

  “I thought you wanted me to open my eyes to people’s struggles. You’ve been pounding that into my head since I was in preschool, and you made me give my birthday presents to a charity of my choice.”

  “Yes, of course. We think having a social conscience, and awareness of inequalities, is very important,” said my dad. “But we don’t want you to struggle. It isn’t necessary. Your mother and I have worked hard to help you avoid just that.”

  “Yeah, but I’m just so tired of—oh, forget it.” I sighed. “Can I go to my room now?”

  “That sounds like an excellent decision,” my mom said in a clipped voice. “Then later we’ll talk about consequences.”

  “Consequences?”

  “Of riding in a charity event without raising any money.”

  “Awesome. I cannot wait.” I stood up, with some difficulty.

  “One more question,” my dad said. “Did you hear about the downed Team EcuaBar cyclist?”

  I felt a weird rushing sound in my ears. “Yeah.”

  My dad gave me a long look. “Did you know him?”

  “Not really. I mean, sort of. I’d met him a few times. At Jake’s races. They rode on the junior team together.”

  “I thought his name sounded familiar. Were you anywhere near him when he went down?”

  I hesitated, then shook my head.

  “Good. Promise me,” he said, “if the police contact you with questions about the ride, don’t answe
r without me or your mother there.”

  “Okay. But why not?”

  “You were with Jake. Jake’s got a rap sheet now, and I just think we should be careful. I’d like to keep you far away from this investigation, with college applications on the line.”

  College applications! I wanted to throw something. It was summer. I’d just caused a huge pileup at a bike event. I didn’t care about college right now.

  “Oh, Randall. This all sounds a bit extreme, don’t you think?” said my mom.

  “It’s not extreme. When there’s a fatal accident, an investigation follows. Anything out of the ordinary will be looked at. Tessa and Jake bandit riding? That could attract attention.”

  “Wait. Fatal accident?” said my mom. “Aren’t we being prematurely catastrophic?”

  My dad looked from my mom to me. “You mean, you two don’t know? Isn’t the news always on in this house?”

  “Your daughter was overdosing on it. I enforced a media break.”

  The room was swaying. “Dad,” I said. “What happened?”

  “Oh, honey.” My dad crossed the room and came over to me. He put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes. “The doctors couldn’t revive him. He . . . he died.”

  My mom’s hands flew to her mouth.

  I snatched the remote from the coffee table and turned on GBCN. The reporter was now in front of Mass General. BREAKING NEWS: CYCLING TRAGEDY ran across the bottom of the screen, in red, like pooling blood.

  13

  I WOKE the next morning twisted in my sheets, my eyes salted with dried tears. All night I’d had crazy dreams of looking for Juan Carlos after the race. I was pushing through crowds, calling his name, seeing the back of his jersey but never his face. As I pushed, the green rain forest vines shown on the cycling outfit started to grow around my feet, pulling on my legs and tripping me.

  Now I sat up and gazed at a box of Tres Leches EcuaBars I kept on my desk for late-night study snacks.

  Juan Carlos was dead.

  Never again would I see him fly down the road on his bike.