“I’m not a stalker.”

“I know, but you followed her when she was ‘shopping,’ and you got her whole family here so you could break into her garden. They’re not going to suddenly open up now.”

Nia waves the clues in front of me and says, “I’m sorry I made fun of you before. Whatever this is…I think it’s worth investigating.”

“The handshake,” I whisper. “Is not a clue.”

“Unless…”

Nia said whenever she has boys over, and I’ve only seen one, but that’s because we haven’t lived together for long.

Chris met me, so maybe he met others as well. Maybe there were other handshakes, other warnings…

“What are you thinking?” Nia asks, talking over thoughts that are racing through my mind so quickly I can’t catch them.

“Logan,” I say. “She said Logan.”

“Who did?”

“Amy. She said Logan by accident. What if that was her boyfriend and he did something, and now Chris is extra protective? Or maybe he always has been, and, if I find this Logan guy, he’ll be able to fill in the blanks.”

“That’s a big leap,” Nia says.

“I know. But, like you said, I’ve found everything out on my own so far. If Amy let something slip by accident, I have to check it out.”

There’s a knock on my door, and I tuck the clues in my pocket as it opens.

“Oh,” Mum says. “This is…”

“We’re bonding,” Nia says, standing up and kissing Jay good night.

“About time,” he replies. “Sleep well, mate.”

He leaves Mum and me alone, but she doesn’t sit. She smiles, and I know what she’s thinking. She thinks tonight has changed everything. She thinks Nia and I are finally getting along.

I hope she’s right.

72

If you google “Logan,” you get tons of stuff about Wolverine and, eventually, the origins of the name. I refine my search, but there’s nothing useful.

Amy doesn’t have any social media, so I can’t find anyone called Logan that way. Evie has changed her security settings since our conversation, so I can’t see her friends either.

I type in our school’s name, then search for St. Gregory’s Academy for Boys, then the girls’ school. But there are no links to any of them.

I google “Logan I’m sorry,” “Logan stick drawings,” and “Logan and Amy,” and get nothing useful every time. The internet knows everything, but only if you ask the right questions.

I pull the list of clues out of my pocket and renumber them, and that’s when I think of it. Nia said one of the possible clues was a definite: the boy at the shopping center. So I type something else into my phone—“Logan child abduction”—and scroll down and hold my breath. I don’t breathe out until I’ve read the whole story.