Pushed Read online

  When Tess had shut the door behind us, she opened her purse. Then she handed me a one-hundred-dollar bill.

  “I don’t—why are you giving me this?” I asked.

  “You’ll get paid every time you work an event with me. That’s a pretty good hourly rate, don’t you think?” Tess asked.

  “Did we not get enough money tonight for school?” I asked. “How many more events will there be?”

  “Not all the money will go for school. The bulk of it will go to me, for running the Haven. As I told you, it helps me raise more money if I can put a face on the cause,” Tess explained.

  “Wait. But you told everyone the money raised would go to my prep school,” I protested.

  “We’ll open a bank account for you,” Tess promised. “You can deposit that money tomorrow.”

  “A hundred dollars? That’s all I get?” I jumped to my feet.

  “That’s all you get for tonight. If you do another event, you’ll get another hundred,” said Tess. She spoke slowly and clearly, like I was five years old or something.

  Sean must have agreed to the hundred-dollars-a-gig deal, I thought. He must have figured it was better than nothing and that it might even get him to vet school someday.

  “No. Huh-uh. You’re not getting away with it.” I let my hands curl into fists. I wanted to look furious, the way I was sure Evan and everyone else she had pulled this on had looked.

  “I got a lot of business cards tonight,” I continued. “A lot of people said I should contact them if I needed a recommendation or anything. I’ll call every single person I can and tell them that the money they thought they were giving to me is actually going into your pocket. Don’t think I buy that ‘it goes to the Haven’ bull. I bet you have a nice Swiss bank account that nobody but you knows about.”

  “I don’t plan on discussing any of that with you,” said Tess.

  “Well, I plan on discussing it with everyone,” I yelled. “I’m going to tell everyone about this con you’re running.” Then a lightbulb went off in my head. Make that a floodlight. I leaned across the desk, getting in her face. “I bet you don’t even have a son who ran away,” I burst out, remembering her tax forms with no dependents. “I bet you don’t have any kind of son at all. That’s some sob story you use to get even more cash off of people.”

  “I admit it. You have me all figured out,” Tess said. She didn’t sound worried. At all. “But now it’s my turn to talk. Sit down,” she ordered, her voice ice-cube cold.

  “I’m not sitting down,” I shouted. “I’m going to go find a phone.”

  Tess opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a folder. “I think you’ll want to look at this first.” She handed it to me.

  It was the folder with the pictures Olivia had taken of me, with me picking that man’s pocket. Tess had clearly taken the folder out of the safe because she knew she’d be needing it for this conversation.

  “It would be unfortunate if I had to show these pictures to any of the people we met tonight,” she said, “or your parents.”

  “My parents? You have no idea where they are,” I retorted.

  “No. But I will. I’ll have a private investigator get me addresses and phone numbers and even e-mail addresses for both your parents.” She smiled. “I bet they’d be relieved to know where their son is.”

  “This place isn’t supposed to contact anyone’s parents without permission,” I protested.

  “That’s true. And we don’t. At least for most of the residents. But those teenagers I take a special interest in—sometimes I feel the need to bring their parents into the picture.” Tess’s smile widened. She thought she had me.

  But Frank and I were even closer to having her.

  “We need to go to the train station separately,” Frank told me the next afternoon. “Tess can’t suspect that I’m watching you.”

  I nodded.

  “You’re sure she overheard you making that appointment with the reporter?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I saw her go into the bathroom. Then I made my call in the alcove nearby and I heard the bathroom door open while I was on the phone,” I answered. “I made sure to tell Gwen Anderson that I know what Evan wanted to tell her and that I want to meet and give her the same info.”

  “Okay. So all we can do is hope she makes a move on you,” Frank said.

  “Right,” I agreed. “All we can do is hope Tess tries to kill me before I get to the reporter—just like she killed Evan.”

  17.

  THANKFUL TO BE ALIVE

  I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt low over my face before I started down the stairs to the subway station—the station where Evan had died.

  That’s not going to happen to Joe, I told myself. I’ve got his back.

  As soon as I pushed my way through the turnstile, I started looking for him. The platform was packed with lunchtime travelers. Where was he? Where was he?

  There. I spotted the red T-shirt Joe had bought on the street specially so he’d be easy to see. Now that I’d located him, I started scanning the place for Tess. She had to be here. She wasn’t going to let Joe get on the train that would take him to the reporter.

  I didn’t see her. Something was wrong. Our plan wasn’t coming together the way we’d expected it to. Maybe Tess really hadn’t overheard Joe making the phone call to the reporter. Maybe—

  I was jerked away from my thoughts by a familiar woman making her way toward Joe from the opposite side of the platform. Not Tess. Olivia. She was a lot closer to Joe than I was.

  I crept forward, trying to keep out of Oliva’s sight line. Did I have time to circle around behind her?

  No. She was picking up her pace. She’d reach him in seconds. And she had a syringe in her hand! She pulled off the orange plastic top as she moved toward Joe.

  I broke into a run. I wasn’t going to make it. “Joe!” I shouted. “Behind you.”

  Joe whipped around. Too late. Olivia stabbed the syringe into his throat.

  With a roar, I launched myself at Olivia and tackled her to the ground. “What did you give him?” I demanded.

  Olivia actually laughed. “You know these street kids. Always overdosing. Tragic.”

  “Not this time,” Joe said. He crouched down next to me and stared at Olivia. “You didn’t have time to push the plunger down.” He held up the syringe. It was still full.

  “You really didn’t make a good deal with Tess,” I told Olivia. “You take the blackmail pictures for her—and kill when you have to. You’ve murdered two people at least. And you’re still living on the street? You’re way underpaid.”

  “You want to know where I live? I live in a loft in Soho.” Olivia struggled to sit up. I pushed down on her shoulders, pinning her to the ground.

  “Not for long,” Joe told her. “We have evidence against you now.” He twirled the syringe between his fingers. “You’re going to prison. But maybe it won’t be too bad. Maybe you’ll be able to share a cell with your friend Tess.” He turned to me. “Can you handle this by yourself?” he asked.

  “You’ve got something better to do?” I asked, surprised.

  “Did you forget I have an appointment with Gwen Anderson?” Joe reminded me. “I think I have an even better story for her now: a story that all the people who’ve made donations to the Haven would like to read.”

  “I’m thankful that my brother has the tackle of an NFL player,” Joe announced.

  “I’m thankful that my brother can identify a fleurchon when he sees one,” I said.

  It was Thanksgiving Day. Everyone around the table was telling the group what they were grateful for.

  “Loser, loser, loser,” Playback squawked from his perch near the windows.

  I turned toward the parrot. “True. Some people would think knowing that much about fashion makes Joe a loser, loser, loser,” I said. “But not me.”

  Joe gave me a kick under the table. I ignored him. Because, as I always say, sometimes that’s all you can do with
Joe.

  “I’m thankful for second chances,” Mrs. Fowler contributed, looking at Lily, who was sitting across from her.

  Lily wasn’t living at home. But she was going to family therapy with her parents—both of them. And my mom had helped hook her up with a great foster family. Give my mother a problem and a computer and she’ll come up with a solution in minutes. It’s a research librarian thing.

  “I’m thankful I have sons who make the world a better place,” Dad stated.

  “Better, maybe. But not cleaner,” said Aunt Trudy. “Have you seen the stain on Frank’s coat? I haven’t even been able to figure out what it is, which makes me thankful for new, improved Stain Away.”

  Mom looked around the table. “I’m thankful for friends—old and new. And I’m thankful to have my whole family here at home.”