The Alchemy of Forever

line on my wrist from where the bracelet had lain. It must have fallen off during the accident, and when Cyrus went to investigate the intersection where a car was stolen and a girl got into a car accident, he found it there, in the crabgrass along the side of the street. A little white line, a road on a map, leading Cyrus straight to me.
    No, not quite. I pick up the yearbook and thumb through it. In thick black marker, some of the faces are crossed out. Piper, Chantal, and Madison are all crossed out, along with plenty of other girls whose names I can’t recall. Nicole’s is also crossed out. I touch the line—the ink seems fresh. But over Kailey’s face is a garish question mark. The sight of it makes my blood feel thick and cold. But even worse is the second question mark, over another girl’s face. Leyla’s.
    He’s going through every female student of driving age until he figures out who was in that crash. I’m not surprised that he’s suspicious of me. As clever as I think I’ve been, a small part of him must have recognized me. But Leyla? She has no idea of the danger she’s in.
    I snap my head up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. They grow louder. Cyrus. He’s home. The jangling sound of keys being pulled from a pocket fills me with terror. Hastily, I put the yearbook and bracelet back on the nightstand, hoping he won’t notice if they’re slightly out of place. I roughly rub my eyes, trying to clear away my tears so I can see clearly.
    I look around the room wildly, hearing more rustling sounds from outside the door. The bathroom. It’s my only way out. I run into the small, mildewed room, trying to step softly. The window is shut firmly but I wrench it open, cringing at how loud it is. It will only open halfway, but it’s enough. Barely. The sound of a key sliding into its lock spurs me on. I push myself through the window, feeling a rip of pain as a loose nail rakes my thigh.
    I land hard on the concrete walkway below, but scramble quickly to my feet and take off running. I don’t look back and don’t stop till I’m back to the spot where I parked Kailey’s bike.
    It’s only now—legs pumping furiously, unsure if my vision is blurred by tears or rain—that the implication of my findings sinks in. I pull the bike over and take shelter under a storefront awning. I sink down on my heels and lean back on the window, holding my head in my hands, sobs wracking my body.
    It’s clear to me now. I need to leave. Cyrus is so close to figuring out who I am. But I’m not the only one at risk. He’s suspicious of Leyla and he’s trying to gain Noah’s loyalty. I led him here—if I go, he’ll follow.

thirty-one
     
    I don’t go home, but stay huddled there against the storefront, using Kailey’s iPhone to research the logistics of buying a new ID. I’ve never had to worry about these practical details before; Cyrus always took care of them for me. At first I thought it was kind, thoughtful. But really, it was just another way of controlling me. But it can’t be that difficult—kids do it all the time to buy beer for parties.
    There are a few places in East Oakland that look promising. It’s too far to bike, so I leave it locked up outside the store, then head to the nearest BART station. When I get off at Fruitvale, the rain is coming down harder, and there aren’t many people out and about. I’m thankful for this. The few people that I do pass shoot me curious glances. I catch sight of my blond curls in the rippled reflection of a lavanderia window and understand why: Kailey looks a bit out of place in this neighborhood.
    I finally find the place I read about and go inside. The market is small and jumbled, tall metal shelves leaning unsteadily over the aisles, and no customers in sight. I’m overwhelmed with the smells of cooking meat and cilantro emanating from the rear of the store. I look around uncertainly, then notice a counter near the front.
    “Yes?” says the man sitting behind it, idly thumbing through a magazine. He sets it down on the counter, and I’m surprised to see he’s reading Vogue .
    I take a deep breath. “I’m looking for Lucia?”
    The man smiles, deep creases showing around his eyes. “Of course you are.” He hops off his stool and comes around the counter to lead me to the back of the store.
    Lucia comes out from the kitchen—she’s younger than I expected, maybe midtwenties. Her lips are very red, and her hair is pulled up in a severe