Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Marcus
My whole body aches as I sit up and roll out of bed. Listen, I’m not one to complain, but my back feels like it’s been stuck in a bend all night. I had a pretty late night, but definitely not the fun kind. I was up all night helping my daughter with her homework. I still need to go to work, with or without the back pain.
I’m a math tutor for stup high schoolers. I know it’s not very glamorous, but it pays the bills. Sort of. My wife, Sandra, doesn’t have time to work with her taking care of our daughter, Ellie. They're both in LA at a concert. I had to stay home to work.
It's fine, it's not bitter or anything.
I stretch my arms and rifle through my messy drawers to find an acceptable sweater. I pick out a blue knit sweater and a long-sleeved white button-up shirt and throw on my tan pants from yesterday. Nobody will know they’re the same ones, I’m sitting in a chair all day with my legs underneath the desk. Even if they did notice, I don't think they'd care. I latch on a plain brown belt, grab the first socks I see, and put on the white Doc Martens I got for 17 bucks at a thrift store.
I stumble into the bathroom and open my mirror cabinet. I rifle through my skincare jars, looking for my hair gel. I eventually found what I was looking for: LightSculpt Gel by MensBeauty. I squeeze a little on my hands and brush it through my short-cropped hair, hoping it’ll disguise the fact that I haven’t showered today. I pop on a little concealer, hiding my eyebags from the judgemental 13-year-olds I’ll be instructing today.
On the drive over, I take a look at my appointment list. My first student is Becca, with Algebra II. She’s my smartest student, yet seems content with pointlessly flirting with me. I’m not sure why, I’m certainly not the cutest guy. She acts dumb with her friends, but I know she’s smarter than they think she is.
When I get there, Becca’s sitting at the desk already. I check my watch and realize I’m almost 10 minutes late. She already started her Algebra work but keeps getting distracted by her phone. I take my seat and she barely notices, just keeps texting. Her hair is dark, thick, and curly. Her skin has a cool olive tone. Her dramatic makeup is impressive. She loves to be noticed, but there's more to her than she shows the world.
“Becca?”
“One minute,” she says, absentmindedly.
“Becca you need to put your phone away,”
“Okay, alright!” She says playfully, grinning at me. I take her phone and she makes an exaggerated pouty face, sticking out her bottom lip. She removes her jacket, expertly placed to hide her cropped shirt from her strict mother.
“Just let me know when you need help”
“Okay!” She says, genuinely excited to be doing math. As usual, she never makes a mistake. I think she’s only here because of how much she enjoys the extra work. She enjoys school more than any 14-year-old I’ve ever met, but seems perfectly content hiding that from her peers. I don’t blame her, I would too.
When Becca finally leaves, I pack up my stuff. I’m so exhausted that I think I’ll just cancel today’s only other appointment, which is with Ryan, who is the complete opposite of Becca. He needs the help, but he’s here every other day, so one missed day won’t make a difference.
I walk up to the front office and grab my keys from my kindergarten-style cubby. Oh, god. I groan audibly. Becca left her number on a note card next to my keys. She wrote in glittery pink marker per usual. I type the number into my phone, just in case she just needs something.
On the drive back to my house, I punch in a quick text to her,
“Hey, this is Marcus. Did you mean to leave your number next to my keys?”
After mere seconds, she types back.
“Yes. You are in danger.”
What?
“Becca?”
“What? No, I do not know a "Becca"
Meet me at your house. 726 Marsh Lane, correct?”
This is really bad. Why does this person know where I live? I'm starting to panic but I need to pull myself together.
“Who is this?? Why do you know my address?
Hello??”
