Free The Quick Fix by Jack D. Ferraiolo

I said. “We agreed to keep our own secrets. But if one of us got in over our heads, we’d ask the other for help.”
    â€œAnd you think I’m in over my head?” she asked. “How did you come to that conclusion?”
    â€œYou’re kidding, right? You’re—” I stopped. “You’re crying,” I said, making an effort not to start crying myself.
    â€œAnd you’re lying in your bed, wide awake at two in the morning,” she said. “So, what conclusion should I come to?”
    I didn’t say anything.
    I understood her position, but that didn’t keep me from feeling frustrated. I wanted to be there for her, to help her … and I imagined she was feeling the same thing about me.
    She walked into my room and sat down on the edge of my bed.
    â€œWe’ve kind of painted ourselves into a corner,” I said.
    My mom nodded. “Any ideas on what to do next?”
    â€œNo. Hey, aren’t you an adult? Don’t you have any age-related wisdom you can apply to this situation?”
    â€œAge-related wisdom?!?” she said, laughing. “That’s the worst euphemism for ‘old’ I’ve ever heard.” She reached over and mussed up my hair, then pushed my head back so that it fell into the pillow. “Think of that as a little nudge toward dreamland,” she said.
    â€œMore like a shove toward Concussion City.”
    She stood up and walked out the door, then stopped and turned. “Are you sure you can handle what’s going on?” she asked.
    â€œNo. Are you?”
    â€œNo. When do you think you’ll know for sure?”
    â€œProbably when it’s too late to ask for help,” I said.
    â€œYeah. Me too.”
    â€œWell, at least now I know who I inherited
that
from,” I said.
    â€œGood night, Matt. Try to get some sleep.”
    â€œBack atcha.”
    I used to think I trusted my mom, that I could tell her anything … which was ridiculous, considering thatI couldn’t tell her anything about what really happened at the Frank. So, which was better: the lie that was comfortable or the truth that made me wish we were still living the lie?

morning came. There was no way to stop it. The best I could do was delay it a bit. After several trips to the snooze bar, I realized that I wasn’t going to feel rested by getting sleep in ten-minute increments. I rolled out of bed, turned off the alarm, and stumbled into the day. Getting through school on two hours of sleep wasn’t ideal, but I had done it enough times to know it was possible.
    In the kitchen, there was a ten-dollar bill and a note from my mom. “Don’t spend this all on coffee,” it said.“Love ya.” I smiled. I picked up the ten dollars and walked down the hall toward her room. She had an ugly ceramic pineapple on top of her dresser where she kept her emergency fund. I picked up the lid and stuffed the ten inside. I still had almost fifty bucks from three different clients; no need to take my mom’s money. I stumbled back to the kitchen to start my morning routine.
    As I drank some juice and poured myself some cereal, my thoughts shifted to the piece of paper inside the box. Who put it there and why? And how did they know about TMS136P15? Had they somehow been involved in my dad’s disappearance? Was putting that code in the box an attempt to hurt or distract me, or was someone trying to make contact with me? Or did it have nothing to do with me? Was TMS136P15 part of something bigger, and my dad’s disappearance was only a small part of it?
    My head started hurting; it didn’t feel big enough to hold the number of possibilities that I was going to have to sift through in order to get some answers. I decided that the best way to move forward with this case was to start at the beginning, with Will Atkins. He was the one who had given Melissa the box to hold in the first place, and he had told her