Free Nothing Special by Geoff Herbach Page A

(Lie.)
    â€œWell, you’re clearly the one with the problem.”
    â€œHmm…That’s possible.” I thought about my problem. Give Emily away? I thought I better. “It’s not from nowhere, Jerri. Bony Emily got drunk and told Gus’s girlfriend that Andrew ran away.”
    â€œShe what ?” Jerri barked. “She got drunk?”
    â€œOh Christ.” I knew I’d just blown a hole in some code of teen conduct. Dear teen fellow…Do not tell your parent about a minorly misbehaving acquaintance, as you do not know the repercussions. “I don’t know what she did. I’m crazy.”
    â€œI’m calling Emily’s mother.”
    â€œI believe she knows. Emily’s grounded.”
    â€œEmily loves unicorns!” Jerri shouted.
    â€œI know,” I said. “But Gus thinks she’s hot. So she’s growing up.”
    â€œEmily Cook?” Jerri shouted.
    â€œI’m a little crazy. Think I’ll go for a jog.”
    â€œAndrew can’t be friends with Emily if she’s going to be a drunk party girl.”
    â€œRight, Jerri. You’re going to tell Andrew what he can or can’t do?”
    â€œStupid Andrew.” Jerri shook her head.
    â€œI really don’t know anything, Jerri. I highly doubt Bony Emily is a partyer.”
    â€œStupid Emily.”
    â€œVery dumb.” I stood up and stretched.
    â€œDon’t run too fast, Felton,” Jerri said, clearly not thinking about my running.
    â€œUm…okay?” I said. I stared at Jerri.
    Jerri shook her head at me, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. “Emily Cook.”
    â€œI know,” I said, and clapped my hands and went for a jog up and down the main road, where I tried to make sense of this whole business. I was actually worried for Andrew. Could he possibly be alone some place other than camp?
    No. Jerri has receipts. Brochures. Jerri’s right…
    Wrong.
    The next couple of days I worked out a ton and did what I was supposed to do, but I couldn’t concentrate for crap. (Cody actually hit me in the face with a pass once because I wasn’t paying attention.) I could only think about Andrew, and my fear about him grew and grew. I felt pains in my chest, Aleah.
    The following is a mantra I repeated in my brain for like seventy-two hours straight: This is a well-known and reputable camp! They wouldn’t just forget a kid is supposed to be there! They’d get sued!
    Then, in the middle of the week, I couldn’t take it anymore. I was supposed to meet Cody and Karpinski to run routes, but I hadn’t slept the night before and was seriously obsessing on Andrew’s whereabouts, so I called Andrew’s phone.
    He didn’t answer. His voice mail message sang (Andrew’s crazy-high canary voice singing “Leave a Message!” instead of “Hallelujah!”).
    I left a voice mail. Andrew, I have a weird feeling. I have a weird, weird feeling that you’re not where you say you are. Please call me. Jerri needs to know if you’re doing something weird or unsafe, okay? Are you at camp? If so, prove it. God damn it, Andrew. I don’t need this crap! I have things to do!
    Yes, I got angry while I spoke to his stupid phone.
    Andrew didn’t call me back. I could barely run routes. Cody shouted at me, “What the hell, Rein Stone? Do you have a brain disorder?”
    â€œMaybe,” I said.
    After Andrew didn’t respond for like ten hours, I sent him a few angry texts and left one more message: You are messing with me!
    Then, finally, Thursday morning of that week, things began to come into focus.
    I woke after not sleeping again. I checked for messages on my phone. There were none. I called Andrew. He didn’t answer. I opened my email and here is what I found: A message from Randy Stone, but from a different email: [email protected].
    Dear Sir,
    The underestimated child detective, Randy Stone, knows a few