She rooted around in her purse, looking for her cell phone. When she pulled it out, there was a postcard half sticking out of the case.
Riley frowned. It was a black-and-white photo of some kids—teenagers, mostly—dressed in funky 1970s clothing. They were all slouching in front of a brick wall, a fading four-leaf clover painted just above their heads.
“Love note?” Shelby asked as she came up over Riley’s shoulder.
“No, I just found it in my purse.” She turned the postcard over and read the note:
“Something lost has now been found. And there’s a red circle around the word found.”
“Um, OK. In terms of love notes, I’ve read better. Who’s it from?”
“I have no idea.” Riley waved the card. “There’s no signature, and I don’t recognize the writing.”
“And it was in your purse?”
“Yeah, that’s so weird.”
“Not if it’s from your birth parents.” Shelby waggled her eyebrows. “Or maybe it’s from Jane O’Leary, trying to contact you from beyond the grave.” She did her best impression of spooky fingers and ghost voice, but Riley was not amused.
“You really need to stick to your stories, Shelbs. Am I the missing kid, or is the missing kid my knocked-off big sister?”
Shelby gunned the engine. “I don’t know. You’re the one getting ghost posts.”
? ? ?
Shelby pulled the car into Riley’s driveway and pushed it into park. “So tomorrow morning, bright and early?”
“Definitely. I can’t wait.” Riley slammed the door shut, and Shelby rolled down the window, grunting with the effort of cranking the handle.
“Don’t let the fake hornet get you. Oh! I bet it was your birth mother, closing in on you! She’s sending you mystery postcards to warn you…”
“Shelby! If I were adopted, my parents wouldn’t have changed my age and my birth date. Stop with this!”
“But if your—”
“Drive away, Shelby.”
Shelby rolled down the street, giggling, as Riley headed for the front door. She paused when her hackles went up, her whole body stiff with the sudden fear that she was being watched. She spun slowly, squinting at the vacant houses that lined the street around her. When nothing jumped out, she let out a long sigh.
She tried to brush the feeling off but it stuck; she sped up the walk and locked the door behind her.
“How was the carnival, turnip?”
Riley jumped when her father came down the hall. “Creepy.”
Her father looked alarmed. “Did someone bother you?”
She thought briefly of telling her dad about the fake Henry or the weird postcard, but she knew it would only lead to two things: her parents’ insane overreaction and her parents’ insane overprotection. They would call the police, and Riley would never be able to leave the house again, let alone go on the school trip.
“It was nothing. Just some stupid kids or something.” Riley paused. Maybe it was the strangeness of the night or a sudden boldness at being allowed to spend the weekend away, but she asked, “Did you and Mom ever want another kid?”
Her father paused then sat down on the stairs, patting the space next to him for Riley to sit. She did.
“Is this because you didn’t win a goldfish?”
“What—no!”
“Honey, I know how hard those carnival games can be. If you really want a goldfish, Mom and I will get you one. It’ll be a lot faster than making you a baby sister.”
Riley rolled her eyes when her father laughed.
“I was being serious, Dad.”
He swung an arm over Riley’s shoulder. “Why would we want another kid when we’ve got perfection right here? We hit pay dirt the first time around.” He gave her a loud, smacking kiss on the forehead then patted the top of her head and shuffled up the stairs. Riley didn’t move from her spot even when he turned off the hallway light, leaving only the faint upstairs glow bleeding in the hallway.
Was it weird that he immediately mentioned a sister? Riley thought absently.
? ? ?
Shelby was standing in front of the school the next morning, checking her phone and glancing up occasionally. She broke into a wide grin as Riley waved good-bye to her parents. “I. Am. So. Excited.” She was talking in fully punctuated sentence-words and flapping her arms—Shelby always did when she got excited. Riley grabbed her friend and brushed down her arm-wings.
“Calm down, Shelbs. You’re about to take flight.”
But Riley didn’t quite feel as cool as she acted. She looked around, little goose bumps rising on the back of her neck. She always found being on campus eerie when classes weren’t going on—even more so on a Saturday morning like this. It almost seemed like school should cease to exist between Friday night and Monday morning.
“Hey!” Shelby calmed down and pinched Riley. “I called you, like, three times last night. No answer. What’d you do?”
“Nothing. Ate pizza, ran a few more Google searches.”
“Oh, on your parent-felons?”
“My parents aren’t felons!” Riley hissed. “Besides, it didn’t turn up anything, felons or not.”