to be in California, there was a possibility of an actual thing between us. Which sort of terrified me.
“I’m not sure.”
He looked deflated but rebounded quickly. “What about your gig tonight? Is it local?”
“I don’t have details yet,” I lied.
“Oh. Okay.” His voice had cooled.
There was a beep, and Liam looked at his phone. “It’s my dad,” he said. “I should probably take this.”
“Okay.” I felt simultaneously relieved and disappointed.
“Text me when you have details?”
I said I would—another lie—and then we said goodbye and disconnected.
For a while, I sat staring at the white Skype window where his face had been. Why did I have to make things so complicated? I could’ve just told him I was going to LA, and we could have set a time to meet. But the thing was, by the time we got to California, I’d be almost two weeks without meds. What if I was a total wreck? Up or down, I didn’t want him to see those sides of me.
I didn’t want anyone to see them.
CHAPTER 8
WHILE DAD PILOTED THE BUS northwest on US 33, I used my cellular connection to log into my school’s website.
I’d gotten a D on the history exam.
I sat back and raked both hands through my hair. The onset of depression had decimated my focus over the past few weeks—and between that and spotty internet on the road, I just hadn’t been able to keep up with my schoolwork. Not to mention all the time I had spent trying—and failing—to book us gigs. This was a huge setback—and history wasn’t the only class I was at risk of failing.
I did a few quick calculations. Barring some miracle, I would finish the semester with a cumulative GPA of 2.5. That meant I had to get straight As for the rest of my high school career in order to get into nursing school. Dad’s health was getting worse; our whole future—our lives—depended on me getting a good job, getting insurance.
Grades weren’t my only problem. I needed to pull off any number of other miracles, including acquiring expensive props and persuading Dad to reprise his biggest failure on national TV. On top of all that, I had only a small window of time to fix this mess before the down made it impossible to work.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to focus. Our best chance was the Flynn & Kellar show. I had to get my hands on those props.
I texted Ripley:
Me: Any luck?
As soon as the message read “delivered,” the phone rang in my hand.
“Good morrow, young Ellie.”
“Hey, Ripley.”
“Whoa. You sound terrible. What’s going on? Is it the thing with the guy? Do I need to arrange a fatal accident?”
“I’m okay,” I said.
“Like hell you are. You sound like a robot with dead batteries. Is it the guy? Or are you crashing?”
I blinked. Ripley knew me so well. He knew my tells.
“It’s the guy,” I said. It was only half a lie. “It got weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Can we not talk about it right now?”
“Okay. But I’m officially registering my concern. Anyway, here’s some good news: I found Jif Higgins.”
My heart swelled. “Are you serious?”
Jif Higgins was a thirty-something multimillionaire who owned a casino in Las Vegas—and he was a giant magic nerd. He was infamous for buying old props and set pieces and hoarding them in his storage complex. Supposedly, his collection of Houdini memorabilia was unrivaled, and rumor had it he’d bought the entire Siegfried & Roy catalog when they signed off. Nobody liked him; he was notoriously arrogant and abrasive. But when a magician retired or fell on hard times, Higgins would swoop in with bags full of cash, buy up their stuff, and retreat once more into obscurity. If anyone still had Dad’s old Truck Drop props, it was him.
“The guy is almost a ghost online,” Ripley said. “I had to dig, but I finally found a domain registered in his name. The Whois info was private, so I hacked like a bastard until I got his address and phone number. I’m a genius, Ellie. The NSA should headhunt me, but I’ll refuse them, because I’m too rogue.”
I closed my eyes and grabbed a fistful of hair. “Ripley, thank you so much.”
“Sending it as we speak.”
We chatted for a few minutes, and then Ripley had to take his little brother, Jude, to soccer practice, so he signed off.
I tapped the contact file he had sent me and stared at Higgins’s name. I should have called him right away—there