Finding Abbey Road Read Free Page B

don’t really need to.
    I’m pretty sure I know.
    11:14 a.m.
    Caleb slides in the backseat. I take shotgun. Before I sit, Ari brushes a pile off the seat: takeout cups, energy bar wrappers, drumsticks, comic books, a copy of Pump It! magazine. His car smells like chocolate and boy. The second I close the door he tears off down the alley.
    â€œSo,” I say, “let me guess: Jason is behind all this.” I’m not even sure how that could be possible but who else could it be? There’s no one who’s been more invested in messing with us—
    But Ari laughs dismissively. “Yeah right.” He revs the gas as we sit at the stoplight outside school, then guns it out onto Main Street, our necks whiplashing. “Like I’d do this for him. ”
    â€œThen who?” Caleb asks.
    Ari is about to reply when his phone utters a sensual female moan.
    â€œNice,” I mutter.
    Ari picks it up and reads a text. “One sec, gonna let him know that we’re on the way . . .”
    He replies with his thumb while drifting back and forth in our lane. “Ari . . . ,” I say as we race up on a line of cars stopped at a red light. I grab the wheel to get his attention.
    â€œI got it,” he says, glancing up and slamming the brakes.
    His phone coos as his message sends.
    â€œAre you going to tell us where we’re going, or who is behind this?” I ask.
    Ari just stares ahead at the traffic, his face tight. Then his phone moans again.
    â€œUgh, can you please silence that?”
    â€œI’ll put it on vibrate,” he says. He might mean that as a joke, but his delivery is halfhearted. He checks the text and holds it up so we can both see the sender and the message:
    Dad: Santa Monica pier.
    â€œYour dad . . . ,” I say.
    â€œJerrod Fletcher?” Caleb asks from the back.
    â€œI don’t get why he wants to talk to you ,” says Ari. “Does this have something to do with your label offer? Cuz believe me, I can understand why you’d be hesitant to work with my brother. He’s kind of a d-bag sometimes and—”
    â€œYeah,” I say quickly, glancing at Caleb as I do. “That’s basically it. We’re not sure whether or not we want to work with Jason.” If that’s what Ari is most inclined to believe, we’ll go with that.
    â€œIt’s huge money,” says Ari. He sounds jealous.
    â€œIt is,” says Caleb, “and we were supposed to give him an answer by today . . . I guess your dad wants to talk it over, try to persuade us or something.”
    â€œWhoo, yeah,” says Ari. “I’m glad I’m just dropping you off and don’t actually have to be there. He gets pretty pissy about stuff like this.”
    â€œThanks for the warning,” I say.
    Meanwhile, my midsection is doing backflips into a pool of adrenaline.
    Jerrod Fletcher is the one who led me to Eli . . .
    Who sent Caleb the guitar case.
    Which means Jerrod Fletcher knows Eli is alive.
    Has known for sixteen years . . .
    Does anyone else? We met Kellen McHugh, Eli’s old band mate. He seemed to have no idea. I’m pretty sure Jason has no clue. Neither does Caleb’s uncle, Randy. I always just assumed Jerrod was part of the enemy team after Eli’s songs. . . .
    But maybe he is something else entirely.
    I try to catch Caleb’s eye again. I want to break this down with him so badly, but once more his gaze is buried in his phone. God, who is he texting now? I know I shouldn’t stick my nosein, but I have to say something. I’ll try to keep it casual.
    Summer: What’s up?
    Caleb: Nothing.
    My thumbs twitch, wanting more.
    Summer: Let’s not tell Ari anything we don’t have to.
    Caleb: Agreed.
    But other than swearing at the traffic on the 405, Ari doesn’t feel like talking, either. He drives like an idiot, or he’s just really nervous, weaving in and out of lanes, gunning the