Dear Diary

22. SO, HERE WE ARE

S A M A R A

The real reason I wanted to be alone in the library after school today was to look into the Idris Patel case. D.T.'s last call is still on my mind. Part of me hopes this is a goose chase. The thought of Kelly having anything to do with a hit-and-run leaving a man dead makes my blood curdle, and I desperately want it to be some kind of farce. However, the logical part of me says D.T. probably isn't blowing smoke.

I've clicked a couple links so far that basically retell information everyone knows already: Idris Patel was hit by a car on the road leading to Overhead Peak while taking a routine late night walk. The incident was estimated to take place between nine and ten o'clock, May 10, 2017.

No suspects.

Those articles were outsourced from outside of town. I localize the search with the intention of getting insight from a source straight out of Grovesville. A familiar one pops up: Grovesville Daily. I click the link and scroll. Here, too, is a lot of the same information, but something does catch my eye. Attached to the article is an image of a silver car. An older looking one. According to the text below, it's the make and model authorities suspected was involved in Patel's hit-and-run.

The article states citizens of Grovesville should be on the lookout for a 2006 Maserati Quattroporte as it is suspected, through forensic tire tread evidence, that particular vehicle was used to kill Patel. A couple witnesses at the time called and claimed to have seen a silver vehicle around town the previous day, matching the make and model. The car's current whereabouts are unknown.

The case ran cold.

I close my laptop and lean back in the chair. A silver 2006 Maserati Quattroporte. No one I know drives a car like that. Certainly not Kelly. The vehicle in question was never traced back to anyone as there was no license plate number reported. But this is good. It's something to work with, and I know what my next step will be.

"Guess who," a voice says from behind me as a pair of hands cover my eyes.

"Hi, Brandan," I say. He takes his hands away and pulls up the seat next to me, flashing a smile as I cross my arms. "Are you stalking me?"

He laughs and goes through his backpack. "No, we have enough of that going on already. I came to study. There's a test on Friday, remember?"

"Wow, and all on your own accord."

"Can't rely on you all the time, can I?"

"Nice to see you taking the initiative."

He pulls out a laptop, placing it next to mine, along with a notebook and pencil. "Well, I happen to have a pretty good influence working in my favor."

I smile at the compliment and open my own laptop back up, minimizing the article. Might as well get some work done myself.

For a while Brandan and I worked silently. At one point I peer at him and it's like I'm looking at a new person. He's immersed in the work and I can't help but feel pride, as if I'm watching a troubled child finally grow up. I guess, in a way, that's what it is.

By the time we're done and walking out into the hallway, two hours have passed and I've completed work for four classes. Which is good, considering I was falling behind.

"So what's it like in jail?" he jests.

"Ha-ha, you're so funny," I say. "I wasn't in jail, but I'm sure you'd know what it's like yourself."

"Nope. Never been, for your information."

"For some reason that surprises me."

"Now who's the funny one?"