She was far stronger than she looked.

Feeling more confident in her abilities, I continued. “A punch is basically like a fast push. Strike with the heel of your hand. Remember, hard bones, soft places. So you’ve got the eyes, the nose”—with my good hand I demonstrated lightly on myself—“and the neck. And if you catch him under the chin and push, he’ll have to go where you push.”

I ducked into the bedroom and came back with the pillow. Holding the back of the pillow in the center, I lifted it to head height, off to one side. “Pretend this is his face.”

She grunted as she threw her first strike, hard enough that I staggered. “Nice!” I adjusted my stance so my shoulder could swing away to better absorb the impact. “Don’t pull your arm back before you hit him, or he’ll know what you’re doing.” I thought of Daniel but pushed the thought away. I had to focus. “Always keep your elbows in front of your ribs. Now hit some more.” As she struck again and again, I grunted each time. “That’s right. Pivot from the feet. Use your hips.”

My shoulder aching, I finally dropped the pillow. “That’s very good. You move well. A lot of people don’t realize that the power of your hands comes from your feet and hips.”

Jenny ducked her head, but I thought she looked proud. “I ran track in middle school.”

“That should really help your kicks. A good place to aim for is the groin. Think of making contact with your shoelaces.”

She kicked in the air with her toe pointed. “Like a scoop?”

I nodded. “Exactly. Exactly like that! Or kick him in the knee with the bottom or side of your shoe. With his knee dislocated, he couldn’t chase after us. Kicks are good for keeping distance. But if he gets in too close, raise your knee just like you’re climbing the stairs and hit him in the groin. If you lean back, you’ll give it more force.” Since I didn’t have two hands to hold the pillow, I had Jenny practice both kicks and knee strikes in the air.

“Even if you end up on the ground, you can still kick him. Smash his knees, his groin, even his ankles.” I thought back to what Sifu had said. Was it just two days ago? “The main rule is that there are no rules. Do whatever you have to do. Scratch or bite or gouge his eyes.”

Outside, Rex started to bark again.

Jenny clutched my arm. “He’s already coming back!”

We weren’t nearly ready. Should I position myself on the far side of the door, where he wouldn’t see me at first? Or on the near side where I could strike as soon as possible? What if I tried to hit him with the can just as Jenny was striking him and I ended up hurting her?

I chose the near side, swinging the can over my shoulder. It thumped painfully on my lower back. Jenny stood opposite me, her hands near her face, her open palms ready to strike him or grab the Taser.

Sourness spread over the back of my tongue. My pulse slammed in my ears.

And we waited for the door to open.

DANIEL DIAZ

Yesterday in the school office, another student had overheard Savannah’s mom telling my dad about her disappearance. By the time the last bell rang, everyone was talking about Savannah, even people I was sure had no idea who she was. I started asking around, hoping to uncover new information. Maybe someone else at school knew her better, was in touch with her, or was giving her a place to crash. Maybe I could pass on the info to my dad, put his and her mom’s minds to rest.

But no one really knew anything, except Nevaeh. She lived two doors down from the house Savannah shared with her mom and Tim. Nevaeh said that more than once she’d heard an angry man yelling inside the house. Just a man shouting. No one yelling back.

Since Savannah’s home life was bad, it made sense that she had taken off. It even explained why she had lied to me. Someone else must have been in the upper lot, someone she had arranged to wait for her. But there were other possible explanations. Darker ones. Tim could have been lying in wait. And it even turned out that, over the last few months, a couple of girls had thought a slow-moving car was tailing them for a few blocks. One I’d heard about before, the other was news to me.

Last night, I’d lain awake until four in the morning, replaying my last conversation with Savannah, looking for clues.

This morning, I biked back to our dojo and locked my bike to a street sign. On foot, I started where I had last seen Savannah Thursday night. On the concrete steps that led up to the upper parking lot.

It had been less than forty hours since she had turned to look back at me from these very steps.

Then she had gotten to the top, turned the corner, and gone—where? And why would she have gone someplace without her phone? She had definitely lied about her mom waiting for her. Did she have a friend outside of school? Or even a secret boyfriend? But if she did, why had it felt like she’d almost said yes to the idea of going to the winter formal with me?

Nevaeh had given me Savannah’s home address. My plan was to retrace Savannah’s steps, or at least my best guess of what they would have been, and look for clues. And once I got to her house, what then? I remembered how some dark emotion had flickered over her face when she talked about Tim. It was somehow worse that he wasn’t even her official stepdad, just her mom’s boyfriend. According to my dad, he had already admitted to Savannah’s mom that he had argued with her. Could he have hurt her? At the thought, my hands balled into fists.

What would I do if I saw him coming out of the house? Or what about simply knocking on the door and demanding answers? My dad would get mad if I confronted Tim. But I wasn’t sure I could leave him alone.

At the top of the steps, I turned and looked back. The corner of the building blocked me from seeing the spot where I had been Thursday night. Which meant that even if I had hung around, I wouldn’t have been able to see what happened to Savannah once she reached the top. But I hadn’t been looking, had I? I had believed her when she said her mom was giving her a ride home.

And if she had lied about that, maybe she had lied about other things, the way Dad had implied.

Lost in thought, I cut through the parking lot.

But something nagged at me. Something out of place. Finally, I stopped, turned, and scanned the lot, which held a half dozen cars.

Nothing jumped out at me. I was already turning back, already rehearsing what I would say to that jerk Tim if I saw him, when I spotted it.

A gray beanie, tangled low in the blackberry bushes at the back of the lot.

My stomach bottomed out. No, I thought. No, please, God, I’m not seeing this.

I walked over. With a shaking hand, I reached out and pulled the hat free from the brambles. Dark strands of hair clung to it. Long dark hair, just like Savannah’s. In one spot, about a dozen hairs were clustered together.

As if they had been pulled out during a struggle.

In my mind’s eye, I replayed standing outside with Savannah after class. The way she looked at me as she pulled on her hat.

This hat.

Something bad had happened here.

And I hadn’t heard a thing.

SIR

Carrying a wrench, I started back toward the RV that held Jenny and Savannah.

I basically grew up with a wrench in my hand. Before I was born, my dad began this business on a stretch of land next to a country road. He’d been a shade tree mechanic who sometimes ended up with cars when his customers couldn’t pay. He dismantled them and sold the parts, and over time, that became his main line of business. He bought cars that weren’t worth fixing. At auctions, he bid on abandoned vehicles. Now there were acres of pasture covered with hundreds of cars and trucks. They lay in long, winding rows, many of them twisted and crumpled, as if made of paper and not steel. But they still contained so much that could be salvaged and sold. Head- and taillights, batteries, transmissions, radiators, catalytic converters. Engines. Rearview and sideview mirrors. Unbroken windshields if the car had been rear-ended. Bumpers if the car had been T-boned. My dad kept the high-demand parts in a cinderblock warehouse he built himself. The rest he pulled after a customer placed an order.