"Mom, can I talk to you for a second?"

"Honey, how important is this? You know I'm getting on a call in a few minutes."

I breathe in deeply, then huff to show the years of pent-up frustration. Then, knowing this routine as well as I know that true love is a myth, I mouth the next few words she says as she turns her back to me once again. "You don't have to be such a drama queen, Nicole. Really." Tapping my fingers on the island in the center of the kitchen, I mumble a response to her question. "I guess not very important, considering the fact that I'm the one requesting your time."

"Nicole, what are you talking about?" Mom doesn't bother to spare a glance in my direction. Instead, she heads into the pantry to retrieve spaghetti ingredients. Spaghetti. Jackson's favorite food. It was mine, too, until I found out it was something we shared in common. Now I can't even stand the sight, and the smell makes me nauseous.

Jackson West is my mother's 'True Love Number Eleven,' and it hasn't even been a year yet since my father left us. I don't care what Jackson's last name is... He's taking my relationship with my mom south, just like True Love Numbers One through Ten. If this is true love... if it's only coming and then leaving once you've had your fill, I want no part of it. It's clearly not all it's cracked up to be, but my forty-six-year-old schoolgirl-at-heart mother has yet to figure that out. It's exhausting having to be the responsible one all the time.

"True Love Number Eleven and counting in the time span of ten months. Wow, Mom. Congratulations. What are you going to do next? And don't mention Disney World. It's cliché."

"What's that, Nicole? You know I can't hear you. The washing machine is roaring in my ears."

I smile, grateful for once for my apparent skills of not being able to be heard. No matter how loud my expressions and actions yell, she can never seem to hear me.

"What do you care?!" I say, risking being heard this time as I'm raising my voice. "You never hear me anyway!"

Oops. When did the washing machine turn off?

But still, she doesn't stop to look me in the eyes as she walks back to the boiling pot of water.

A selfish little girl in a dark corner of my heart hopes against my common sense that she feels guilty. 'Perhaps she fears that making eye contact would reveal the fact that she knows you're right,' says the selfish little girl. 'Perhaps she's not ready to admit you're right.' But when will she be ready to see the pain that she's not only causing me, but that she's causing herself as well?

"You sound like an abused child," she says with a tone of irritation. "Do you feel abused?"

I take that question and run with it.

"It's just that... It's just that it's always... Well, 'Jackson this,' and 'Jackson that,' and Jackson always comes first in our family no matter what. To be honest, I kind of miss the days when it was just us and you'd never miss a single dance recital. You always seemed genuinely excited to go and support me. I will admit that sometimes it was a little embarrassing when you'd shout, 'That's my daughter!' But I'd do anything to get those days back.

"Now that Jackson is in the picture and you're so sure about him that he's moving in for crying out loud, you don't even have time to sit and talk with me anymore. All I wanted to ask was if you would consider coming to see me perform next time. That's all."

My mother stiffens, and for a moment I imagine she's going to turn around and hit me with the hot spoon in her hand. But I remain still, showing her that I mean what I'm saying... that I'm not joking and am not going to back down again. But then she resumes stirring the meat in the spaghetti sauce and her shoulders relax. "Sorry, Nicki. Can't. Jackson and I already have plans."

I sigh, turning to head to my room. Halfway out of the kitchen, I mumble, "Why do I even bother?"

"Young lady! You come back here right now. I will not be tolerating this attitude in my house!"

I stop walking abruptly. It's not even fear that causes me to halt. It's the shock of hearing her shout for the first time since my father left. She's been such a quiet person since that day.

"I'm tired of it being all about Jackson. I mean, do you even know him? There's more to a person than how much money they make, you know, and what kind of car they drive. Do you even truly know him?"

"What I'd like to know is where this attitude is coming from." She is finally facing me, but now I wish she wasn't. Her glare is actually rather intimidating. I've pressed a button, and she's letting me know it. "It seems I know him more than I know you right now."

"I wouldn't be surprised. You don't take the time to learn anything about me."

My mother sighs. She doesn't say anything. Her index finger, which is pointed towards my room, says it all, making words unnecessary. It's only when she realizes I'm not budging that she decides to open her mouth. I'm seriously starting to wonder if I'm not even worth her words. "Now, Nicole."

Suddenly, my maturity shrinks. I find myself groaning as I ball my fists at my sides. I even stomp my foot, but instantly regret it when it begins to ache a mere second later. "You wanna know what I think? I think you don't even love any of the guys you bring home. I think you're fooling yourself into thinking you feel anything for them, when all you feel is a desire to feel whole again. I get that Dad took that away from you when he left, but–"

"Go to your room!"

Just then, the front door opens and Jackson's deep voice and heavy footsteps fill our house. "What's going on? Is everything all right?"

I'm surprised when Mom doesn't answer him. She seems to be in complete shock due to my sudden outburst. It was only a matter of time, I knew. What I don't understand was how she couldn't see it coming.

"Janet, are those tears?" Jackson asks, stepping past me to reach my mom.

"I'm going for a drive. I'll see you when I see you." Although I'm desperate to leave this house, I hesitate before walking out the front door. I'm also desperate to know she cares. But she doesn't say anything, doesn't ask where I'm heading, or when I'll be back. She doesn't tell me when to return for dinner. Instead, she's involved in a self-pity session with Jackson, who showers her with sympathetic kisses. Yuck. At least it'll be easier for me to leave now.

But I'm not as lucky as I thought. The moment I unlock my red Mustang, the front door of the house opens and the very person I was trying to escape yells for me to wait. Of course, the word 'wait' only rushes me along.

"Nikki, wait up!" he shouts, racing towards me. Once I'm finally in my car, I press the lock button. But then there's another click. I'm puzzled, at first, as to where it came from, but I recognize it as the sound of my car's doors being either locked or unlocked. I look to the lock closest to me. Sure enough, it is up, indicating that someone else has access to the locks.

Completely and utterly shocked, I look up. Jackson is no longer in front of me. I look to my left. He's not there either. But when I hear the door to my right being opened, I know exactly where he is. My mouth drops open. My eyes must be even wider. I can honestly say that, out of all the guys my mother has dated, this one is the one I can't stand the most.

To outsiders (which, unfortunately, includes my mother), he must seem like the perfect guy. I'm sure they believe he will turn into a perfect husband and then become a perfect father... if he doesn't perfect both roles simultaneously. After all, he's promising my mother a bigger house within a few months, better cars, and an excellent college for me when I'm ready. He is, in fact, the reason I have this Mustang. He called it a "peace offering." I refused to lay a finger on it until just recently, but not for any other reason than the simple fact that he is the one who gifted it to me.

Some seventeen-year-olds would undoubtedly call it the best birthday gift they'd ever received. I'm not one of those seventeen-year-olds.

"Get out of my car."

From the corner of my eye, I see the surprised expression on Jackson's face. He clearly wasn't expecting that. To be truthful, nor was I. As of recently, however, I haven't been so predictable... Not even to myself.

Rather than turning to face him, I stare straight into space as I grip the wheel as if it were his neck. My knuckles grow paler as my glare becomes harder. He only continues to stare.

"Nikki, we need to talk," he says gently. His eyes are no longer on me. The realization of this causes my shoulders to relax almost instantly, and my grip to loosen.

"Yeah, no kidding," I reply. I start the engine and shut off the radio once it comes on. The volume seems to startle Jackson a little, and I can't help smiling at that. "Okay. For one, quit calling me 'Nikki'. You're not my real father, and you never will be. And two, I know what you're trying to do. It's not working. You think you can win my heart with material things, but you're wrong. That couldn't be any further from the truth. The third thing is–"

"That's enough!" Jackson slams his door closed and, with a threatening glare, commands me to drive. I'm too in shock to even be sure I heard correctly. "What? You want me to drive? Quit staring at me like that and move this dumb car before I take over."

This is it... He's going to order me to drive to a lake, where he'll dump my body and then return to my mother with some well-thought-out lie. The police station isn't that far. Maybe I can head there instead. "No, no, it's okay. I'll drive."

"And don't get any dumb ideas about taking us to the police. You wouldn't believe the connections I have."

Well, there goes that idea.

Since Jackson doesn't give me any specific orders, I decide to simply take us around town, consciously avoiding any backroads and lonely streets. After a while of silence between us, he begins to speak. Every passing second of silence only intensifies my fears. They worsen to the point that, when the light finally turns green, I dismiss it as unimportant. Then a horn blares behind us, pulling me out of my own head until I understand what she wants. Jackson doesn't seem to notice.

"There have been some... issues, to put it lightly, within my previous family these past few years," Jackson says. "My wife mysteriously disappeared three years ago, leaving me to care for my two children on my own. I have a son... He'd just turned fifteen. My daughter... She was only four. She was seeing this man... She'd talk about him often, to the point it made me jealous. They were coworkers. She spent most of her time at work, so he got to see her more than I did.

"Then, slowly, she started disappearing... The first few times, yeah, she told me where she was heading. But then she'd just... be gone... and the only way I knew she really left... Well, her car wasn't there. And then one day she just upped and left. We haven't seen her since. At first I was sure that she ran off with that man, but then the strangest thing happened. My children disappeared, too! I got home from work one day and they were gone. So was their babysitter."

Maybe my judgements were a little harsh... I feel myself softening towards Jackson. Maybe I was wrong about him. "I'm... I'm so sorry... I had no idea..."

"Yeah... I haven't even told your mom about this yet. I was afraid she'd be too scared to have anything to do with me if she ever found out."

I nod, knowing how my mother can be. "What are the police doing about this?"

"Well, Nicole, that's actually where you come in."

I struggle to keep my focus on the busy road. One wrong move and we could both be goners, too. "What?"

"I try not to get the police involved whenever I'm sure I can handle matters on my own. Well, now I'm sure. Besides, they have enough to deal with already, you know? Anyway, you've always been a very determined girl, Nicole. Very smart, too. I can see that already. Also, from what your mom has shared, you possess a lot of qualities that assure me you're the one. You see... This 'babysitter,' as he called himself... He was watching them while I was gone on the day they disappeared.

"He always showed this strange interest in my children... Especially my daughter, but I always dismissed it. I simply told myself that he truly cares for them. Besides, he worked for free, saying it was out of love for my family. I didn't have much money at the time to pay anyone, anyway, so I didn't turn down the offer. Now I can see what a mistake that was."

"Where do I fit into all of this?" I question hesitantly. I have no intention of making any moves without going to the police first. This man is insane if he expects me to do otherwise.

"Nicole, I'd like you to help me find him," he answers. "I don't have much information but I'm sure you're a smart enough girl to go on the little I can give you. His name is Caleb Davis, he's... Well, if I can remember correctly, he's about... twenty now? His eyes are ice blue. His hair is mostly brown with blonde highlights but, I mean... it could be purple now for all I know. Anyway, will you do this, Nicole? Will you help me get my children back?"

I'm grateful for another red light not too far in the distance. Most times, I hate anything that gets in the way of my Point B. Now, however, I could almost sit here forever... or at least until I recover from the shock of what Jackson is asking me to do. He has to be joking.

"I'm sorry to hear about your children..." I have half a mind to ignore the horns blaring behind us. I feel safer in one spot rather than being in a constant state of motion, surrounded by other vehicles. At least right now, as my mind is buzzing with the absurdity of what this man is saying. My brain can't even seem to process it at all. No matter how many questions he answers and ideas he refutes, I find myself asking again, at least in my mind.

"If you really were, Nicole, you would at least consider helping me find them. You'd at least think about it... hear me out, you know?"

"I truly am sorry. But what can I do? There are plenty of reasons to go to the police first, Mr. West. I've only just turned seventeen. I'm a girl and, from what I gather, this guy seems to be quite fond of girls. I'm no agent of any sort. They're the guys you want for the job... Not me."

The man seated beside me makes an inhuman sound, causing me to glance over at him. I fear mostly for myself rather than the man the noise came out of. The combination of the noise and his eyes show some sort of internal struggle. This car suddenly feels way too small to fit both of us, and I've never thought of myself as claustrophobic in any sense of the word.

"You don't think I've already been to the police?" It's obvious that he's trying to remain calm. I seem to have pressed another button. "Nicole, these are my children we're talking about. My own flesh and blood. You don't think I'd care enough to harass the police and anyone else I can get a hold of?"

I swallow the lump of fear sitting in my throat and nod. I quickly correct myself by shaking my head. "I just don't understand... They really haven't done anything?"

"Well," he begins, visibly calming down, "they searched for a while and then eventually gave up. They've had plenty of distractions in the past few years and if I were anybody else, I wouldn't be able to blame them for giving up. This kid is really skilled in the 'art' of disappearing. My friend, however, believes Caleb is in the area... and I need you to help me find him."

"Where's your friend in all of this? You said he knows where Caleb is and I haven't heard anything about him assisting you in this search."

"Firstly," Jackson says, "I never said he's sure about his whereabouts. I said he 'believes'. And let me tell you... Oftentimes, what Johnny believes and the real facts are two separate things. And secondly, Johnny... Well, let me just say that he and the cops... They're not friends, if you get what I'm saying. Don't get me wrong... He's a good guy, but he's just made some bad choices throughout his life. If he brought the snippets of information to the police, they'd laugh him all the way to jail."

"Oh," is all I can manage to say. My mother's boyfriend is involved with a criminal?

"They're more concerned about locking Johnny up than finding my children and punishing the one responsible for their kidnapping," he continues. The more he shares, the more uncomfortable with him I become. The more uncomfortable I become, the more I consider disregarding his words and heading to the police station. We've passed it by now, but it's on the way home anyway.

I'm preparing to make a U-turn when Jackson puts a firm hand on my shoulder. I instinctively jerk my body away from his touch. "Hands off! My mother may allow you to do as you please with them, but let's get one thing straight." Through my teeth, I complete my warning. "I am not my mother!"

Jackson doesn't respond verbally. He does, however, move his hand. The intensity of his stare catches my own attention, but then I realize that I haven't yet moved. Oddly enough, though, I haven't yet heard any horns to signal impatience with my driving... or lack thereof. A quick check into the rearview mirror causes fear to take over. My Mustang suddenly flies out into the center of the road and continues at this speed until Jackson yells for me to slow down.

"Nicole, what's wrong with you?!" he continues. "You could get us killed!"

"I'm sorry... I don't know what just came over me." I sigh, attempting to calm my racing heart. Jackson doesn't appear to be feeling any better than I do. In fact, he seems more surprised and even frightened. "Those guys... They looked so familiar... Um... We should probably head back home."

"Yes, I should."

Before I have a chance to understand the meaning of those words, the same few faces that caused me to jet out into the street are beside me. "That's them," I whisper.

"Those guys?" Jackson's face contorts in a way I haven't seen before now. He looks... amused! "Those guys gave you that death wish back there? Oh, man, wait until I tell Robbie. He'll get a serious kick out of that."

"Robbie?"

"Yeah, the driver. Roll down your window."

"What?! Are you kidding?"

The momentary silence causes me to look over at Jackson. He is not kidding.

The passenger in the Jeep beside me motions with a hand for me to do as Jackson asked. His smile looks warm enough, but I'm not one to take chances when it comes to strangers. No. David, Mom's True Love Number Three, taught me better than that.

Before I can stop him, Jackson presses the button between us that rolls the window down. The smile of the man in the car behind us disappears in an instant but for some reason having to do with my brain's function under stress, I am unable to pull off the stunt I did only minutes ago.

Step on it, Nicole! The road's clear! If anything, I only slow down. Jackson is unfazed when his friend, Robbie, slows down with us.

Then his passenger pulls out a gun.