17 I sat in Trek’s Mercedes, my hands clamped around the bottle of water he had given me. The plastic crackled when I took a sip. Even after three swallows, the metallic taste clung to my mouth. “If you’re tasting fear, water isn’t going to get rid of it,” Trek said as he steered the car past a storefront medical clinic that specialized in back pain. “I wouldn’t be nervous if you’d let me take my purse,” I argued. “Nando has seen me around school. If he recognizes me, I’ll need the hammer.” “He won’t recognize you,” Trek assured me. “I can guarantee it.” I glanced at my reflection in the side view mirror. I barely recognized myself in the feathery lashes and glossy lipstick. Melissa had volunteered to do my makeup again, her eagerness surprising me. She had brought over new spiky shoes and another blue dress, this one even shorter than the one I’d worn last night.
