Page 56 of Bad Intentions

Me: I know who you are. And I know about you and my mom.

I’m done playing games. I know what he wanted to talk about. But if he thinks he can surprise me with my past, he’s mistaken. I’m ready to face the man who might be my father.

32

JOSIE

“To think that Karen Boots didn’t have everything under control is⁠—”

“Strange?” I finish Rika’s sentence as we sit at the pub by the truck stop. “Definitely.”

My grandmother has always been the woman who controlled every minute of her life, and mine as well. Just not that time, twenty-five years ago.

It’s Rika’s night off. I left the diner earlier. We met up here to avoid the usual customers at Carrigan’s.

I look forward to meeting up with Rika more than anything lately. She’s a breath of fresh air. With occasional witty humor and reality checks. With her outrageous blue braids and no-nonsense attitude. I wish I were like her and could stand up to all the bullies who have been making my life hell online in the last months.

Earlier, I received another email from a hater, that same one who’s been stalking me online, @bad07.

You deserve what your mom got, it said, stabbing me right in my heart.

“Grandma doesn’t know if that guy Derek is my father or not,” I tell Rika as I sip my beer while Rika takes generous gulps of hers.

“You actually asked her?”

“Yep, straight to her face.”

“There are DNA tests and all.”

“Well, first they have to find the guy.”

“The police already have the DNA from the house.”

“I know. It’s just scary.”

“Why scary? It’s not like you’re gonna find out he’s your dad, and suddenly, you’re gonna go crazy and kill people because it’s in your genes.”

I gape at Rika.

She snorts. “What?”

“Jeez, a little diplomacy wouldn’t hurt.”

“You’ve had the same genes since you were born. You’re doing fine as far as I know. Unless you secretly kill people and stash them in your backyard.”

“Will you shut up?” I shake my head.

“Chill. I’m joking. Maybe you’re just into setting places on fire.”

“Oh my god, Rika, will you cut it out?” I hiss.

She laughs in response, taking a swig of her beer. “Are you into fires?”

I tsk, knowing she’s joking, and I suddenly realize that, with her, I can take these jokes, something that I couldn’t do throughout my school years.

She nudges me with her shoulder. “It’s all right. Did you know that research has shown that many violent people and psychopaths are extremely intelligent and often very talented? Which one are you?”

I shake my head, scratching at the label on my beer bottle that won’t peel off.