The Taming of Lilah May by Vanessa Curtis Page A

Jay’s band, unless they were Jay?’ says Mum. ‘We’ve got to have some hope. It’s been over two years,’ she says, more to herself than to us.
    She’s holding my hand, but her nails are digging into my palm and her wedding ring is cutting into the side of my finger.
    â€˜You’d be surprised how many idiots there are out there, Mrs May,’ says one of the policemen, a young guy with dark hair and serious brown eyes. He eyes my mother’s weird clown costume as he speaks. ‘Some people will do anything when they’re bored.’
    We drive home again in silence.
    The tense air in the car has gone, to be replaced by a big deflated feeling, like we’ve all been blown up and popped with a giant pin.
    â€˜This sucks,’ I mutter from the back seat, where I’m slumped against the window.
    â€˜Yes, Lilah, thank you for putting it so eloquently, as usual,’ says Dad with a huge sigh. He’s driving as if he can’t be bothered, tipping the wheel back and forth with two fingers and leaning right back against the headrest.
    I scowl in the dark, even though they can’t see me, and mutter ‘
Seagullvians,
’ to myself.
    â€˜Well, sorry you’re left with your horrid daughter when all you want is your lovely son,’ I say, although I know I shouldn’t.
    I can’t help myself sometimes.
    The anger just kind of takes hold of me and bursts out of my mouth, even if I press my lips really hard together.
    â€˜You’re obviously going through your Terrible Teens,’ says Mum. Her voice is broken and thick with tears. ‘Jay was going through them as well, Lilah. I’m not saying he was perfect. Far from it.’
    â€˜Yeah,’ I mutter, from where I’ve sunk down into my coat so that only my eyes are peering out. ‘Whatever.’
    Mum sighs and blows her nose. She hates my over-use of slang expressions from American chat shows.
    The thing is, she’s right. Jay was a nightmare just before he went missing. But now that’s all been brushed aside because all we want is for him to come home. Whereas I’m still at home, still getting told off and bossed about and ordered to do homework and tidy my room, and I’ve got no freedom to go out at night now, thanks to my lovely big brother and his, like,
great
idea of going missing for two years.
    When we get home, Dad goes upstairs to his computer, Mum locks herself in the bedroom and sticks her yoga music on and I lie on my bed and stare up at the glow stars for hours. I decide that I’m going to go mad if I don’t speak to somebody, so I think about Bindi and then realise it’s half past midnightand way too late for her to still be up. So I reach for my mobile and dial another number.
    Adam answers the phone straight away, like he was holding it in his hand.
    â€˜Hey, Lilah. Wassup?’
    I can’t speak for a moment.
    It’s because his voice is deep and kind, even after our embarrassing non-date the other week. And I don’t hear a lot of that at home at the moment, so whenever anybody’s kind to me I start filling up with pathetic girly tears that won’t fall down my face, and I feel about six years old.
    â€˜Lilah?’ says Adam. ‘Are you still there?’
    I nod, which is stupid because he can’t see me.
    â€˜Hi,’ I manage, in a tiny whisper. ‘Tell me what you’re doing.’
    Most people would think this weird, but Adam is used to my weirdness.
    â€˜Well,’ he says, and I can picture him glancing around his bedroom. ‘Before I answered this call, I was texting a mate. Before that, I was listening to the new Killers album on iTunes. And before that, I was stuffing a doughnut down my gob, and trying to do logarithms. How about you?’
    â€˜Mmm, you know,’ I manage. ‘Went down tothe police station. Somebody made a call from Jay’s mobile. But they don’t reckon it