Page 39 of Not Quite Dead Yet

Only stopped when Jet turned fourteen, when Sophia became her best friend instead, took all Jet’s time and attention, because Billy couldn’t come over if Sophia was already there – that would have been weird, two worlds that didn’t mix. Jet and Billy had outgrown each other; no more bike races, no more frogs. Billy was right, though; Jet did love frogs. It was a fucking awesome frog.

A notification pinged up on her screen: low battery.

‘Shit,’ Jet said. ‘I need my – fuck sake, what’s that word? The white wire thingy?’

‘Charger?’

‘Yes!’ Jet clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Charger, that’s it.’

‘I’ll get it.’ Billy straightened up, because he couldn’tnotdo stuff for her. For anyone, really. He was just like that, made like that. Jet was made a different way.

She pointed him toward the red backpack. ‘In there.’

‘You got some mail here,’ Billy said, digging through, pulling the envelopes out to reach the charger.

‘Oh yeah. I was proving a point. Let me see.’

Jet lowered her feet to the floor, MacBook on the table, and took the letters out of Billy’s hands. The first was a red envelope, handwritten address. Jet flipped it over and ripped open the tab, while Billy moved his guitar case so he could reach the wall socket, plugging her ch-ch – white wire thingy in.

‘It’s a card,’ Jet said, pulling it out.

A white card, with a vase of flowers drawn on the front, in garish colors. Below the vase and its little shadow were the words:Get Well Soon.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

She held it up so Billy could see. He winced.

‘Who’s it from?’ he asked.

Jet opened it, scanned the handwriting inside.

‘From Gerry Clay.’

‘The village trustee guy?’

Jet nodded, clearing her throat to read aloud. ‘So sorry to hear about your accident.Accident, Gerry? It’s called premeditated murder.Sending all of our thoughts and prayers.Well, Gerry, you can shove your thoughts and prayers up your –’

‘– What’s this one?’ Billy asked, picking up the other envelope from her lap. ‘Looks official.’

Jet swapped the card for the letter. Itdidlook official, her name and address in a type so neat it looked almost aggressive, through a thin plastic window.PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIALin bold capitals across the top.

She ripped it open, pulled out the folded letter.

‘Late Notice,’ she said, reading it out. ‘Wait, what the fuck?’

‘What is it?’ Billy sat next to her, the sofa cushion dipping toward him.

‘It’s from one of those online loan companies, LightFi.Dear Margaret Mason, you have defaulted on your monthly repayments for the secured loan detailed below.’ Jet scanned the page. ‘What the fuck? Thirty grand?’

‘What did you need thirty grand for?’

‘I didn’t need thirty grand, Billy,’ she said, the annoyance shifting to him. ‘I didn’t do this. This wasn’t me.’ She pointed at the letter, to the series of numbers listed afterBank Account Number.‘This isn’t my bank account. I didn’t get this money, didn’t take out any loan.’ She read on. ‘As the loan was securedagainst the below personal asset, this will be seized unless we receive repayment… blah, blah, blah …or we will have to proceed with filing a lawsuit… wait, whatasset?’ She scanned lower. ‘Vehicle Ford F-150, 1986, registration: HB– that’s my truck!’ Jet shook the letter, mouth falling open. ‘Someone took out a loan against my fucking truck, inmyname!’

‘You sure you didn’t –’

‘– I think I’d remember getting and spending thirty grand, Billy. How many lattes and avocados do you think I buy?’

He nodded, taking her heat, cooling it down by blowing out his lip. ‘Then it’s identity fraud,’ he said. ‘If someone took this out in your name. Spent that money.’

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