ABSENT
WHEN I WALKED INTO MATH class on Monday morning, last week’s test sat on my desk. 70%. Nice.
Bree hadn’t shown up yet, but her test was on her desk. 86%. With a mark like that, she should be tutoring me. Or I should at least be copying her work. Unfortunately, my years of Sunday school and sin talk wouldn’t let me.
The bell rang, and the last of the students hurried in before Ms. Saikaley closed the door.
“You’ll find your tests on your desks,” Ms. Saikaley said. She wasn’t a popular teacher, partly because she taught the most universally hated subject, and partly because she had this condescending way of looking at you above her reading glasses, as if to say, You really don’t get it, do you?
“Only half of you managed to pass the test,” she announced. “The concept of binomials didn’t quite get through, people.” Her gaze passed over each one of us. “So guess what? We’re going to revisit it again before the midterm next month.”
We all groaned.
“Miss?” Paul Clifton’s hand shot up.
Her eyes zeroed in on the cell phone sitting on his desk. “It’s one point off your mark every time you have your phone out, Paul.”
“Yeah, but did you hear about Bree O’Connor?”
The class went eerily quiet. I felt something twist in my stomach.
Ms. Saikaley frowned. “What about Bree? Did something happen?”
“She went missing,” Paul said. “Saw it on the news this morning.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, but I could see that he was. Even jokester Paul wouldn’t joke about that.
The seat beside me suddenly felt very empty.
“Yep,” Paul said with an eager nod. “We were all at Jeff Given’s party Friday night. She told people she was gonna get a cab home, but she never got there. No one knows what happened to her after she left. She wasn’t that drunk or anything.”
“Thank you for informing us, Paul.” I could tell that Ms. Saikaley was as stunned as the rest of us. “Now, why don’t you all take a few minutes to look over your tests, and come up and see me if you have any questions?” Then she scooted behind her desk and went on her computer.
Everybody was whispering and checking their phones. I googled the name Brianna O’Connor, and saw the missing person report Paul was talking about.
Police have asked for help from the public in locating a missing seventeen-year-old girl.
Brianna O’Connor went missing from the Coral Gables area.
Brianna is described as:
120 lbs
5'5"
Slim build
Green eyes
Long straight blond hair
She was last seen wearing a pink tank top and a short black skirt.
It was unbelievable.
I’d known Bree since ninth grade, and she wasn’t the type to run away. She didn’t clash with her mom and stepdad the way I did with my parents. Didn’t push the boundaries. Her only complaint was being forced to spend a month of her summer vacation in boring Iowa with her dad and his new wife.
I’d been to many parties at Jeff’s house. There was the usual mix of bad behaviors—the weed, the booze, the ill-thought-out hookups. But they weren’t the kind of parties where people got so trashed they didn’t make it home.
Ms. Saikaley got up and wrote on the board: Probability and Statistics. Dear Mother of God, was she actually going to proceed with the lesson?
Yes, she was.
Since Ms. Saikaley had a rule that you couldn’t ask for the bathroom pass in the first ten minutes of class, I made sure I was the first to raise my hand after that. In the bathroom, I hid away in the end stall, took out my phone, and went to Bree’s Instagram. Although I’d been worried the cops might’ve shut it down, it was still up, and had already been flooded with emotional comments from friends wishing she’d come home.
Bree hadn’t posted since early the previous week, when she’d put up a picture of herself in a white cami in front of the bathroom mirror, pouting for the camera. It was a typical Bree selfie. I scrolled down to see the previous posts. They were all quotes about love—about the roller-coaster ride of love, the thrill of it. One quote, written as if in blood, caught my eye.
Would you die for him? If you hesitated, then it isn’t true love.
Did Bree have a crush? Or a secret boyfriend? Maybe she was just yearning for one. She hadn’t had a boyfriend since her short relationship with Liam last year. And with an idiot like Liam, the word relationship was a stretch.
I downloaded the quote onto my phone. It felt important.
Some people came into the bathroom. When they started talking, I knew immediately that it was Ellie and Karina.
“I’m so freaking out right now,” Ellie said. Through the crack in the door I saw that she’d stopped in front of the mirror, inspecting her face for breakthrough freckles. Although Ellie was universally considered pretty, all she saw were her flaws.
“What the hell happened to her? This is so fucked up.” Black-haired, with Slavic bones and a dancer’s body, Karina was the opposite of Ellie—she saw nothing in the mirror but perfection.
“I’d told her to wait an hour and I’d give her a ride. I don’t know why she didn’t just stick around. This is literally making my stomach sick. Do you think she got kidnapped or something?”
“I don’t know. She was wearing those crazy high heels.” Spotting some freckles, Ellie grabbed her compact and covered them up. “She could’ve accepted a ride from a stranger because her feet were killing her.”
Ellie gave a snort. “She would never get in a car with a stranger. The girl won’t even share her mascara, for God’s sake.”
“Maybe she wasn’t so careful that night. She didn’t get high, did she?”
“She seemed fine to me. I wouldn’t have let her leave by herself if she was all screwed up. I don’t think she was taking Blings. Maybe I’m wrong.”
I frowned. Taking Blings? What are Blings?
“Were you with her all night?”
“No. Hello, Drew and I were hooking up. Were you with her?”
“No.”
They were talking in circles. Time was going by, and I figured I’d better flush myself out before Ms. Saikaley sent a search party. When I came out of the stall, they seemed startled.
“Hey,” I said. “Scary about Bree, huh?”
They glanced at each other, as if deciding whether to talk to me or not.
“Yeah, it sucks,” Ellie said, not taking her eyes off her reflection.
“She’s probably with that guy,” I said casually, washing my hands. “If you know what I mean.”
They looked confused. “What guy?” they both asked.
That was interesting. Whoever Bree was referring to on her Instagram page, her friends didn’t know about him. “Oh, I thought she had a boyfriend. You know, because she posted all those love quotes.”
“A boyfriend? Bree?” Karina made a face. “Uh, no.”
“We’d know if she did,” Ellie added.
“Oh, I guess I’m wrong,” I said, grabbing for some paper towels and discovering there were none.
I went back to class. Thankfully, Ms. Saikaley was mid-lesson and hadn’t noticed that I’d been gone for fifteen minutes.
I sat down, glancing at the empty seat next to me. Had Bree been using the Blings the girls were talking about, then encountered someone who’d hurt her?
I slipped out my phone and brought up X’s number. I’d put him into my contacts on one of the many occasions I’d been tempted to call him.
Hi, it’s Gabby. My friend Brianna O’Connor is missing. Left a party Friday night and never made it home. Please keep an eye out. I sent him a picture of her.
Two minutes later, X’s reply came. Heard about it. I checked out her pages. She’s probably with an older BF. Will be on the lookout.
So X had thought of that possibility too. Hopefully that’s all it was—hopefully she was on a romantic bender with
a secret boyfriend, and would return home soon, all apologies.
But I wasn’t so sure.
A week went by. Bree’s face was all over the news. The school picture, blond and sweet. The sexy selfies. Although the police chief said they were getting hundreds of tips every day, the investigation clearly wasn’t getting anywhere. The beads of sweat on his bald head said it all.
It was surreal. The girl I’d been friends with since freshman year was now the missing person in the photo. The girl who might end up on a milk carton.
Everybody at school had a theory. Crazed cults, drug-induced fugues, amnesia—nothing was off the table. Any of those theories was better than the more realistic one—that she’d been the victim of a killer. I couldn’t bear it.
The only thing people agreed on was that the longer she was gone, the less likely it was she’d turn up alive.
Sunday it rained, which fit perfectly with my mood. Church mass was the longest ever, and I was pretty sure Mrs. Suarez was giving me the evil eye. That evening, the rain escalated to torrential, which made for a white-knuckled drive to WKTU. But it also meant more people would be listening.
I’d thought the roofies show was the most important one I’d ever do. Not anymore.
Caballero pushed back his headphones and smiled. “Hey, Gabby girl. What’s up?” The guy never seemed to be in a bad mood, even on a dreary night like tonight.
“I’m going to talk about the missing girl, Bree O’Connor. She’s a friend of mine. I think our listeners might be able to help.”
He nodded solemnly. “Good idea. Make sure you give the number of the cops’ tip line. We don’t want any tips being directed here and getting missed.”
“Okay. I emailed Olive a picture of Bree for our website. She’s going to tweet it during the show.”
“Excellent idea. You’re using your show to make a difference, Gabby. I’m proud of you. You’re a natural at this. Our Sunday night ratings are awesome, thanks to your show.”
“That’s good to hear.” Caballero was one of the few people I’d met who could give a compliment and mean it. Because he was confident in who he was, it didn’t diminish him to boost others up. I wanted to be like that someday.
I headed to the lounge, where I read over my notes, did some vocal exercises, and drank decaf green tea.
Less than an hour later, I went live.
“This is Gabby Perez with Light Up the Night coming to you on a rainy night from the miracle street of Miracle Mile. Straight like an arrow and sharp as a tack, I’m gonna get serious with you tonight. I’m sure you’ve all heard about the missing girl Brianna O’Connor. Bree’s what her friends call her. I know because I’m one of them. And her disappearance has shaken me up.
“If you don’t know who I’m talking about, Bree is the blond Catholic schoolgirl you’ve been seeing on the news. She went missing last weekend. She left a party planning to take a cab home, but she never arrived. There’s no evidence that she even got into a cab. No one knows what happened to her. It’s as if she vanished into thin air.
“But people don’t vanish, especially people like Bree. She’s responsible. She always let her parents know where she was and when she was coming home.
“I don’t know what happened to Bree. But I’m scared for her. She might’ve trusted the wrong guy to take her home. Or someone might’ve grabbed her off the street.”
I took a second to breathe. Caballero and Olive looked at me anxiously through the glass.
“If you have any clue what happened to her, please call the police tip line at five-five-five, three-five-four-three. You don’t have to tell them your name. Whatever you do, don’t give up on Bree. Her friends and family won’t give up either. Ever.
“Tonight I’m going to play songs that Bree loves. She’s a huge fan of Pitbull, so I’ll start with ‘Red Wine.’ Hope you’re listening, Bree.”
I was relieved to go to music, because I was on the verge of tears. But I was going to keep it together. I had to.
It was a hard show to get through, but I made it. I talked more about Bree, gave some funny anecdotes about her. Then I talked about violence against women. About how all women needed to plan for their own safety. I ended with, “It’s a beautiful, ugly world out there. This is Gabby Perez wishing you a good, safe night.”
Caballero actually gave me a hug before I handed off to him. I went into the control room, where Olive said, “They’re retweeting Bree’s picture like crazy.”
“Good.” That was something, at least.
But I worried that it wouldn’t be enough.
There he was.
Through the faint, misty rain, I saw X leaning against my car as I left the station. Something inside me lit up.
He wore a black shirt under a black leather jacket, blue jeans, and sneakers. Tough, sexy, at home in his own skin. I had been aching to see him.
“Good job putting the word out,” X said, bypassing small talk.
“Tried my best. I hope it didn’t seem random, texting you about Bree. But if you’re out there anyway, I figured it was worth a shot.”
“Don’t worry. I get it.”
That put me at ease, and I managed a smile. “How’ve you been? Did you ever catch up with our buddy Raul?”
“I’m almost there.” He cleared his throat, slipping his hands into his pockets. I felt the weight of his pause, and I knew that something bad was coming. “It’s not going to be easy for you to hear this.”
My gut tensed. “Hear what?”
“One of my guys saw Bree around a few times.”
“What? He saw her? When?”
“A month ago, before she went missing. He saw her hanging out at clubs with a guy he was keeping tabs on, a pimp named Milo. She was new to his entourage and looked underage. He’s sure it’s the missing girl on TV.”
I struggled to process this. Bree was hanging out with a pimp? It didn’t make any sense. “It must’ve been another girl. I’m sure a lot of girls look like her.”
“True. But I trust his eye.”
“He didn’t take pictures of them, did he?” I asked, hopeful.
“No. If only it were that easy.”
“So what do you think is happening?”
“You know her, Gabby. I don’t. Why do you think she’d be hanging around with a pimp?”
I fumbled for an explanation. “Bree might not know he’s a pimp. Or—” I bit my lip, not wanting to say it. “She might be with him against her will. Maybe she was drugged.”
I saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes, and hurried on. “Bree’s from a good family. I just can’t picture her running off with some pimp. It doesn’t add up.”
“You saw her page. All those posts about love. Could be she’s fallen for Milo. It’s too soon to call this one, Gabby. We’ll find her, but we have to do it right. Take it slow.”
“Slow?” It was the last thing I wanted to hear. “If it’s actually her . . . she could be going through hell right now. He could be forcing her to turn tricks. Maybe if you could get a picture of this Milo guy, the press would circulate it.”
X shook his head. “It wouldn’t help. Pimps are very mobile. We know for a fact that Milo has connections all over the country. If he smells the cops, he’ll skip town. He could send Bree off to another city or trade her with another pimp. We’d probably never see her again.”
Send Bree away? Trade her off? My head was spinning. I reminded myself that we didn’t know for sure that it was her. We didn’t know anything for sure.
His expression was gentle. “You gotta keep it in perspective, Gabby. Bree is probably alive. If my guy hadn’t spotted her with that pimp, we’d have no reason to believe that. More likely she’d be lying in an unmarked grave.”
I hoped X was right that she was alive—even if it meant she was with a pimp. But we needed to get her away from him as fast as possible. “What if this Milo decides to kill her because of all the press she’s getting?”
“Milo won’t kill her. She�
��s worth too much to him, and money’s his bottom line. That’s how pimps operate. Swans like her can pull in thousands a week for him.”
“Swans?”
“White girls. Especially the blondes. They’re valuable. Milo will do everything he can to hold on to her.”
X took out his keys. But instead of moving, he looked me in the eye. “I heard you talk about Bree on your show. Heard what people are saying about her on the news. Everybody’s painting a picture of this perfect little sweetheart. But nobody’s really like that. Tell me something else about her. Something that isn’t so sweet.”
It was a strange thing to ask. I thought about it. “A couple of weeks ago, her friends deliberately bumped my table in the cafeteria—they were just being idiots. When they were walking away, Bree looked back and mouthed that she was sorry. She’s a nice girl, but she can be . . . kind of a sheep. She goes along with the crowd.”
I hated criticizing Bree. I even felt guilty that I’d been upset with her over the table-bumping incident. It wasn’t her fault that Ellie and Karina had gone all Mean Girls on me.
X nodded and thanked me, as if what I said was actually helpful.
Before he could turn away, I caught his arm. “I want to help you find her. I could talk to her. No matter what situation she’s in . . . I could help.”
He seemed to consider this. “Got a decent fake ID?”
I hesitated, reminding myself that he was a cop. But I was sure my fake ID was the last of his concerns. “Yeah, I’ve got one.”
“Good. You’ll hear from me soon.”
THE KISS
“I BET ZOMBIES GOT BREE O’CONNOR,” Rory said the following Tuesday. “She could be huddled in an alley munching on some roadkill.”
The rest of us looked at one another in disgust. Zombie club or not, it wasn’t acceptable to talk about Bree that way. As seriously as we pretended to take the zombie thing, it was mostly a joke. And Bree’s disappearance was anything but.
I was about to tell Rory to shut it, but Alistair did it first. “Bree’s off-limits.”
“But—”
“Off. Limits.”
Rory sighed. “Fine.”
“I think poor Bree was kidnapped,” Adriana said. “Somebody could’ve dragged her into a car and . . .” She didn’t dare fill in the blank. “Afterward, he could’ve dumped her somewhere. You hear about cases like that.”
Light of Day Page 6
