It was true, too. Even the students I should have recognized looked different. They’d grown taller, fatter, skinnier, prettier, uglier since last year. They’d dyed their hair and gotten braces, they’d gotten tattoos and piercings, they’d grown their hair long or cut it short. The girls had discovered the miracle of makeup and the boys had mastered the art of hair gel.
And some of the boys had discovered the magic of working out.
Guys who used to be thin and geeky now sported six-packs that rippled beneath tight T-shirts.
And one boy who had been gorgeous since seventh grade, Dylan McCarthy, caught me in a mesmerizing gaze from the moment I walked through the front door. His mouth dropped open half an inch, just enough to make him look even hotter—if that was possible—and for a moment I thought I heard him whisper my name. I stared back at him, slightly perplexed, knowing that I was blushing but unable to stop myself. Black hair and cool gray eyes, his skin just pale enough to make him look like the poet that he secretly was. The other kids in Lincoln High might not remember, but he had sat beside me in seventh grade English class and he’d even made our teacher swoon with the stuff he’d written.
It was lame, but I never forgot the time I’d dropped my pen and he’d picked it up for me, his hand brushing mine in the process, his eyes focused on mine for a long second, his full lips tilting up in a half-smile.
And then the bell rang. In my seventh-grade memory and now.
I glanced at that paper Kyle had given me, a quick panic in my throat and a feeling like the flutter of birds’ wings in my chest. Room 126. That’s where I needed to be, but it was where, on this side of the building or over in the other wing?
“Are you lost, little girl?”
Dylan was standing beside me. I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him. He’d never been this close before and had definitely never spoken an entire sentence to me. If I couldn’t talk before, I certainly couldn’t now.
“I’ve been sick worrying about you,” he said, his gaze on my lips. “I haven’t slept since you went missing.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I asked. I couldn’t tell him that I’d had a crush on him for years and that this wasn’t a funny prank.
He cocked his head, studying my face, maybe looking for a clue or a tell. His voice lowered until it was barely above a whisper, almost as if he was talking to himself. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“No—I—” I answered too quickly. “I mean, everyone knows who you are.”
He gave me a shy grin, but then his gaze traveled back to my lips and his smile broadened. For a moment, I thought he was going to lean closer and I was hoping he would.
Instead he rubbed a finger over his lower lip, a simple gesture that I thought, maybe, I’d seen before.
“You need to get to algebra.”
“How did you know?”
Another long smile followed, making me wish we weren’t at school, that we were anywhere else but here. “Because you’re in my class. Come on.” He held out his hand, one eyebrow raised, almost like a challenge.
I took his hand and a warm tingle flowed up my arm.
“We better hurry,” he said and then we both ran down the hall, hands locked like we were little kids heading out for recess, him grinning and me fighting the urge to giggle.
...
I never expected my first class to begin like this. A rabble of papers shuffling, backpacks slamming to the floor, desks creaking as people sat down, mumbling, giggling, whispering, a teacher scrambling to write something on a whiteboard, his back turned. Me entering the room and then a hush descending, all sound disappearing as heads lifted to look at me, until all I could hear were my own footsteps, my own breathing.
Each time, I forced my shoulders back and my head to stay high, although I wanted to cringe.
Everyone was staring at me, open-mouthed, just like Dylan had a few moments ago. I could practically hear their thoughts.
So glad it wasn’t me that went missing.
Thought she was dead.
Wonder what happened to her.
Eyes traveled over me, brushed me and unwrapped me, searching for hidden scars and broken places. I tried to push my lips into a smile, but it hurt too much. So I settled for a stoic expression, one that I hoped communicated strength.
And, right about then, when I was searching for my seat and Dylan pointed toward an empty place—the empty place in the room that belonged to me—right then, the teacher noticed the unnatural silence and turned around. He spotted me, the smile on his face fading and a sorrowful look filling his eyes.
I was stealing everyone’s words today, like this was my new super power.
Finally, the teacher woke up. “Welcome back, Rachel. You’ve been in our thoughts and prayers, and we’re all very glad you’re back.”
And then a really bizarre thing happened. The whole class started clapping. I never thought applause would feel so good, but it was like a drug I’d been craving, like I was an addict and didn’t even know it. Girls got up from their seats and gave me hugs or hastily written notes or a small favor, something they’d been carrying with them for two weeks. Soon my desk was covered with pink wristbands that said, Find Rachel. The boys stood awkwardly, trying to see over the girls, giving me a nod and a shy grin, lifting their wrists to show that they were wearing the bands, too. Even my teacher was wearing one.
Dylan came over to my desk then, pushing his way through the cluster of sad-faced girls and making me blush when he rolled up his cuff and showed that he was wearing three wristbands.
I couldn’t speak. It was more than I could take in, that all these kids had been looking for me. It overshadowed everything and gave me hope. I still didn’t know who I could trust or who my real friends were, but I knew I would find out soon enough.
You always find out who your true friends are at lunch.
...
The cafeteria looked the same. Big enough to swallow us all, to contain all of our laughter and teenage angst, to make us feel small and insignificant. I already had my lunch, so I stood in line to buy some chocolate milk, part of me wondering where I was going to sit, the other part wondering where my best friend, Molly, was. I hadn’t seen her yet, but it was possible she was out sick today. She had a problem with asthma, and spring was the worst season of the year for her.
Kyle slid past me then, joking with a group of his soccer/video game buddies. He paused to lean toward me and asked, “Doing okay? Remember, you’ve got my class schedule if you need me.”
I wanted to ask him where Molly was or why he hadn’t told me about those wristbands—and why he didn’t have one, the jerk—and what the heck was going on with Dylan. But my brother just breezed away, laughing when one of his friends tripped and almost fell.
“Little brothers. You can’t live with them and you can’t hang them upside down from the goalposts—even though you want to,” a girl behind me said with a toss of her head. She grinned, waist-long, blond hair falling over one shoulder. Her smile looked different from the sad-girl grins I’d been getting all day. She had on one of those pink wristbands, but she didn’t point it out and she didn’t take it off. Lauren Maxwell, head cheerleader. Not someone who would have talked to me last year and, judging by my behavior this year, not someone I would have expected to be my friend now, either.
“I know you don’t remember me,” she said.
We inched past the glass-covered case, past meat loaf sandwiches and veggie burgers, when she held up her hand, pointing toward a spinach salad.
“Lauren. Yeah, I think we had PE together last year.” And you’re the girl every boy in school wants to hook up with in the janitor’s closet.
She paused, as if fumbling for words. “Dylan said you didn’t remember him, so I guess I should have expected you wouldn’t remember me, either.” She had that sad-girl expression in her eyes now. “We were friends, Rach. Really good friends. I stopped by your house almost every day when you were gone. And
I’ve texted you about a hundred times since you got back.”
“My phone got lost when I was—” I could never finish that sentence.
She bit her lip and looked away. Her voice shattered, just a bit, when she tugged at the wristband she wore. “I had everyone looking for you,” she said. “We’d all go out for a couple hours every day after school. And you probably haven’t seen it, but we have a memorial out by the student parking lot, the last place anybody saw you.”
I didn’t know what to say. It seemed like a weird way to prove she was my friend, but she’d always been one of those girls who lived by committee, either running for class secretary or organizing a blood drive. Thank you didn’t feel like the right thing to say, so I just nodded and paid for my milk and a bag of Cheetos that looked too good to pass up. And then it happened again. When I turned around, heads lifted, eyes stared, people stopped talking. It spread across the room from where I stood to the far side of the cafeteria, a soul-stealing hush, one that could make your skin crawl. Whispers started.
It’s Rachel, that girl who went missing.
I thought she was dead.
Well, she’s obviously not dead now.
Lauren laid a cool hand on my arm, and spoke softly in my ear. “Why don’t you come eat with me and my friends? They’re your friends, too.”
I took a deep breath and followed her across the lunchroom.
“Look who’s here,” she said with enthusiasm when we reached a table of kids I couldn’t imagine all hanging out together. Besides Lauren, there was another rich, college-bound girl, with glossy brown hair and expensive designer jeans. Next to her sat a shaggy-haired guy wearing horn-rimmed glasses who looked both half-asleep and scarily alert, and another guy who sported thick, muscular biceps and a graphing calculator in his back pocket instead of an iPhone. I recognized Brett, the square-jawed captain of the football team, by his jersey and signature loud voice, but wasn’t sure if I knew the petite, lavender-haired girl, dressed head-to-toe in black.
And then there was Dylan.
I almost dropped my tray.
“Hi,” I said, hoping he didn’t notice the flush that was working its way from my chest to my face. “You guys sure it’s okay if I sit with you? I mean, Molly is probably here somewhere.”
Before I could scan the lunchroom again for someone else to hang out with, the lavender-haired girl jumped up. She gave me a long hug that I thought was never going to end, the scent of patchouli in her hair. “I knew you’d be coming back to school, Rachel. I just knew it!” she said. “We’ve been saving a seat for you all week long, haven’t we, Dylan?”
My heart skipped a long beat when I looked at Dylan.
He gave me a sexy grin and patted the empty chair between him and the lavender-haired girl. At the same time, Lauren grabbed my arm and tried to lead me toward two empty chairs on the other side of the table, where we could sit together.
“Come over here, Rachel. We’ve got so much to talk about,” she said.
I still didn’t know for sure what my relationship with Dylan was—were we boyfriend and girlfriend, had we hooked up once or twice, were we friends with benefits? I wanted to find out.
I pulled away from Lauren. “I’d rather sit here.”
Lauren’s mouth dropped open, probably as surprised by my boldness as I was, but she recovered quickly. She sat across the table, eyes downcast, picking at her salad with a fork.
I slid into place, Dylan’s arm around the back of my chair while everyone said things like, we’ve been looking for you and we never gave up hope and it hasn’t been the same without you. Their eyes told me things their words didn’t, that these emotions were real and that somehow I belonged with this bizarre, mismatched group. Like instant sunshine, warmth washed over me, flowing from my head to my feet. I may not have recognized all of these people, but I knew this was where I belonged.
This was my other family. These were the people I hung out with in the middle of the night, the ones I got drunk and high with. But there was more. A lot more.
I just couldn’t remember it yet. But I knew I would.
Soon.
Chapter Nine
School was over. Cars pulled away, and tires ground over gravel, while the faint scent of spring hung in the air. I stood in the student parking lot, staring down at a memorial. A row of Japanese flowering cherry trees lined the sidewalk, all of them in bloom, all glowing in the sunlight and dropping petals that fell like snow. At the parking lot entrance, beneath the largest cherry tree, there lay bundles of dying flowers and a poster board covered with photos, surrounded by candles, crosses, and strings of rosary beads.
The photos were of me.
“What the heck?” I mumbled as I moved closer to the tree. Notes written to me hung from ribbons tied to the lower branches, tiny white slips of paper that dangled and twisted in the wind.
I turned the notes in my hand so I could read them. Most of them were comments from people who barely knew me.
I hope you’re safe.
We’re praying for you.
Others were long and sincere, almost too painful to read.
You were in my sophomore geometry class and we didn’t really know each other. I wish we had, but now I’m afraid it’s too late...
I miss the way you laugh and how you always used to blame me for using all the hot water when we were getting ready for school...
“Crap,” I said, choking up when I read the last one, knowing it was from Kyle. I recognized his back-slanted, left-hand scrawl. I pulled the note down and slipped it in my pocket.
Most of the other papers were water-stained from the rain a few days ago. One was so blurry it was almost illegible. It must have been one of the first notes hung up. As I struggled to read it, I realized it was a poem and that it might have been written by Dylan. I tugged it loose and cradled it in my palm, wondering what we meant to each other. I had already missed our first kiss. What had that been like? Had it been rushed or long and sensuous? Had it been recent or nearly a year ago? Then I remembered those condoms in my drawer and I blushed, like my life was an R-rated movie that starred somebody else.
That was when I noticed the other notes, the ones that had been posted more recently. These weren’t blurred by the rain and all the letters were large and sharp-edged.
Wish you had stayed dead!
Bitch, go back where you came from.
Hope those kidnappers come back and do the job right this time!
I stumbled backward, blinking as if it could make these cruel words disappear. My stomach ached, just like someone had punched me, and I curled over, gulping for air.
That’s how I was when Kyle found me. Everyone at school had acted like they all missed me terribly. In every class, people had greeted me with hugs, showing me their pink wristbands. But according to those dangling pieces of paper, some of those people secretly hated me and wished I’d been found dead on the side of the freeway.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” Kyle said. He pushed me away from the tree and made me sit on the curb. Then I heard him yank down those last notes, felt the snow of petals fall around me as he pulled on one cherry branch after another. I was hyperventilating, my head in my hands. “Stupid, jealous twats!” he grumbled as he ripped up the notes and slivers of paper began to join the falling petals, white and white and searing black, snippets of words swirling over my shoulder.
bitch—
dead—
kidnappers—
Tears began to fall, too, but they couldn’t wash away the pain. “I shouldn’t have come back to school,” I said, one hand still clutching Dylan’s illegible poem.
Kyle put one hand on my shoulder and knelt beside me. “No. You did the right thing. It’s what you wanted to do, even though you knew it would be tough. So the hard part’s over. You found out there are some nasty bitches in high school. But we already knew that, didn’t we? In case you’re wondering, there are plenty of pricks here, too—”
H
e was on a rant and he may not have meant to, but he made me smile. Somehow this was all about him now.
“They pick on you in PE because you’re not big enough or strong enough or fast enough. The big dicks shove you around in the showers and the little pricks stand there and laugh, glad it isn’t them for a change. I know girls are just as bad, only in different ways. It’s a zoo in there,” he said, tossing his thumb back toward the school building, “and nobody cares enough to do anything about it.”
Still wobbly after having my guts ripped out by the notes, I held my little brother’s hand as he helped me back to my feet.
“Do they really pick on you that much?” I asked. “How long has that been going on?”
He didn’t answer. He blinked fast, just like I had earlier, probably fighting emotions he was trying to hold inside. We headed toward the parking lot, side by side, until we had to weave our way through the rows of cars. Then he walked in front of me, as if he wanted to protect me from whatever might be up ahead. Even the set of his shoulders and the angle of his jawline—exposed every time he swung his head to the side, as he swept a gaze at passing students—told me he was concerned about me.
Part of me was worried about him, too.
I wouldn’t have been able to stand it if that memorial had been set up for him, if my little brother had been the one who had gone missing, all those handwritten notes waving in the breeze as if they could magically take away the pain. There weren’t enough words in the world to take away that kind of hurt.
I paused in front of my Volkswagen, keys in my hand.
There had been only three freshly written notes hanging from that tree, and all three slips of paper had contained harsh words. But if someone really hated me that much, wouldn’t there have been more messages, ones that had been hanging there longer, blurred by the rain and the dew?
“Kyle, were there more notes like the ones you took down today?” I asked.
He almost looked at me, but averted his eyes at the last second. “Maybe.”
Lost Girls Page 4
