Lost Girls

by Merrie Destefano

  A small thud of grief hit me in the chest. My little brother must have been going to that tree every day and taking down all the horrid notes, all those mean-spirited messages spiraling in the wind, as if casting an evil spell, as if by wishing it, they could put me in the ground and keep me there.

  “Kyle?” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “Thanks for being a good brother.”

  I unlocked the doors and we climbed into my car, the engine purring and the sounds of the outside world fading away. We drove home in silence, my thoughts returning to the notes Kyle had ripped up and the fact that not everyone at Lincoln High was glad I was back.

  “Hey,” I said, not taking my eyes off the road as I drove past our house, toward the trails where he and I had gone hiking last week. “You still want me to teach you that move, the one where I throw you to the ground?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah.” I turned off my car and swung the door open. “Come on. Maybe it’ll help you knock some of those school bullies on their asses for a change.”

  Chapter Ten

  Dinner was already on the table when we got home, but Mom and Dad were waiting for us on the front porch. Mom had the night off and she sipped a glass of wine as she followed us inside the house. I could tell Dad wanted to say something. But the barrage of twenty questions didn’t begin until Kyle and I started eating.

  “Why didn’t you answer my calls?” Mom asked. “We were one step away from calling the police. Your dad was out for an hour, driving around, looking for you.”

  Kyle did his best monosyllabic replies while Mom went on and on. “Fine. I dunno. Forgot.” He added a shrug now and then, and usually answered with his mouth full.

  Dad stared at me for a long time. “Is everything okay?”

  “I just turned off my phone during class and forgot to turn it back on, is all,” I said. “I can’t seem to call anyone lately. I try, but I just can’t.” It was the truth and my voice wavered when I spoke, but at the same time I knew I was manipulating my parents. What I couldn’t figure out was, why did it seem so easy? Had I done this before? “Besides, I had to stay after to get homework from a couple of teachers.”

  Dad nodded. “Text us next time you’re going to be late, okay?” His gaze went from me to Mom. “You can send us a text, can’t you?”

  “I guess so.” My cheeks were burning, but there was a part of me that felt better knowing how much they cared.

  An awkward buzz of chatter started then, and it was the first time since I’d been home that we felt like a family again. Mom talked about something that had happened at Methodist Hospital last night where she worked as a nurse. Dad mused about whether he should plant Lily-of-the-Nile or African Iris along the fence in the front yard. He’d turned into a novice gardener now that he wasn’t a Navy SEAL anymore. Most of the time he puttered around, wearing gardening gloves, the knees of his jeans covered with dirt. Kyle tried to get permission to go to Comic-Con in San Diego in the summer. When that didn’t work, he tried to get a Vespa. He finally settled for a Bose multimedia speaker system on his birthday.

  He whispered, “Score,” under his breath, so soft no one but me heard it.

  I listened to the quiet spaces between their words as I moved the food around my plate, forcing myself to eat a bite of salmon with mango relish. After Grams had cancer, Mom had gone on an organic binge and, honestly, she was a great cook. Problem was, I hadn’t had an appetite since I went missing. I broke out in a sweat whenever I stepped on the scale, terrified I’d gained weight. I’m sure my therapist would have a great time analyzing that.

  Dad seemed to be the only one who noticed I wasn’t really eating. He glanced at me from time to time, smiling if our eyes met.

  We hadn’t had The Talk yet. The you-were-kidnapped-and-my-life-was-hell talk. Mom and I had discussed my disappearance almost as soon as I got home, and it had been devastating. Kyle and I had talked about it, too, sort of, when we were sparring in the forest after school. In between him being thrown to the ground and getting the crap beaten out of him, he’d said things like, it’s good to have you back and you know I can never get Mom and Dad to do what I want when you’re gone.

  But Dad had been quietly watching—maybe waiting for the right time.

  There was no right time to watch your father—who’s been sent around the world to hunt down terrorists—start crying. So we’d been avoiding each other, knowing it was coming. It became an awkward dance, looking the other way when we passed each other in the hall, holding each other a bit too long when we hugged.

  I needed to get my life back, before all this quiet mourning killed me.

  ...

  As soon as dinner was over, I slipped up to my room. There, I spent half an hour going over the routines Ms. Petrova had given me, warming up my muscles with several grand pliés, then letting my body flow into one rond de jambe after another, until every move felt as natural as breathing.

  Finally I paused, wanting to watch some dance videos online. There was one move—the brisé—which involved a small leap while your feet made quick, sharp scissor kicks. I couldn’t seem to get it right and I knew if I just watched another ballerina perform it, I’d be able to catch on. But once I got my laptop powered up, I found myself doing something else. Something unexpected and slightly creepy.

  I typed my name into Google’s browser window, then waited as article after article popped up about the Santa Madre girl who went missing after school a few weeks ago. There were photos of me from tenth grade. I needed to give Mom and Dad a more recent picture of myself, I didn’t even look like that anymore—my front teeth crooked because I still had braces, my hair down to my shoulders, my nose speckled with summer freckles, a smile that said, nothing bad has ever happened to me and it never will.

  It was weird to look into my own eyes and wonder if I would ever be that person again. I used to be someone who never lied to Mom or Dad. I should have felt guilty for sneaking off to teach Kyle how to defend himself. Instead I felt proud at how quickly he picked everything up, like it had been second nature.

  I forced myself to shut off the internet and started clicking through folders on my desktop instead, looking for a better picture of myself than that one from tenth grade. But I quickly found myself checking out random details from the past year. Folder after folder opened, revealing lists of my favorite songs and books, a collection of ballet screensaver images, and photos of Buster, our Golden Lab who passed away sometime in the past six months. Looking at his pictures made my chest ache. I missed him, how we used to go for runs together, and how he used to sleep at the foot of my bed.

  I was just about to close that folder when I discovered another folder tucked inside, so far down you probably wouldn’t even see it. It was titled, “More Buster,” but it was locked.

  I sat back in my chair, pins and needles prickling the back of my neck.

  Why would I lock a folder of dog photos?

  It took several minutes and about fifty different passwords before I was able to open it. There was only one document inside, something labeled “Buster’s Vet Records”. One click later and a Word document scrawled across my screen. All just normal stuff at first, until I scrolled down to the end of the page.

  There was that familiar list of names again—Janie Deluca, Alexis Cartwright, Nicole Hernandez, Shelby Lee and Lacy Allen—except this time, it had their addresses, too. I could almost feel the wheels spinning inside my head, all the questions I wanted to ask these girls. But it had to be face-to-face. No way I could send each of them a letter and then wait for the replies.

  I’d have to go see these girls tomorrow after school, after I dropped Kyle off. He’d already begged me, promising he’d do my chores for a week if I took him to his friend’s house so they could check out Civilization V: Brave New World. Knowing those two, they probably had something else in mind besides video games. Like watching Khalessi walk naked through fire on Game of Thrones or surfing the inter
net for photos of topless supermodels.

  The less I knew about Kyle’s after-school activities, the better I slept at night.

  So, I printed out that list of names, folded it, and tucked it into my jacket pocket. I had no idea what connection those girls might have with the box of rave gear in my closet, but I hoped I’d find out tomorrow.

  Chapter Eleven

  I woke up earlier than I expected, maybe because I actually had a full night’s sleep. No nightmares, no memories pretending to be dreams. Nobody chasing me through a forest in the mountains. I yawned and stretched, noticed a timid sun peeking through a thin layer of clouds. Inside, the house was quiet, everyone else still asleep. So, of course, my closet door creaked open, all by itself like it usually did, making me think of Molly.

  Why hadn’t she been at school yesterday? Was she sick? And why hadn’t she called me or stopped over?

  She and I had a ritual, one we’d been practicing every year since we were ten years old. We’d watch at least one of the LOTR movies together. Last year, right about this time, the two of us skipped school to go see The Fellowship of the Ring at a local movie theater.

  We went in cosplay attire, me dressed as Arwen and her as Galadriel, both of us in full-length gowns and wigs. Afterward, we tucked our costumes into oversize shopping bags and washed off our makeup in the theater restroom, laughing and making a mess in the sink. On the bus ride home, a sweet old lady thought we were homeless and gave us each a crisp dollar bill. We tried not to accept it, but she refused to take it back.

  I still have that dollar bill pinned to my bulletin board.

  I wanted to talk to Molly so much. She’d make me laugh. Or she’d convince me to go out for frozen yogurt. Or she’d drag out a DVD of The Hobbit and say, We’re watching this now, girl. Any one of those options would be great.

  I picked up my phone. Maybe I could send her a text. I mean, she probably didn’t have my new cell number and that was why she hadn’t called.

  Right then, when I held my phone, it buzzed.

  I’d gotten a text.

  My rib cage tightened, like my skin was too small, and I could only take shallow breaths.

  I’d only given my number to a handful of people. Mom, Dad, Kyle, my therapist, Agent Bennet, Lauren…

  And Dylan—we’d exchanged numbers at lunch.

  Hey, U awake?

  It was him.

  Yeah, I typed back hesitantly.

  Couldn’t sleep thinking about you, he wrote.

  I didn’t know what to say. Me either? You’re so cute. Why do you even like me?

  Still there?

  Yeah. Of course. I’d be crazy to hang up now.

  Good. So glad you’re back.

  I didn’t know what to say. That one guy at lunch yesterday, was he like totally stoned?

  Jim? Always! LOL.

  Who was the girl with lavender hair?

  Zoe. She’s a sweetheart. You and her are …

  There were dots like he was typing, but then nothing came through. We’re what? I asked.

  You used to hang out a lot. She painted a picture for you once. Maybe it’s in your closet?

  I got up and went to my closet, searching. It took a minute to move things around, but I finally found a small canvas hidden in the corner and gingerly pulled it out.

  You there? he asked.

  The painting was of Dylan and me. He wore a black suit, while I wore stage makeup, a white bodice and tutu, and a glittering crown with wings made of tiny feathers. Just behind us stood a glowing marquee that read Swan Lake. I was Odette and I cradled a large bouquet of red roses in my arms.

  Did you go to my Swan Lake performance? I asked, smiling.

  Yeah. You were incredible. I could almost see that slow, sexy smile on his face, hear the soft, velvety purr in his voice. We did a lot of things together.

  I was really glad he couldn’t see the blush spreading across my face. Oh, I said.

  He sent me a smiley emoji and a bunch of roses.

  I grinned.

  Sit with me at lunch again? he asked.

  Sure.

  He sent more emojis and I laughed and the two of us continued to chat, as if we’d known each other for years.

  ...

  It was only my second day back at school and I was one step away from being late. Dylan and I had texted too long this morning. Now my brother and I crammed lunches into our backpacks, made a last-minute scramble for our textbooks and tablets, snarfed down a few bites of veggie/egg-white omelets, and then headed out to the garage.

  I patted my back pocket for reassurance, where my driver’s license and the list of girls’ names and addresses rested. My wallet, backpack, and cell phone had all gone missing during my kidnapping, but for some reason my driver’s license had been in my pocket when I wandered out onto the freeway. I’d never been able to figure out why. Either those kidnappers had overlooked that piece of ID, or they had wanted me to keep something to prove who I was.

  Neither one of those made any sense.

  That was why I needed to find the girls on that list. I was hoping one of them might have a clue about what had happened to me when I was taken.

  Kyle sat in the car, seat belt on, drumming his fingers on his leg. He’d reached his limit of patience, which was about a minute and a half. “Hey, we’re gonna be late if you don’t speed it up here.” He craned his neck to peer out at me. “I don’t wanna miss first period. Amber Griffin was actually nice to me yesterday and she hasn’t been nice since fifth grade and she’s smoking hot now—”

  “Okay, okay.” I climbed in and started the engine. Kyle continued to ramble on while I backed out onto the road.

  “She was pretty goofy-looking all the way through middle school, with short, frizzy hair and braces, but then POW, one day she just, I don’t know, turned into a real, live girl, with boobs and everything—”

  “I don’t need to hear your horny drool fest over some girl who smiled at you in class—”

  “She didn’t just smile at me. We said, like, words, real words about important stuff.” He gasped when he thought I drove too close to a parked car, but other than that he never shut up.

  We ventured slowly through a few intersections, him messing with the radio and me trying to block out his non-stop chatter. Then somewhere between Grove and Adams, I noticed a dark gray sedan following us. It must have been parked somewhere in our neighborhood, maybe down the street from our house or around the corner. It didn’t register at first—everybody drives a car like that nowadays, like they all want to look the same.

  It wasn’t until we were halfway to Lincoln High—when I was adjusting my rearview mirror and wondering which one of the five girls I should hunt down after school first—that I realized it was a Toyota Camry following us. Exactly like the car that had been sitting outside our house the other night.

  An apprehensive shiver slid down my arms, making all the tiny hairs stand on end.

  They weren’t going to take me again. They couldn’t. And no way in hell was I going to let them hurt my little brother.

  I took another glance in the rearview mirror. Whoever was driving the Camry sat cloaked in shadow. I couldn’t see his or her face.

  My breathing slowed, my conscious thoughts melted away, and a cold instinct took over. I turned the steering wheel, taking us down an unexpected side street, a meandering detour that would take us at least six blocks out of the way.

  I had to see if we were really being followed.

  “Hey, you’re going the wrong way!” Kyle yelled.

  “Never hurts to try a different route.”

  He slumped in his seat, a scowl on his face.

  “We’ll get there on time,” I told him.

  “Taking the long, crazy way to school seems like the perfect way to be late to me,” he grumbled.

  I shot another glance in the rearview mirror. The other car stayed with us, no matter where I turned. My pulse ratcheted up a couple more notches. Whoever was f
ollowing me was wearing a baseball cap pulled low, the visor shadowing his face, even when he drove through a patch of sunlight. My alternate route led us back to Highland Avenue, and Lincoln High sprawled up ahead, a campus of seven acres.

  “I’m going to let you off here,” I told Kyle, slamming the car to a stop in a no-parking zone, right in front of the main entrance. The gray sedan pulled over half a block behind us. Within a second, it was invisible, hidden behind the line of buses that had just pulled up. “Quick! Get out and run inside.”

  He gave me a puzzled look. “What the hell’s going on? Why are you dropping me off here?”

  “You don’t want to be late, remember? Get going!”

  He opened his door and swung his legs outside, muttering. At least here he’d be in plain sight of the school security guards, the bus drivers, and about a zillion students.

  Kyle sauntered out of the car, fingers wrapped around his backpack, glancing back at me with a curious expression. He stood there for a long moment, as if he sensed something was up but couldn’t figure out what. Finally, he headed toward the front door. I kept my eyes on him and only him until he was safely inside. Then I pulled away from the curb, heading toward the student parking lot on the other side of the building. Sure enough, as soon as I got clear of all the morning traffic, that gray Toyota sedan appeared in my rearview mirror again. Only this time, the driver had taken off his cap.

  He wanted me to see his face.

  I sucked a long, slow breath between my teeth when a beam of sunlight spilled into his car, lighting up his features, carving human flesh and bone from shadow. Chiseled cheekbones, short, sandy-brown hair slightly mussed from wearing a hat, dark brows shielding cool green eyes that looked like they could read all the secrets of my soul—even the ones I didn’t know yet.

  Agent Ryan Bennet.

  WTF?

  I’d been expecting to see my kidnapper and now I was…disappointed? I’d wanted to see that monster again. I wanted to run him over. I wanted him dead.

  I’d had myself under control, but now my heart started a rapid thu-thump-thu-thump despite all my efforts to slow it down, and my palms started to sweat. What had I been thinking? It’s like I wanted some jerk to follow me to school. Tires crunching over gravel, I swung around a corner and pulled into the school parking lot entrance, then rolled my car to an awkward stop.