Missing Pieces

by Meredith Tate

But he’s right. He’s always been right. I can’t deny it anymore. Not to him, not to myself.

  Surged with warming adrenaline, I know where my feet are taking me as I pass the tree line at Harker’s Woods. I jog to the treehouse and climb to the top. My feet scale the rungs with perfect agility, as if my body remembers the steps from long ago.

  I throw myself onto the platform, gasping for air. Hands on my knees to catch my breath, the engraving greets me at eye level.

  Our carved initials still claim the treehouse. No Lara or Sam, just Piren and Trace’s friendship, displayed for all who visit. It’s a permanent tribute no one can erase, defying all who tried to break us.

  Piren Allston is my best friend; no one can change that. They can try to sever our bond, but true friendship is infinite. Together we form an unstoppable force.

  I need to solidify it.

  I pry out a sharp rock wedged between two floorboards and carve into the bark. Scraping the stone through the wood, I make my forbidden mark, unleashing my prisoner from the dungeon inside.

  When the deed is done, I fall back to examine my work. Tears stream from my eyes as I look upon the truth, now carved forever into the side of this tree: our initials are now, and forevermore, encircled by a heart.

  I’m free.

  Piren Allston

  My body tremors in a sickly, knotted mess as I rev the engine.

  At one time, I knew Trace better than anyone. Maybe we’ve grown apart, but if anyone can find her, it’s me.

  Demolishing the speed limit, I race to Trace’s new neighborhood. Cops and citizens alike swarm the area with flashlights, searching for my best friend. I squint out my window, prowling up and down every possible street.

  Come on, Trace. Where are you?

  My frantic heart rate skyrockets at every sound. Water clouds my eyes as I scan the dark alley behind a bakery. Nothing.

  Please be alive. Somewhere.

  I pull to the side of the road and park.

  Where the fuck is she?

  I press my forehead to the steering wheel and close my eyes.

  I wrench my eyes open when it hits me.

  Trace isn’t here. She wouldn’t come here.

  This isn’t her home.

  Gunning the engine, I speed back to my house and screech the car to a halt at the mouth of Harker’s Woods. I race to the treehouse, panting for air.

  Please be here.

  Two rungs at a time, I reach the top.

  My heart somersaults.

  Trace curls in a ball on the treehouse floor, watching the black night sky.

  “Trace! Oh my God, what the hell?” Ragged breaths tear through my words. “Everyone’s looking for you! What the fuck are you doing up here alone?”

  She meets my gaze, but doesn’t speak. An emotion burns behind her eyes, but I can’t place it. Her blue dress hugs her body, and I’m struck by how beautiful she is.

  I lean against the treehouse wall, face flushed and sweating. Relief floods over me.

  She’s here, safe and sound, in her little Trace hideaway.

  My delirious joy fades into rage.

  “You can’t do that, Trace! You can’t just run away! What the hell were you thinking? Sam’s probably terrified. You have no idea how worried I was! I almost…You have no idea what—”

  But she gets up, brushes past me, and slips down the ladder without a word.

  Part Three: Seventeen Years Old

  Piren Allston

  “Are you ready for your big night?” Mom asks. “Or, I guess I should say, big weekend?”

  I slide into my tuxedo vest. “I think so.”

  “Tell me again how you asked her?” She unwraps my black bowtie from the plastic packaging. “I want to tell Grandma.”

  “Aw, Mom, it’s embarrassing.”

  “It is not! Senior Prom is a huge deal. I remember mine like it was yesterday. Your father was almost an hour late.”

  “Oh, man, he wasn’t.”

  “He hasn’t changed much.” She holds the tie up to my chest. “And I love him for it.”

  “Fine.” I give her a crooked smile. “I set a trail of pink daisies leading from her locker to the hallway. Lara followed it, and found me with a painted sign that said ‘Prom?’ She took a picture. I think she’s going to make a whole scrapbook for this weekend.”

  Mom’s face scrunches up. “My son is all grown up.” She pats my cheek. “And then tomorrow, your First Kiss Ceremony. In a few years you’ll be married—the man of the house. I can’t believe it. I remember when you were born.”

  “Aw, Mom, stop.”

  “What a nice surprise for the Mayor to arrange the two events together. It’ll be really special. Your brother’s was in the fall, remember?”

  My stomach tightens.

  That disaster. How could I forget?

  People buzz with excitement all over school for our dual Prom-and-Ceremony weekend, chattering everywhere about the cluster of events. I get all jittery inside when I think about it. The Ceremony may not technically be my first kiss, but it’ll be my first legitimate kiss.

  Mom swoops in with a comb and brushes a few stray hairs away from my eyes. I tower over her; she has to stretch and stand on her tiptoes to reach my head. Grabbing my forearms, she steps back.

  “Nervous?”

  “Come on, Mom.”

  She pulls me into a hug. “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  I take a deep breath and head to the car, waving good-bye to my parents.

  Mr. Goodren answers the door when I arrive, broad smile stretching across his face. Lara emerges from behind him wearing a pink dress. She curled her hair and pulled it back over her head like a princess.

  “I love you, Lara Goodren.”

  “I love you, Piren Allston.”

  “Wow, you look amazing.”

  She blushes. “You too.”

  I lace her fingers with mine, and we head outside. Within minutes, Alan and Toni pull up in the antique car we rented for the evening. They greet us from the front seat.

  Climbing into the back, Lara rests her hand on my knee. I place my hand over hers, and our eyes meet. She presses her lips to my ear.

  “Thank you,” she whispers, “for being the best Partner ever.”

  Tracy Bailey

  Prom sucks. It’s a waste of time and money. Spend the night feigning interest in dancing with Sam? No thanks—I’ll pass.

  Toni tried to convince me to rent this stupid old car with her and Alan. As if I’d voluntarily spend time with her pig-headed Partner. Let’s not blow prom out of proportion; they hang some ninety-nine-cent drugstore streamers on the gym walls. Everyone parades around, pretending it’s so magical to be in the same room we sweat in every day.

  Big surprise, my parents are forcing me to go. Mom dumps a hideous, black poufy dress on my bed. I groan.

  “But, Mom—”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” she snaps. “I’m serious. Not a single complaint, or you’re grounded for a year.”

  “Fine.”

  “And Sam’s picking you up at eight. I coordinated with his mother.”

  “No! Come on!”

  “What did I just say?” Her eyes flash with danger. “You haven’t seen that poor boy in four months. You owe him an apology; this is the least you can do. Honestly, I’m ashamed. I still can’t believe you left him in the road like that.”

  “Seriously? Do you have to keep bringing that up?”

  “Get dressed. I’m coming back to do your hair in ten minutes.”

  I collapse onto my bed, sulking.

  Tonight better end better than the last time I rode in Sam’s stinky car.

  My Partner arrives in a hideous olive-green tuxedo. He looks like a leprechaun. It’s the first I’ve seen him up-close since our date disaster. I force my scowl into a painful smile.

  “I love you, Tracy Bailey.”

  “I love you, Sam Macey.”

  From behind his back, he presents th
is gaudy purple corsage to me and slips it over my wrist. Dad weaves around us, snapping pictures from every angle. Mom primps me and tugs my hair, trying in vain to make me look pretty. She used about four cans of spray to make my hair behave, and now it feels like plastic on my head. I’m ready to vomit all over the floor.

  I link Sam’s arm, and we’re off.

  Don’t look at me. Don’t talk to me. Just walk.

  We climb into his car and slam the doors shut.

  He grabs my hand. “Tracy, I’m so, so sorry about that night. I can’t believe I did that. I never want to hurt you. I lost control. I—”

  “It’s fine.” I yank my hand away.

  “I’ll never do it again. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

  “It’s fine. Stop apologizing.”

  “I don’t know how I can ever make it up to you. I’m so—”

  “Seriously, will you forget it? Just drive.” I glare out the window.

  Why does the whole world feel the need to keep dredging up that horrific night?

  We drive twenty minutes in silence until we park at the high school. Crowds of formally-dressed teenagers flock to the gym, hands entwined.

  Inhale. Exhale. Let’s just get this over with.

  Sam places his hand on my lower back, and we enter the gym. Gold streamers dangle from the ceiling, sparkling when lit by revolving strobes. The deejay cranks the music, and the bass vibrates through the floor, up my legs. I press my hands to my already aching ears.

  I wish I had my chunky red headphones.

  The stifling hot air swarms my lungs. A hundred students grind on the gym floor, jerking their sweaty bodies together.

  If Sam expects that tonight, he’s in for a shock.

  He hangs my coat like a good Partner, and goes to fetch drinks.

  Toni races over and grabs my arm, squealing with delight. She’s wearing a tight, low-cut yellow dress, bright red lipstick, and four-inch heels. The moment she opens her mouth, the bitter stench of vodka stings my nostrils—and the fact that I can identify the type of alcohol by smell is kind of disgusting.

  I scrunch my nose, batting my hand to waft away the scent.

  “I’m guessing you’re not drinking the school fruit punch, then?”

  She presses her finger to her lips and giggles, lifting her dress to reveal a bright pink flask strapped to her thigh.

  I’m surrounded.

  “Really?”

  “It’s prom; everyone does it.” She tugs her dress back down before a teacher sees.

  Sam returns and hands me a glass of punch. I doubt it’s spiked, but I sniff it anyway.

  “Did you see Sophie’s dress?” Toni pokes out her tongue. “Ick. She looks like a whore.”

  “Oh, no, I didn’t.” Because I don’t give a shit.

  “But Taryn Flagon’s dress is amazing.” She points across the gym. “It makes her ass look awesome. I’m so jealous. I bet she’s totally doing it with Rob tonight.”

  “That’s illegal.”

  “So? Doesn’t mean they’re not doing it anyway.”

  Toni chatters away, rehashing details of our classmates’ clothes and speculating who has the potential to wind up pregnant and Banished by the end of the night. I smile and “ooh” when appropriate, commenting how great all the Partnerships look together.

  They all look like sweating, horny idiots.

  Amanda runs over to join our highly intellectual conversation, dragging Josh by his tux sleeve. Sam smiles and nods, throwing in hollow laughter here and there. He grabs for my hand, but I cross my arms across my chest.

  For the first hour, Sam and I chat with various people. Every song, my Partner tries to nudge me to the dance floor, but I shift my body and pretend not to notice. Finally giving up on holding hands, he slides his arm around my shoulders. I cringe.

  The blaring music pounds through my aching head. Shirking out of Sam’s grasp, I excuse myself from the group, citing a need for fresh air.

  I just want tonight to end.

  I step outside and lean on the bike rail, inhaling a deep breath. Reverberations from the gym echo in the night air. A cool spring breeze drifts past, rattling the oak leaves on a nearby tree.

  Bushes rustle beside me, and I jerk my head up. Piren and Lara tumble out, hand-in-hand, giggling. I jolt.

  He catches my eye and stops mid-step. Lara’s laugh melts to a frown.

  “Hey, guys.” I watch their feet.

  Piren fidgets. “Hey, Trace.”

  Lara nods.

  “Whatcha up to?” I ask. “Party’s inside, not out here in the bushes.”

  Piren grins. “You wouldn’t believe it. We followed Hank the janitor out here. He’s supposed to be chaperoning, but he’s out back smoking with some of the teachers, and we don’t think it’s tobacco.”

  I force a smile. “I’m not surprised.”

  “If you’ll excuse me…” Lara runs her hands down her hot-pink gown, jutting out like a tutu at her hips. “I’m gonna get some food. Piren, you coming?” She flicks a strand of caramel hair behind her ear.

  “Um, yeah.” He shuffles his feet. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Lara’s mouth thins to a curt line, but her Partner doesn’t budge. She huffs and hurries back inside, leaving Piren and me alone under the stars. Something balls up in my chest. Last time we were alone together, he reamed me out for running away to the treehouse.

  Piren puts his hands in his tux pockets and stares up at the dark sky. I fidget, keeping my eyes on the ground.

  “Nice night,” he says.

  “Yep.”

  He gives me a half-smile. “Didn’t think of you as someone who’d come to prom.”

  “Well…me neither.” I tap the bike rack with my foot. “But I’m here.”

  I miss our friendship before it was awkward.

  He tilts his head. “You’ve got a purple corsage.”

  “Your visual skills are astounding.”

  Purple—our little inside joke.

  He’s got his light hair gelled back, the top button of his white collared shirt undone. My palms grow sweaty around the bike rail, and I tighten my grip.

  “You…you look nice…”

  “You too.”

  Nothing’s been the same since that Christmas Eve. Was our kiss the catalyst that killed our friendship?

  A lump forms in my throat.

  “I gotta go.”

  He grabs my arm. “Wait.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m just—” his gaze drifts to the ground “—glad you’re all right.”

  I bunch up the edge of my dress between my fingers.

  Does he ever think about that Christmas Eve?

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  This person was my best friend for years, and now we’re almost strangers.

  The last dance we attended together was gym class, almost four years ago. We waltzed around this very gym, hand-in-hand. It was so long ago, but it could have been yesterday.

  It could have been.

  I head back inside, but stop dead in my tracks. To my horror, a slow song croons from the deejay’s amp. Sam catches my eye and rushes over, sweat seeping through the underarms of his barf-colored shirt.

  He grabs my hand and herds me to the dance floor. He slides his arms around my waist, and I plant my hands on his shoulders, pushing back to maximize our distance. Some other girls in the room wrap their arms around their Partners’ necks, their eyes swooning with lovesick hypnosis. Their intimacy sends a shudder down my spine, and I stretch my arms further away.

  With a sharp tug, Sam pulls my body into his, squeezing me closer. His chest feels damp against mine. I rest my chin on his shoulder to minimize the potential for eye-contact as romantic music drifts over us.

  How long is this effing song?

  A few feet away, Lara and Piren dance together. She’s got her arms all entangled around him. A hard stone drops in my chest.

  She rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes
. He rests his head on hers.

  They’re so happy together.

  He jerks his head up, and our eyes lock from across the room. I clear my throat and avert my gaze back to the floor. I feel like someone shot through my heart with a cannonball.

  An eternity later, the song ends. I sprint off the dance floor, dragging Sam by his cuff. Wet stains dapple the front of my dress where we touched.

  Gross.

  A fast song begins, and grinding recommences on the dance floor.

  I guess all that slow-dance romance is short lived.

  Sam tugs my arm to dance again, but I twist out of his grasp.

  “I have to pee.”

  Before my Partner can protest, I hurry away to the bathroom. I don’t really have to go, but the thought of sharing another intimate dance with Sam makes me want to upchuck.

  I lean over the bathroom sink, waiting for the song to end. The bathroom mirror is unforgiving; a forlorn woman stares back at me. With my hair pulled back, my billboard-forehead almost doubles in size. Sweat beads along my hairline. The up-do my mother slaved over for hours is slowly wilting, tugging at my scalp; I want to yank it off my head. Once glued in a hairspray prison, several curly strands broke free and frame my face. My bubblegum pink lipstick wore off. I’m wearing way too much glittery eye shadow. And I look like an idiot in this poufy dress.

  With a loud flush, Lara saunters out from the stall behind me. I smile at her through the mirror, but she doesn’t acknowledge me. She washes her hands at the next sink.

  Lara glows tonight. Dolled up like a pink princess, she’s wearing shimmery makeup and lip gloss. Her ballerina dress hugs her figure, highlighting her curves. I’m a fat piece of shit next to her.

  Damn it, why does poufy look amazing on her but like a circus tent on me?

  Her professionally-curled dirty-blond hairstyle probably took a ridiculous amount of time and money, but it’ll straighten back in a few hours. I pat my curly locks with pride.

  She catches me watching. “Yes?”

  “Sorry. Nothing.”

  She rolls her eyes and grabs the door handle.

  “Hey, Lara.”

  She pivots. “What?”

  “I just…You look pretty.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”