The Disappearance of Emily H. Read online

  I recognize her from pictures online. Tasha Huvar, Emily’s little sister. She’s a mini Emily, with the same big eyes and wavy hair. I’m guessing she’s around ten. “You’re Tasha Huvar, right?” I say.

  She shrugs, and her helmet slides a little down her forehead.

  Levi eyes the sandwiches.

  Tasha quickly kneels to scoop everything into the bag.

  How incredibly sad is this? She’s carrying around a magazine like it’s her sister’s stuffed animal. And ditching school to eat lunch in the house where they used to live. Normally, there’d be no one here at this time.

  She stands.

  “You need to give me the key.” I hold out my hand. With my other hand, I grasp my stomach, which is gurgling again.

  Tasha backs up a couple of little steps, staring at my outstretched hand, then at the key. Desperation crosses her face. Slowly, she passes it to me. It’s sticky.

  “You have any more copies?” I ask.

  Her eyes on her sneakers, she looks so unhappy that I’m sure she really doesn’t have an extra key at home.

  “How often do you come here?” I wipe the sweat off my forehead. I must have a huge, raging fever. “You shouldn’t be skipping school.”

  Her gaze stays on her sneakers, and her mouth stays shut.

  “Tasha?”

  Her face is as vacant as a blank sheet of paper. Even when I say her name.

  And I finally get it. I get why she isn’t answering my questions. I get why she thinks she’s tricking me with her baby steps toward the back door. I get why she doesn’t question how I know her name. Tasha isn’t completely with it.

  She must feel closer or something to her sister when she’s here. “You want to eat in the kitchen today? One last time?” She has no idea what this offer is costing me. I just want to crawl back to bed. And die.

  “No.”

  Levi slinks past me and rubs against Tasha’s leg. Tasha scratches Levi behind the left ear, right at her favorite spot. It usually takes Levi ages to warm up to someone new. These two are obviously best friends. How many times has Tasha snuck in?

  “I’m Raine. Looks like you already know Levi,” I say.

  She nods, opens the door, and steps out.

  Levi and I follow her to the side of the house where her bike, also turquoise, is propped against the wall.

  “Levi jeans.” Tasha plops the bag in the wicker basket hanging from her handlebars.

  “You’re right. She’s named after the jeans,” I say. “When she was a puppy, she was really whimpery. She only calmed down when I held her. One night I put a pair of my jeans in her bed, and she went right to sleep.”

  Tasha smiles. “My dog was Pes.”

  “That’s a cute name.”

  “It means ‘dog.’ ”

  “Yeah?” This strikes me as funny, but Tasha’s eyes are wide and serious.

  “Pes ran away,” she says. “He has a new family.”

  Her family gets evicted. Her sister disappears. She loses her dog. Can you say tragic?

  Tasha pushes up her helmet. There’s a red line across her forehead where it was pressing. She slides a foot in a pedal and swings her leg over the bicycle seat.

  “Bye, Levi Jeans,” she says. “Bye, Raine.”

  She rides across our bumpy lawn to the driveway, then onto the street. The afternoon sun bounces off her turquoise helmet. Red streamers flap and flutter from where they’re wound around the handles. Her back rigid and her bony elbows jutting out, she pedals in a straight line.

  A bunch of kids are absent the next day. It’s as if zombies infested our school and feasted on a large percentage of the student population. The stomach flu has hit Yielding Middle with a vengeance.

  Mr. Magee is absent, too, and we have a sub in film. She’s young and dressed in jeans, a colorful scarf tossed around her neck. Hunched over the teacher’s desk, she’s totally engrossed in a paperback, not even lifting her eyes while we file in.

  Once we’re somewhat settled, she lays her book facedown. “Your teacher left instructions for the next project, and you have all of today’s class to work on it. Choose a partner, then pick up a handout.” She stands long enough to plop a stack of papers on an empty desk by the door. Then she returns to her book.

  “But half of us are missing,” Jennifer complains, not bothering to raise her hand.

  She has a point. Torie and Sydney are seated next to each other and will no doubt pair up. Shirlee’s absent. Which leaves me with no one. Jennifer’s in a similar boat. Both Alyssa and Danielle are absent, and I’m sure she doesn’t want to lower herself to work with a loser like me.

  “Just show us a video,” Jennifer says.

  The sub shrugs. “Your teacher didn’t leave anything but this assignment.” She waves her book in the air. “I’m doing my master’s and have a test on this. Tonight.”

  In other words, she’s here to babysit while getting her own homework done.

  With a loud sigh, Jennifer sticks out her feet and leans back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest.

  A shadow falls across my desk. “Wanna work together?” Hugh asks.

  My heart revs a little until I realize that Avalon is one of the missing. Garrett, too. I’m just the best of his few options. “Sure,” I say.

  “Great,” he says. “Let me grab our handouts.”

  Jennifer flounces to the substitute. “I need a pass to see the nurse.”

  I swear the sub doesn’t even break from reading to fill out the form. That’s some incredible focus. I bet she aces her test.

  There’s a bang as Jennifer lets the door slam behind her.

  “You ever heard of the Albany Boys?” Hugh asks, pushing a desk against mine.

  “No.”

  “I think they’re your kind of band. I’ll send you a link to one of my playlists.”

  “Would there happen to be any Seattle Ska on that playlist?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

  He hesitates. “Definitely not.”

  “Liar.”

  Hugh smiles. “You can always skip the Seattle Ska tracks.”

  “I plan to.”

  He smiles again.

  “Produce a ten-minute video pertaining to Yielding,” I read from the handout.

  We look over the guidelines and brainstorm for three seconds, then drift into joking around and chatting about school, gaming, and of course, music. It’s like we can’t stop talking.

  When the volume level in the room gets a little high, the sub looks up from her book. “Put a lid on it, guys.” Other than that, she ignores us.

  “We didn’t accomplish much,” I say at the end of class. The page in my notebook only has a few ideas on it.

  “We should probably get together later,” Hugh says. He checks his phone. “How about Thursday of next week?” He grimaces. “Is that okay? If it’s not till next week? I’m working a lot, and I’m in the gaming club, and we have an event.”

  “As long as we work independently before then.” I put my notebook and pen in my backpack.

  “If we meet at the Jitter Bean, my dad’ll throw in free drinks and doughnuts.”

  “Not that you have to bribe me.”

  “Six-thirty?” Hugh stands. “That’s probably the earliest I can be there.”

  “Sure.” I open my arms wide enough to include Hugh, me, the two desks. “Avalon’ll be okay with this?”

  “Sure.” He looks surprised. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

  I shrug. Maybe because she acts like you two are Siamese twins.

  —

  Surprisingly, Jennifer shows up for cross-country. I thought she’d use the nurse’s pass to get out of practice. Maybe she’s hoping to humiliate me at sprints again.

  But today practice is good. I run well enough that Coach throws me a compliment. Jennifer frowns at this, making practice even better. I’m headed home now, humming, feeling like life doesn’t suck. Just as I cross onto my street, someone calls my name.

  It’s
Shirlee, slouched against the stop sign. She looks like death, her face blotchy and gray, her eyes red-rimmed. “Shirlee?” I say. “Shouldn’t you be home in bed?”

  She sniffs loudly and slides down the post until she’s sitting on the ground, hunched over like a snail shell. And then she starts crying.

  I drop my backpack and sit next to her.

  The sobbing slows, then trickles to a raggedy stop. She takes a few deep, shuddery breaths. “I want to quit school,” she says to the ground between her knees.

  “What?”

  “I want to quit school.”

  Totally didn’t see that coming. I scan her for a sparkle but don’t see anything. And I’m not getting any tingling messages from my fingers. It would be so nice if a sparkle showed up when I needed one to make sense of a situation.

  Shirlee starts sniffling, and her eyes fill with tears again.

  “You could quit, right?” I say. “Go back to homeschooling?”

  “My mom won’t let me.”

  “Anything in your horoscope that would convince her?” I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth.

  “She’s not into astrology.”

  I don’t answer, digesting this. Somehow I had the impression Shirlee came from an entire family of Shirlees.

  “What’s going on?” I ask when we’re up and walking.

  “It’s Jennifer.” She blinks rapidly. “She’s horrible.”

  “I agree.”

  Suddenly I get this mental slide show: Shirlee in film, pale and quiet while Jennifer talks to her. Shirlee in the cafeteria, practically under the table, pretending to look for something when Jennifer walks by. And then, of course, Shirlee like a trapped animal in the restroom. The bullying’s been escalating right in front of me, but I never noticed. I feel bad. “Stand up to her. That’s the only way to stop her.”

  “I can’t.” Shirlee picks at the hem of her T-shirt, finding a loose thread and winding it around her finger. “I can barely breathe when she’s around.”

  “You have to stand up to her. It’s the only way to shut her down. That’s how it works with bullies.”

  She winds the thread tighter, turning the end of her finger white.

  “One of the few advantages of going to so many schools is you see lots of bullies in action. And learn how to get them to leave you alone.”

  She unwinds the thread and sticks her hands in her pockets. “You’re a good friend, Raine.”

  Really? A warmth settles in my stomach. That’s a new role for me.

  Shirlee slumps against my side.

  If Jennifer can have this effect on Shirlee in just a couple of weeks, what did she do to Emily?

  It’s not till Friday that Yielding Middle is populated to its max again. Avalon’s still absent, though. That girl is so skinny, she can’t afford to have the stomach flu for days.

  It’s the usual routine at the beginning of cross-country practice. Everyone hustles out to the field to warm up. Well, everyone except Jennifer and Alyssa. They saunter down the hall to fill their water bottles under the false impression they’re special and don’t need to hurry. It’s easy to time it so I’m briefly alone in the locker room.

  Jennifer’s necklace hangs from a locker hook, the supernova sparkle glinting from the stone. I want that memory. I want to take it home and spend some serious time with it. Any memory shining its guts out like that must have something to say.

  As quick as a fly zipping through a closing door, I snatch Jennifer’s combination lock from where it’s lying on the bench and shove it to the back of my locker. Then I shut my locker door, throw on my lock, and dash around the corner. Out of sight, I stand by the door that leads outside, listening.

  Alyssa and Jennifer make their way back to the locker area.

  “Alyssa, do you have my lock?” Jennifer asks.

  “What would I do with two locks?” Alyssa says.

  “I don’t know, but I can’t find it anywhere.”

  “Yeah, because you’ve got the messiest locker in the school,” Alyssa says. “Just close your locker door.”

  I slip out quietly, join the others on the grass, and begin stretching.

  “Hurry up, girls,” Coach yells when Jennifer and Alyssa finally emerge from the locker room. “It’s a street run today, and that’s a longer workout.”

  The whole time my feet are pounding the pavement, I’m thinking through how I need to snatch the necklace while Jennifer and everyone else are in the showers. Getting caught would be bad. Getting caught would make me Jennifer’s main target. And life doesn’t get any suckier than being the mean girl’s main target.

  We’re cooling down when Willow jogs up next to me. “You hear about Avalon?” she asks.

  “No,” I say. “What happened?”

  “She got the flu so bad, she ended up dehydrated. Her mom took her to the hospital last night, and they put her on an IV.”

  I imagine Avalon all wizened and brittle like an apple chip. “She’s going to be okay?”

  “Yeah, she’s already home.” Willow swipes her arm across her sweaty forehead. “She’ll be back in school on Monday.”

  The second we enter the change room, my eyes cut to Jennifer. She opens the door of her locker and a brush falls out. The necklace swings gently from the hook, its sparkle practically blinding me.

  “Raine? Raine?” Willow says. She pokes me in the shoulder.

  “Huh?”

  “I was asking about the language arts homework. Did you get it written down?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I see it? I missed the last two questions.” Willow unzips her backpack and pulls out a notebook.

  Jennifer’s gathering up her shower stuff. “Alyssa, you sure you don’t have my lock?”

  “I don’t have it.” Alyssa slips on flip-flops. “Hurry up. My mom said we absolutely can’t be late today.”

  Jennifer and Alyssa head to the showers.

  I quickly dial the combo to open my lock. “I have a dentist appointment.” I hand Willow my language arts notebook. “In like forty minutes. I don’t even have time for a shower.”

  “Eww,” Torie says.

  “I’ll be fast.” Willow sits down on the bench.

  I get dressed. On my way out, I make a point of telling a few girls goodbye, mentioning my dentist appointment.

  I wait outside the building, around the corner from the gym door. I count under my breath, in time with my heart, which is launching itself against my rib cage. By one hundred, the girls should be in the showers. I hope.

  …ninety-eight…ninety-nine…one hundred.

  I reenter the locker room.

  It’s empty. In one breath, I fly across the room. Glance around. Still no one. I tug open Jennifer’s locker. I pull her lock from my pocket and shove it in her shoe at the back of the space. My hand darts in again and seizes the necklace.

  Score.

  —

  I arrive home to a dog anxious for a walk. “Levi, I promise I’ll take you out later. For now, please just run around the yard.” After ten minutes, I call her in, give her a biscuit, then go upstairs.

  Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I hold Jennifer’s necklace in the air by the clasp. The stone dangles and spins, the sparkle flashing and dancing. My fingers tingle, full of electricity.

  Maybe I’ll find a memory that’ll help Shirlee get Jennifer off her back. Or one about Emily. Or maybe I’ll pick up a bunch of memories.

  I squeeze the stone in my palm. I shut my eyes.

  Nothing.

  I blow out an impatient breath. The stone definitely has a memory. Or memories. But how do I access them?

  If only my grandmother were still alive. She was a genius at this. She could even tease a vision from an object without a sparkle.

  We thought we’d have years and years together for her to teach me. Then one evening, she went out to water the garden. I waited for her to tuck me in. Waited and waited, flipping through picture book after picture book. Even
tually, our neighbor came to the door. My grandmother had had a huge heart attack and was gone.

  I try to think of memory things she mentioned. Around the time I started kindergarten, a friend of hers, someone else who could pull visions from objects, came for dinner.

  I remember them sitting at the kitchen table. A big pot of hot soup was in the middle of the table, the steam from it curling up like magic.

  My grandmother pushed back her chair and stood. “Let me show you.” She disappeared into the pantry and returned with an onion.

  “I peel away the memories as if I’m peeling an onion,” she explained. Her hands were in the air, moving in and out of the steam. “From the most recent to the oldest memory.” She peeled off a layer. “So this could be from yesterday.” She peeled off the next layer. “And now I’ve uncovered a memory from last week.” She removed yet another layer. “And here’s one from a month ago.”

  Excited, I grip the necklace again. How incredible would that be, to unlock memories going back in time? It’s never happened for me. Never. I’m basically a toddler in the world of memory gathering. Just learning to talk and walk.

  I think of an onion as clearly as I can, crackly skin tearing off to reveal the paper-white skin that stings your eyes.

  Nothing.

  I focus on the tingles.

  Nothing.

  I imagine Jennifer in class. At lunch. Running.

  Nothing, nothing, nothing.

  In disgust, I toss the necklace on my dresser, where it rolls next to my phone.

  “This is not working, Levi.” I go down to the kitchen for a glass of milk and some cookies. Levi pads after me, whining a little to remind me I promised her a walk.

  Annoyed, I sit on a barstool in the semidark. The memory, possibly memories, is so close, but still out of reach. Suddenly a thought lights up my brain. My grandmother was into cooking, so the onion idea worked for her. Maybe I need to try this my way, use what I’m into to uncover the memories.

  Carrying a candle warmer and a votive, I go back to my room. I set a wax melt in the pan of the warmer and light the votive. The melting cube gives off the sweet scent of sugar cookies. I boot up my computer and click on my latest playlist. Music bounces off the walls. I pick up the necklace and cradle the stone in my hand.