The Disappearance of Emily H. Page 8

  Did she die there?

  Avalon’s back at school on Monday, all over Hugh like a wet T-shirt.

  When I pass them in the hall, Hugh waves to me. “We still on for Thursday at the Bean? Six-thirty, right?”

  Avalon inches closer to him. How is this even physically possible?

  “Yeah,” I reply.

  “I haven’t done any work yet, but I will.” Hugh raises three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  Avalon is frowning, a deep line etched across her narrow forehead. Apparently, she’s not pleased with the partner arrangement for film.

  At lunch I sit with Torie, Sydney, Willow, and a few other cross-country girls.

  “Check this out.” Torie slaps her tattooed hand on the table.

  Sydney does the same. Then Willow does, and finally, so do I.

  Next we walk our fingers along the table, doing little leaps and turns and the cancan. We’re a henna hand dance routine.

  “Cool,” says the girl next to me. “Are those tattoos real?”

  “Real henna,” Torie says.

  “I like how they’re all different,” another girl says.

  We break out laughing.

  Shirlee’s standing awkwardly at the end of the table.

  “Sit, Shirlee,” I say, scooting along the bench. “There’s room.”

  She looks wistfully at our hands.

  That’s where I have an advantage over her. It’s easier to make friends at a new school when you’re on a team. I know she’s in the Spanish club, but they don’t eat together.

  I’m finishing up my cookies when Jennifer, Alyssa, and Danielle come striding down the aisle toward us.

  Shirlee folds into herself like she’s trying to disappear origami-style.

  A storm brews in my stomach. The necklace is in my backpack, which is in my locker. Right before practice today, I’m going to shove it to the very back of Jennifer’s locker. Luckily, there’s no PE class last period, so the locker room will be empty, with no one to discover the necklace by accident and take it for themselves. There’s a slim, mostly nonexistent chance Jennifer will think she just didn’t find it at the end of Friday’s practice because of how far back on the shelf I’ll put it. Most importantly, she’ll have no way of linking me to the necklace. Being tossed in a pit of spiders would be more pleasant than what she would do to me if she found out.

  Jennifer and her girls stand side by side, hands on hips, at the end of our table. Jennifer looks naked without her necklace and the big sparkle that was glommed onto it.

  “Where’s my necklace?” She glares at me.

  “What?” I say, trying to look confused. Meanwhile, it feels as though someone’s twisting up my guts and wringing them out like they’re a rag.

  “You were in the locker room on Friday when it disappeared.” Her eyebrows are raised to her hairline.

  “Are you actually accusing me of stealing your necklace?” I tilt my head and scowl, acting like a girl who routinely jumps into lunchtime brawls.

  “Raine left early for a dentist appointment that day,” Torie says, her elbows on the table, her chin resting on her hands, tattooed hand on top. “She didn’t even take a shower.”

  “It’s Juicy jewelry.” Jennifer looks me over, like she’s assigning rock-bottom price tags to each item I’m wearing. “That probably doesn’t mean anything to you.”

  “Raine wasn’t there when your necklace went missing,” Torie insists.

  Sydney and Willow stare with large, round eyes from Jennifer to me to Torie. Shirlee’s chewing on her bottom lip. Everyone else is gazing at the table, like the secrets of the universe are etched in the Formica.

  “Let’s go.” Alyssa links her arm through Jennifer’s, and Danielle takes the other arm. The three sashay away from us.

  “Thanks,” I say to Torie.

  “No prob,” she says, punching a fist in the air. “Henna girls unite.”

  The end-of-lunch buzzer rings.

  “That necklace is probably super expensive,” Shirlee says as we’re walking out.

  “I saw it at Budget Mart for a dollar ninety-nine,” I say, continuing with my tough-girl act even though I’m shaking inside.

  Shirlee laughs nervously. “Be careful, Raine. You know how awful she can be.”

  I think of Emily, excited and babbling to Hugh about the sleepover, then ending up in the dark woods, and then who knows what. “Yeah, I do.”

  A black fog of dread surrounds me all afternoon. The necklace is in a small pocket in my backpack, but it might as well be wound around my neck, pulling tighter and tighter. It sparkles and shines, but it’s like a curse. I can’t wait to get rid of it and never touch it again.

  “The periodic table gives me a headache,” Willow complains as we leave science. “Even after Mrs. Woodford went over the entire worksheet my head was still in an electron cloud. And I’m not trying to be funny.”

  I didn’t hear a word the teacher said.

  “You’re so pale.” Willow’s eyebrows bunch together in worry. “Is it about Jennifer?”

  I shrug.

  “Don’t let her get to you,” Willow says. “I’m sure after what Torie said she knows you didn’t take her necklace.”

  Sweat beads over my entire body. I give a half nod.

  “I feel sorry for the person who did take it.” Willow shudders. “You should’ve seen her, tearing up the locker room, yelling at everyone, calling us names. It was like she was rabid.”

  “I’m glad I missed it,” I say, feeling sick.

  Willow points. “What’s going on?”

  The classroom door to film is closed, and the entire class is milling around in the hall.

  “Stupid sub,” Torie says when we get within talking distance. “She won’t let us in till she’s finished reading a chapter. She has another dumb test tonight.”

  “She can do that?” I ask.

  “It’s not like anyone’s racing to the office to report her.” Sydney shoots a look at Torie. “I’m personally okay with a little free time.”

  “Party in the hall.” Garrett dances around.

  Jennifer’s necklace is sending my anxiety level off the charts. And with the entire class in the hall, my fingers are freaking out with tingles.

  When Garrett passes me, I snag a sparkle off his binder. I can’t help myself. I also can’t read it, but at least holding a sparkle numbs the tingling.

  Hugh and Avalon are sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing video games on their phones. It’s the first time I’ve seen her smiling and doing something other than hang off him.

  Shirlee and her partner for the project, a slender guy with acne, are leaning against the wall, taking notes.

  Now would be the perfect time to sneak off to the locker room and dump the necklace. It may not look heavy, but it’s weighing down my backpack like a hundred bricks.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement. The way a gazelle sees starving lions padding toward her.

  I step away.

  Too late. Jennifer, Alyssa, and Danielle elbow past Torie and Willow. Jennifer yanks my backpack off my shoulders.

  She drops it on the ground.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” Torie says loudly.

  That gets everyone’s attention. Several people drift over and surround us. I think I’m going to suffocate.

  “Raine has something of mine,” Jennifer says, roughly pulling on the zipper to my backpack’s main compartment. “Help me,” she barks at Alyssa and Danielle.

  Alyssa dumps the contents out. Books thud on the linoleum. Loose papers flutter away like snowflakes. My binder splats open.

  It’s a nightmare in slow motion. I stand frozen, trying to get my legs, my lips, anything to work.

  Torie’s mouth opens and shuts, telling the girls to stop.

  They ignore her.

  Danielle pulls out my water bottle and sends it rolling down the hall.

  Shirlee bends over to retrieve it.

  Danielle s
tarts unzipping the pouches at the front of my backpack.

  My breath snags in my throat.

  Jennifer glances at the still-closed classroom door. “Hurry up.”

  Danielle sticks in a hand and grabs my thumb drive, calculator, pens, pencils, and highlighters from the largest pouch. She drops them to the floor.

  My throat narrows.

  Alyssa kneels and unzips the next compartment. She tosses out my tampons and extra lunch money.

  With jerky, impatient movements, Jennifer grabs my backpack. She begins yanking the zipper of the smallest pocket, the last remaining compartment, the pocket holding her necklace.

  It takes two seconds. It takes two years. The hall is noisy. The hall is quiet. I’m hot. I’m freezing.

  Hugh finally tunes in and joins the crowd. “Give Raine her backpack, Jennifer,” he says. “Don’t be a jerk.”

  But he’s too late to be my knight in shining armor.

  Jennifer beams a cruel smile, like it was sliced into her face with a knife. Link by link, she gently tugs the chain from the pocket until the entire necklace emerges, shiny, glimmering, winking at everyone. “I knew it was in here,” she says triumphantly.

  Jennifer stands, dangling the necklace by my head like it’s an Olympic medal. “KleptoRainia.”

  Torie’s hands are shoved in her pockets, the henna tattoo hidden. Hugh looks shocked. Shirlee has tears in her eyes.

  I run down the hall and out the first door I come to.

  My mom arrives home from work around six. “Raine?” she calls upstairs. “It was someone’s birthday in the office. I brought home leftover cake.”

  When I get to the kitchen, she’s already digging in.

  “Corner pieces,” she says, perching on a barstool. “Let’s eat dinner backward and start with dessert.”

  The cake would plug up my throat and choke me to death.

  “It’s time to leave Yielding.” My voice cracks. I’m on the verge of losing it.

  “What?” Her fork jerks to a stop, and a little cake topples to the counter. “You’ve been crying. What’s going on?”

  I don’t answer. I learned years ago that it’s either useless or dangerous to give my mom too much info. Because she’ll either (a) do nothing to help or (b) go way overboard. When I was in third grade, a boy accused me of pulling his hair. Not true. I was reaching for a sparkle on the top of his head. Weirdest thing, but the sparkle was sticky. Anyway, the teacher called home to discuss my behavior. Would my mom let it go with a simple “I’ll talk to Raine”? No, she made a huge deal of it, even going to the principal about how the teacher singled me out. The upshot was no one would let their kid play with me. Loneliest year of my life.

  “What happened?” she asks.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You’re sure it’s that bad?” Mom says in a calm voice. “You know how middle school works. The first few days might be rough, but then the next drama will come along.”

  “We have to move.” I walk over to the cupboard and start pulling down dishes and stacking them on the counter. Leaving’s the only logical solution. Moving is what we do. I certainly can’t go back to Yielding Middle. Ever.

  She watches in silence, massaging her forehead where a blue vein pulses.

  By the time I start with the glasses and mugs, I’m actually feeling better. Like I’ve been transported to the moon, where I’m light and weightless.

  “I am so ready for a fresh start.” I practically sing the last two words. I never realized how sweet they sound. Sweeter than cake. Fresh start. I finally understand why my mother was always so quick to load up the truck and stick the key in the ignition.

  When I start stacking silverware and cooking utensils and everything else from the kitchen drawers on the counter, she walks over and wraps her arms around me. “Raine.” She holds me close. “We haven’t even been here a month. My job’s going well. You’re going to have to face the music on this one,” she says softly. “Whatever it is.”

  I step back from her, anger flaring inside me. “Why? Why do I have to face the music? When did you ever face the music, Mom? Oh yeah, that would be never. We’re constantly moving so you can get away from some loser. We’ve left a guy behind in every place I can remember since I came to live with you.” My voice gets louder. “You should try facing the music.”

  The bluish vein on my mom’s temple pulses fast, like a hummingbird’s wings.

  I know I should stop, but I can’t. “Like, why’d we just leave Detroit? Because you hooked up with a guy who stole from us. We bought our stuff back from the pawnshop and then what? We ran away.”

  My mom opens her mouth, but no words come out.

  “It’s my turn for a fresh start!” I yell. “My turn.”

  Slowly, she shakes her head.

  I pick up a plate and hurl it across the room. It hits the wall with a loud crash, raining smashed pieces onto the floor.

  My fingers curl around the next plate. For a second, I think about throwing all the plates, one by one. Then I take a deep shuddery breath and escape to my room.

  From my bed, I hear my mother downstairs sweeping up the broken pieces. And then I hear a knock at the door.

  “Hi. My name’s Shirlee. I have Raine’s backpack.”

  “Thank you,” my mom says. She must be wondering what’s next. First I won’t give up details about what went down at school. Then I’m flinging plates at walls. And then a girl she’s never met shows up with my backpack.

  “Would it be possible for me to talk to Raine?” Shirlee asks.

  There’s a brief silence. My mom’s trying to decide if her screaming, plate-throwing, secret-keeping daughter wants to talk to Shirlee.

  “How’s she doing?” Shirlee asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

  “Not great,” my mom admits. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this upset.”

  “I might be able to make her feel a little better,” Shirlee offers.

  “Come in,” my mom says. “I’ll see if she’s up for a visitor.”

  When my mom pokes her head in my room, I slip past her and down the stairs. I’m not talking to her.

  “Thanks,” I say to Shirlee, gesturing at the backpack.

  “No problem. I hope I got everything.”

  I lift my shoulders. What am I supposed to say? Yeah, I hope you got all my belongings, including the tampons, from where they were tossed up and down the hall during the most humiliating experience of my life?

  “You ever been to Grinders?” Shirlee asks. “It’s not very popular, but they have great hot chocolate.”

  “Let’s go,” I say, keying in on the not very popular—meaning we won’t bump into anyone from school. Plus, I need time away from my mother.

  At the bottom of the driveway, we veer left. There’s a sparkle on Shirlee’s purse strap, but I’m too worn out to even be interested in it. Maybe I have to be an emotional basket case for sparkles not to tempt me. That sounds like a fun life.

  “Grinders is kind of a hole-in-the-wall. Just to warn you. And it’s more of an old people’s hangout.” She takes a moment to push her long hair over her shoulder. “I haven’t told my mom about my problems with Jennifer. It’s too embarrassing. I wasn’t sure how much you wanted me to say about today at your house.”

  “I didn’t tell my mom, either.”

  “Some people think Jennifer planted her necklace in your backpack,” Shirlee says. “And that Alyssa and Danielle were in on it.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “They don’t need a reason. And Jennifer’s merciless when it comes to new girls.” She cringes.

  I think of the plan they cooked up for Emily. All because Jennifer wanted to teach her a lesson. And I think of Shirlee in the school bathroom.

  “A couple of people—well, mostly Torie—think you and your mom travel around the country, collecting items to sell to the pawnshop in Las Vegas, the one that’s on TV.”

  “That’s just craz
y.” I actually laugh a little, which surprises me because I didn’t think I’d find anything to laugh about for at least ten years. “Although I wouldn’t mind seeing that pawnshop.”

  “That’d be cool.”

  “Any other theories?” What does Hugh think?

  “Some people think you took the necklace because of the way your hands—” She presses her lips so tightly together, they turn white.

  I feel my face flame. They mean the way my hands are always fluttering and reaching out. I try to keep them still, but it’s like they take on a life of their own when sparkles are around.

  We walk in silence for a few minutes.

  “This way.” Shirlee turns into the drive of a tiny strip mall with a skateboard store, a nail salon, and a sushi restaurant. Grinders is at the back, not visible from the street.

  She holds the door for me. It’s small inside, with four booths along the wall and two round tables with chairs in the middle of the room. Most seats are taken by customers chatting and playing board games. From the back corner, a jukebox belts out old-people music. I see right away what Shirlee meant. It’s a gray-haired crowd. And they’re all talking to each other in loud voices. It smells of coffee and cookies.

  There are several sparkles, and my fingers tingle.

  “Shirlee,” says the old man behind the counter. “You brought a friend.”

  “Raine, Bert. Bert, Raine.” Shirlee waves the introductions. “Bert’s been working here for decades. Literally.”

  “It’s true,” he says. “Haven’t updated my resume in forty years.”

  “That might be something for the Guinness World Records book,” I say.

  “Two hot chocolates? Extra whipped cream?” he asks.

  “Sounds good.” Shirlee looks at me, a question in her eyes.

  “Sure,” I say.

  We sit at the first booth, the only empty booth.

  “Do they have Wi-Fi here?” I ask Shirlee.

  “No, but you can pick it up from the nail salon. It’s not password-protected.”

  I’m thinking I’ll come here for Wi-Fi. I’m never showing my face at the Bean again.

  Bert hobbles over with our drinks and a plate of sugar cookies. “The cookies are on the house.”