“Okay, on three we all say what we’re thinking,” Rupert K. said. “One, two, three—”
“Autoerotic asphyxiation,” the three boys said in unison.
All four of us girls let out a breath.
“I mean, clearly that’s what’s happened,” Rupert X. said.
“Clearly,” Rupert L. agreed.
“We need to call someone,” Rupert K. said. He took his phone out of his pocket and seemed like he was about to punch in a number when he froze. “Oh no. Griffin just uploaded a video to YouTube.”
“So what?” Rupert X. said. “This is no time to check out his latest fashion rankings. Though I am due for a top spot this week.”
“I have a feeling we might want to watch this.”
The two Ruperts crowded around Rupert K., and although we obviously couldn’t see the screen from all the way in our closet hiding space, the volume on the phone was loud enough that when Griffin’s voice came on it was clear.
“This is a message for all Ruperts fans,” Griffin said. “I know in my heart that Rupert Pierpont did NOT quit the band. He would never do something so rash. In fact, he spoke to me often about how much he loved the band, how important it was to him, and how he wanted to improve himself to be worthy of being in it. I know all of this because I am Rupert Pierpont’s greatest confidante. Actually, I’m his boyfriend.”
If the boys were surprised by this information, they didn’t show it. The three of them were facing the closet, and all I could see in their features was intense concentration, not surprise. Actually, Rupert X. rolled his eyes, which may have been more of a confirmation that the boys already knew about Rupert P. and Griffin’s relationship.
“I’m stating this here, publicly, because Rupert Pierpont is missing. I’ve called the police and they don’t believe me. They think I’m just another Ruperts fan. So here’s my message to the police.”
His voice cut out and a muffled sound came from the phone. It could’ve been anything, but I definitely heard another voice. It sounded like Rupert P. and Griffin, talking. And then there came a noise that sounded unmistakably like lip smacking. Rupert P. and Griffin, kissing. Rupert L.’s eyes bulged wide, Rupert K. closed his, and Rupert X. looked vaguely disgusted. Griffin must’ve just shown a video clip of him and Rupert P. together. Probably a similar video to the one we’d seen on Rupert’s P.’s phone earlier.
“That should be proof enough that I am without a doubt Rupert Pierpont’s boyfriend. I would never betray his trust like this, but I’m worried about him. He isn’t answering his phone and no one has seen him anywhere. I called the police to try and get some help, but they said I can’t file a missing persons report if it hasn’t been forty-eight hours. So that’s why I’m posting this video here. If the police won’t help, I’m enlisting the next best thing—the fans. I’m calling on all of you, as fans of The Ruperts, to please help. Especially the girls outside The Rondack Hotel right now in New York. Rupert is around here somewhere, and I’ve never underestimated the power of Strepurs in large groups. Infiltrate the hotel if you have to! Search high and low! I have reason to believe there may have been foul play involved in his disappearance, but I won’t go further into that just yet. I have my own theories about what’s happened that I’d be happy to share with the police if they’d just bother to cooperate with me. Rupert, if you’re watching this, I hope you understand why I had to do this.”
There was a moment of stillness as the boys looked at one another, and then in an instant Rupert L. ran for the balcony door. I gasped, but the sound was drowned out by a much bigger one. It came from outside—something awful, like billions of bees dying, or ghosts howling in the woods.
But I knew what it really was.
It was the sound of thousands of Strepurs, unleashed.
“GET AWAY FROM THERE, YOU TOSSER!” Rupert X. roared.
Rupert L. had popped outside for only a second, but it was enough. The sound got impossibly louder. It felt suddenly like we were in medieval times, when armies stormed castle walls, climbing on top of each other, blind with passion and a clear goal. Perhaps this goal was to take Rupert L. Not to hug or to kiss him or to sneak a selfie with him. But simply to have him.
He pulled himself back with the effort of someone trying to get out of quicksand, like the power of the Strepurs’ yells had a physical hold on him and it was a fight between him and them for his soul.
He shut the balcony door behind him and leaned against it, suddenly weak. “They’re climbing the scaffolding,” he said. “They’re infiltrating.”
“And you’ve just shown them where our room is, you marvelous shit,” Rupert X said. “Brilliant.”
“I can stop them,” Rupert L. said, gulping in air and focusing on Rupert P.’s body with an eerily determined gaze. “I know what we have to do.”
And then he lifted Rupert P. off his bag of beans.