No sign of her at her locker. I pop it open–we know each other’s combinations–and examine the contents. A photo of me and her from the beach this summer, our eyes covered with sunglasses and our hair darkened with water. We almost look like sisters. A pack of gum, a textbook that looks like it’s never been cracked open, a notebook. Nothing freshly dropped off.
She could be ditching because it’s a low-tide day, one of the few occasions when teachers will let kids off the hook. Hell, even Mr. Riley can’t argue with that. Where are you? I text her.
By the time we gather in the auditorium, she hasn’t responded. Beth slips into the seat two away from me, her birdlike features narrowed with concern. Around us, there’s the hush of taut conversations, and no matter how hard I focus on catching a syllable, a hint of anything, nobody dares to speak loudly enough.
Juliana leans against a seat in the back row with her arms crossed, lips pursed. She has the air of someone who has been interrupted. I look beside her, around me, and there’s no sign of Marcos.
For the first time, I feel a drum of fear. What if Cassie was in a car accident this morning? What if Marcos was? I search through my phone until I realize I don’t have his number.
No, Cassie has lightning-fast reflexes behind the wheel despite her tendency to focus on everything besides driving. She’d whip right around someone blazing her way. Marcos–I can’t imagine him being nearly as distracted as Cassie. It has to be someone else. I wipe my palms on my jeans and try to calm my breathing.
Behind all of us, in the Standing Room Only zone, are the teachers. Mr. Raia and Mr. Kessler in conversation, Mr. Raia’s tie frumpier than usual. Next to Mr. Kessler, my father. He’s eyeing me like he wants to say something. At that exact moment, a text arrives and I nearly drop my phone. Except it’s not from Cassie. It’s from Dad, sent ten minutes ago and arriving now thanks to PHS’s superb cell service: Find me so we can talk. Then the stage microphone squeaks to life, and I turn back with a whisper of relief. At least Dad’s here.
When Mr. Riley walks onto the stage, all noise leaves the room. I don’t want him to speak. Marcos isn’t here. Cassie isn’t here. I want to climb over all these legs to the aisle, run to the door. I don’t want to know.
Where the hell are you? I text Cassie, because if I send her enough messages, I’ll finally receive an answer.
“I’ve gathered everyone to address the rumors that are flying around.” Mr. Riley’s voice is commanding as usual, but there’s a slouch to his perfect posture. “A student attempted to take her own life early this morning.”
Her own life.
Suddenly I’m as cold as if I’ve cannonballed into the Atlantic on a January morning.
Around me, everyone gasps.
I’m reduced to looking around wildly, a last-ditch search. It’s not her. It can’t be her.
Mr. Riley holds up a hand, swallows before he speaks. The lights catch the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “The student is presently in critical condition at Stony Brook Hospital.”
She doesn’t do rock bottom. She finds her way out.
No, she’s asleep in her bed, cocooned by her quilts. She’s slipping between the rocks at the beach, camera in hand, and she’ll laugh at me when I spill my fears about this morning. God, Savs, she’ll say with an arm over my shoulder, I would never do that.
Jacki’s apology. Andreas’s shaky smile. If it were Cassie, I’d know. I’d pull her back before she went too far. I’d have all the right words.
“I encourage you to visit the guidance counselors if you need support or someone to talk to,” says Mr. Riley. “I know that high school isn’t an easy time.”
I have to find her. I have to bring her back.
Juliana stands at the door, immovable as the crowd files out, silent as a church. Her face is cool, unyielding, and she doesn’t flinch when the girl in front of me wipes at her eyes. Only when I get closer does she shift. She’s waiting for me.
“Did you know?” Her voice gives nothing away.
I want to tell her that Cassie’s out sick. Show her I’m the closer friend, the one who knows Cassie best.
Instead I say, “No.”
She shakes her head. Messy dark curls swing over her shoulders. “Me neither.”
In the hallway, her voice drops so low that I have to lean close. How strange it is that the two of us are walking together. Cassie would laugh if she saw us. Sling an arm around both of our necks, bringing us closer still.
“Marcos found her,” Juliana says.
Marcos. My stomach drops. How did he wind up in the same place as Cassie?
Plenty of girls look like my best friend. Rope thin and blonde. Maybe Marcos thought the girl looked like Cass and it was enough to spark all of this. A freshman with the face of Cassie and the mind of Ophelia.
“He has this metal detector,” Juliana says before my mind can sprint too far, trying to find both of them. The distant memory of Senior Cut Day returns–the boy with a metal detector, Andreas yelling for him to have some fun–and I nod.
“Sometimes he walks around before school to see what he can get. He took it to South Cross Beach at sunrise and it started beeping. Pieces of a metal bracelet.” She draws in a shaky breath, the first crack in her cool veneer. “He followed the beeping under the bridge.”
Oh, my God.
I have to focus, I have to hear what she says next, but the throbbing in my ears and my head feels like waves crashing over me without receding.
Juliana’s lower lip trembles. She pauses, steels herself, spits out the last part. “She was floating in the water. She wasn’t breathing when he pulled her out.”
Blonde hair spread like a sunburst in the water. Catching the first light of dawn.
I’m the one who’s supposed to be able to bring her back, not Marcos, a guy she barely knows. A guy who happened to be there instead of me, the one who has always been there.
“It’s so cold,” I blurt out. Like that logic changes anything.
She draws in a long breath. “Her car was running. Like maybe she was going to change her mind, you know?”
When the bell interrupts, we awkwardly pivot away from each other. I stand rooted to the linoleum, an island in the sea of whispers.