My eyes begin to water and my voice breaks, but I don’t fight the tears. If I cry, I don’t care. I’m learning it’s okay to show you’re vulnerable. “I heard from him coming home on the train that day. I think he was so convinced that he’d screwed up his alum interview that his life wasn’t even worth living.”
The guilt returns. The feeling of not having done enough surrounds me like one of those impossible-to-remove plastic clamshells. Remorse clings to me like spilled honey. I try to talk past the lump in my throat, but it’s hard. “I fucked up. I had no idea he meant to harm himself. I was...annoyed. Thought he was being all Johnny Drama and then I was smug when he admitted he was wrong and I was right. I gloated to myself. Now I want to pull a Superman and fly backward around the planet to reverse time that day. I want to go back and be different. Be supportive and maybe keep him from—”
“Kent, it’s not your fault,” Mallory says. I am full on crying now. She gestures for Jasper to bring me a bottle of water, which he sets down beside me.
“He did it on the way home from his alumni interview. I’d bet you anything he thought he’d fucked it up. How did he not know that no matter what happened with MIT, he’d be okay? Even if they said no, every other college in the country would fight over him? How did he not see how great he was?”
The group is quiet, intently listening.
“How did it not occur to him that every other eighteen-year-old kid might be nervous, too, might stammer a little over his answers? He’s not the White House press secretary, you know? He wasn’t someone who had to answer questions professionally, he was allowed to stumble and be thoughtful. He held himself to such a high standard that there was nowhere to go but down. I see that now. Everyone in this goddamned school is like that, too. Like the world is gonna end if we aren’t one hundred percent perfect all the time.”
I wipe a stray tear away with the cuff of my shirt. In the past, I’d have been mortified to break down in front of the popular kids. But having feelings doesn’t mean you’re weak. I finally realize they aren’t looking at me like I’m a loser, like I don’t belong.
Because I do belong. We all belong. We’re in this together.
Mallory grabs me and hugs me close and tight, her face pressed against my neck.
Then Owen, Theo, and Jasper join in the hug. They all hold me for so long that it gets a little weird.
I say, “You guys trying to have a five-way here?”
Jasper tells me, “There is something deeply wrong with you, K-Pop. I like it.”
And that breaks the tension.
Owen looks thoughtful as he returns to his seat. “This is why we have to be here for each other. We gotta keep the Gatekeepers intact. Like, assure everyone we have options. I mean, our futures are a huge deal, but right now is important, too. We can’t be miserable every day in the hopes of building something great ten years down the road. That’s a shitty way to live.”
“Amen,” Jasper says, toasting us with his Diet Coke.
Something dings in my pocket and I pull out my phone. “Goddamn it.”
“What?” Mallory asks.
I give them the condensed version of Simone’s 911 text.
“Aw, Jesus, Liam, why?” Theo asks, cupping his face in his left hand.
“We have to find him. Now,” Jasper says, standing and heading towards the door. “He’s a danger to himself.”
I grab my coat. “Listen, I’m more worried about her than him,” I say, pulling a coat on over my hoodie and winding my scarf around my neck. “Simone’s become an entirely different person, you know? Like in a real short amount of time. She was all world-wise and chill when she got here. She was confident and sure of herself.”
“That’s why I vibed with her,” Owen offers. “She’s totally different now.”
“Yes, exactly,” I say. “She didn’t grow up in all this, she doesn’t know how to handle it. North Shore has her twisted and Liam’s got her all... I don’t even know how to describe the changes, except, well, she’s a fucking mess. I don’t trust her judgment right now. She shouldn’t be alone.”
“Kent’s right,” Mallory said. “She was relaxed to the point of comatose at first, just so stoked to be a citizen of the world. The girl I sat next to today is an entirely different entity.”
“Let’s split up and go looking, that way we cover more ground,” Owen suggests.
Mallory organizes us. “How about... Theo, you take Owen in your car. Kent, you don’t have a car and you know Simone best, so you’re with me. Jasper, can you strike out on your own? You’d be most tuned in to other places Liam would go.”
Jasper gives her a curt nod. “10-4, Malamute.”
She adds, “Okay, Gatekeepers, let’s do this.”
39
MALLORY
“Wait, where did Simone say she was going?”
After I peel out of my garage, I realize I have no idea where to head.
“She didn’t. Let me text her to see.” Kent furiously presses numbers and keys. His phone’s silence overwhelms us. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. “C’mon, Simone, hit me back.”
“Maybe she went home? Call her house,” I instruct. “Or do they not have a landline?”
They do, and her mom tells him she’s out with the dog.
“Do we try the bluff or somewhere else first, like her house?” I ask, more to myself than to Kent. We sit in my driveway for what seems like a lifetime, but in all actuality, it’s about thirty seconds. “Screw it, we’ll head to the bluff.”
I gun the car and arrive at the scenic overlook in minutes, but there’s no sign of either of them. I didn’t think she’d stick around, but I’d hoped. “Where does she live?” I ask. “Maybe we can retrace her steps if she’s on her way home?”
“Cottonwood Avenue. Spruce Street seems like it would be the most direct route to Cottonwood, let’s try that,” he says.
“On it.”
I take the corner at Lake Ave so fast that I can feel one of the LR4’s wheels leave the ground and we tilt dangerously to the side. Kent grasps the Oh, Jesus bar over his head, all the blood having rushed from his face. He doesn’t complain, possibly because he’s too terrified to speak. His knuckles are white as he braces himself between the dashboard and the passenger side door, stomping hard on the imaginary brake pedal.
We careen around town like this for another fifteen minutes until Kent finally suggests, “We might have a better chance of spotting her if we don’t go Mach 10. Like, what if we don’t drive your car like we stole it?”
He makes a valid point, especially since the sun’s gone down. Simone’s been all about dark colors lately, so she might be lost in the shadows if we zip by too quickly.
“How fast is Mach 10?” I ask.
“About seventy-six hundred miles per hour. I mean, Mach 6 or 7, sure, that’d be great for our purposes, but I feel like Mach 10 is pushing it.”
I shoot him some side-eye. “How do you feel about me driving twenty miles an hour, Miss Daisy?”
He nods vigorously. “I feel real good about it.”
After I slow down, Kent releases his kung-fu grip. I glance at his profile and realize there’s something extrafamiliar about him. He reminds me of someone.