Day One
The thing is, Lizzie Lovett’s disappearance turned out to be a totally big deal, which I almost realized in my first period algebra II class but didn’t all the way realize like I should have.
What happened was, I waited in the second floor bathroom until the bell rang. I figured if I showed up late to class, I could avoid the dance talk. And it totally worked, except for Mr. Bennett being all, “Is there a reason you’re late, Miss Creely?” which was annoying but not as annoying as having to deal with my peers.
I hesitated, then decided to be honest. And by honest, I mean semihonest, since saying you were hiding in the bathroom to avoid ridicule is generally the kind of thing that opens you up to more ridicule.
“Yeah, there’s a reason. Lizzie Lovett disappeared this morning, and my brother is totally freaked out about it, so I was trying to comfort him.”
The classroom, which a second ago had been filled with normal classroom sounds, was suddenly completely silent. And everyone was staring at me like I’d run in screaming about the apocalypse.
I mentally reviewed what had come out of my mouth and was pretty sure I hadn’t accidentally said something absurd. I started getting nervous. I shifted from one foot to the other. Seriously, what was the deal?
Then I got it. No one else knew yet.
“Lizzie Lovett?” Mr. Bennett asked.
“Uh, yeah. Lizzie. Disappeared.”
From the front of the room, a painfully shrill voice asked, “Lizzie Lovett is missing?”
The voice belonged to Mychelle Adler, who I hated not just because of her nails-on-a-chalkboard voice, but also because she spelled her name with a y, though I guess that wasn’t really her fault. Also, I hated Mychelle because in our four years of high school, asking about Lizzie was possibly the nicest thing she’d ever said to me.
I shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Everyone kept staring, and I was getting more uncomfortable by the second. Sometimes at school—and by sometimes, I mean a lot of times—I feel as if I’ve turned invisible without realizing it. This makes me a bit panicky, and I get the urge to be outrageous—like jump on a table in the middle of the cafeteria and tap dance—just so people will look at me and prove I still exist. But that morning, being the complete focus of everyone’s attention, I started to think maybe being invisible wasn’t so bad after all.
“What exactly happened?” Mr. Bennett asked.
“Um, I don’t really know. Something about Lizzie going camping, which if you ask me, sounds pretty far-fetched, but whatever. I guess she was with her boyfriend, and he woke up this morning, and Lizzie was gone.”
Then everyone started talking and pulling out their phones to send texts, and there was this totally typical and boring moment where Mr. Bennett tried to regain control of the class. I took the opportunity to slip into my seat. Which was, unfortunately, right in front of Mychelle’s.
Mychelle leaned forward as soon as I sat down. I could smell her strawberry lip gloss and expensive coconut shampoo she always bragged about. Though I had to admit, she did have absurdly glossy hair, so maybe the stupid shampoo worked. “What do you think happened to her, Hawthorn?”
I shrugged and didn’t turn around. “I don’t really care.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“But she might be lost,” Mychelle said.
“She might be.”
“Or hurt.”
“Or both,” I said.
“What if she’s dead?”
That’s when I started to think bad thoughts. Like how I wished someone would replace Mychelle’s fancy shampoo with a drugstore brand. I wished she would suddenly forget the name of her five favorite songs. I wished every time she microwaved a frozen burrito, the center would stay cold.
“Hello? Hawthorn? Don’t you even care that a girl might be dead?”
I spun around in my seat and stared at Mychelle. “She’s not dead. And even if she was, you don’t care any more than I do. You’re just looking for an opportunity to be melodramatic. Leave me out of it.”
The dumb jock who sits next to Mychelle and whose name I could never remember scowled at me. “What’s your problem, Hawthorn?”
“Yeah,” Mychelle echoed, “what’s your problem?”
This was a good question. What was my problem?
? ? ?
Likely, part of my bad attitude was due to the fact that I really hated Lizzie Lovett. I’d always hated Lizzie, and her vanishing didn’t change that.
“But is it just because I hate Lizzie?” I asked.
Emily Flynn, my best friend for the past million years, took a bite of her sandwich and got a serious look on her face—possibly because she was taking my situation super seriously, but probably because Emily looked serious most of the time.