Thorn Abbey (21 page)

“We had another fight that night,” Max continues, gazing out the window. “She took off for the beach, and that was the last time I saw her. There was a big storm that night, and she never came back to her room. One of the teachers found the boat onshore the next morning. Becca loved to sail, and she must have gone out by herself. The police found her body sometime after that.”

“I’m so sorry, Max,” I say, meaning it.

“Yeah. Me too.”

He doesn’t speak for a long time. When he finally meets my eyes, he seems afraid. Haunted. I’ve never seen him like that before.

I wish I could ask him exactly what he is feeling. But he seems really upset now, and I don’t want to push him.

I also have a million other questions. Like, why does Max still have that book of love poems Becca gave him? And why did Devon lie to me about Max’s relationship with Becca?

Of course, Devon is the only one who can answer
that
question. As soon as I see her, I’m seriously going to strangle her with my bare hands.

“Listen, I’m sorry to dump all this on you,” Max says quietly.

“No. I’m so glad you told me. I always thought Becca was this perfect girlfriend I could never live up to.”

“Hardly.” Max hesitates. “You know, I’m not perfect either. Far from it.”

I smile. “You’re perfect to me.”

He smiles back—sadly, wearily. “I hope you’ll always think so.”

He cradles my face and kisses me. We sink back against the pillows, his hands caressing my white cotton nightgown. I barely even think about whether or not he used to kiss Becca like this, here, in this bed.

He’s mine. He was never hers. He’s mine, forever.

I
DON’T SEE
D
EVON FOR THE REST OF THE DAY.
A
ROUND SIX,
I
consider texting her about why she didn’t check up on me as promised, but I’m too mad to deal with her. Tomorrow. I’ll be able to talk to her without killing her tomorrow.

I eat a box of saltines for dinner and turn in early. I’m actually feeling better. It must have been Max’s visit. In the morning I might try walking over to the Lanyon Commons for real food.

Just before I fall asleep, Max sends me a text:

Can we celebrate Valentine’s Day again? Dinner soon? Maybe Saturday if you’re feeling up to it?

I smile and type:

Yes!!!!

I hug my phone to my chest as I switch off the light. In a funny way, this belated Valentine’s Day dinner will be my first real date with Max. Because now, I know the truth about him and Becca. I’ll be able to sit across from him without wondering if he’s lost in old memories, if he’d rather be with her than with me.

A brand-new beginning. I can’t wait.

When I wake up the next morning, I see that Devon’s bed hasn’t been slept in. Where is she? Maybe she knows I’m furious with her and wants to avoid me.

For the first time in days, I feel strong enough to take a shower and get dressed. I grab my towel and tote, and I head down the hall to the bathroom.

Yoonie is at one of the sinks, brushing her teeth.

She spits. “Hey, you’re alive. How
are
you? We were all super-worried.”

“I feel like I had the black plague, though I’m way better, thanks. Listen, did Devon crash with you guys last night?”

“Noooo. I haven’t seen her since, like, lunch yesterday,” Yoonie replies.

Where could she be? “She didn’t sleep in our room last night,” I explain.

Yoonie puckers her lips and slides on red lip gloss. “She
probably slept over at Leo’s. I think his roommate’s out of town, and”—she smiles into the mirror—“you know our Devon. Do you want me to text her?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Yoonie pulls her phone out of her pocket and types with one hand while poking at her eyelashes with the other.
Wow, that’s talent.
I step into a shower stall and turn on the faucet. Soon I’m in a veritable paradise of hot water, Ivory soap, and strawberry shampoo. I haven’t been this clean in nearly a week.

“Hey, Tess?” Yoonie calls out.

“Hmm?”

“She didn’t text back, so I called her. It went straight to voice mail. Then I texted Leo. He says he hasn’t heard from her either. Devon was supposed to meet up with him last night, and she never showed.”

“What?” I rub the water out of my eyes and peer out from behind the shower curtain. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” Yoonie says worriedly. “But we should probably tell Mrs. Frith.”

“Definitely.”

Alarm bells are going off in my head. Why would Devon pull a disappearing act? Is she trying to get attention?

Or did something happen to her?

By the middle of the afternoon, both campus security and the local police are searching for Devon. Her parents haven’t heard from her. No one’s heard from her. The last time anyone saw her was just after lunch yesterday, when she told Senora Velasquez that she had to skip Spanish because she wasn’t feeling well.

Mr. Correa from campus security and a police officer named Phibbs interviewed me about Devon, asking me all sorts of questions. I told them I had no idea where she could be. They asked me if any of her luggage or clothes or important documents, like her passport, were missing. I searched through her closet and dresser and desk—even under her bed. Everything was in order.

Except.

The medications in her dresser drawer—the ones she’s been taking for sleep disorders, anxiety, and depression.

After Mr. Correa and Officer Phibbs left, I counted the pills in each bottle and checked the quantities against the dates on the labels.

Devon hasn’t been taking her meds for at least a month, even though she’s been taking her birth control.

I went online and it said that once you go off these drugs, they can stay in your system for several weeks, but then they start wearing off.

Devon’s been pretty normal for the last four months, until the incident with Becca’s dress.

Did she get weird again because she stopped taking her meds?

Is she losing it?

I am walking down the path, the one that winds through the woods by Thorn Abbey and leads down to the beach. Yoonie, Elinor, and Priscilla are right behind me. It’s nearly five, so we’re all carrying flashlights and, of course, our phones.

We’re one of the search parties combing the campus for Devon. Max and Franklin are part of another, crisscrossing the woods behind Lanyon Hall. There are a bunch of other students out searching too, as well as teachers, staff, and others.

“That bitch. She probably went down to New York City to shop and didn’t tell us,” Elinor says.

“Yeah. Or she checked into a hotel with Leo’s hot roommate. He’s not around, either,” Yoonie jokes.

“Y’all, this is serious. She’s
missing
,” Priscilla points out.

“Yeah, we know it’s serious, Pris. I had to take an extra Klonie just to get through the day.
And
make an emergency call to my therapist,” Elinor snipes.

It’s so ironic. If it were any other occasion, I would be so happy being on an outing with the girls, listening to their chatter.

Granted, it’s only been twenty-four hours. And there could
be some truth to what Elinor and Yoonie said. If we’re lucky, Devon is safe and sound somewhere, partying it up or spending lots of money. Or both.

I glance at the dusky sky through the canopy of bare branches. The sun is starting to sink in the horizon. It’s been freakishly warm these last couple of days—high forties, low fifties. But it will be dark soon, and temperatures will drop. Luckily, Yoonie thought to pack a blanket and a thermos of hot coffee.

“We’re almost at the beach,” I say to the others. “If we don’t find her there, there’s another trail back to campus, right? By the marina? We can double back along that one and look for her.”

“Oh, yeah. I think Killian and some of his lax bros are already covering it,” Yoonie volunteers.

Elinor frowns at her loafers. “
Why
didn’t somebody tell me to wear boots? I’m ruining my new Ferragamos.”

“What, did you think we were going to a polo match?” Priscilla says, rolling her eyes.

I hurry my steps, barely registering the nonstop nervous bickering behind me. We pass the
DANGER: NO HIKING BEYOND THIS POINT
sign, and soon, we are at the cliff.

I cross my arms over my chest and shudder. Was I really here less than a week ago? Sobbing my heart out in Becca’s dress, thinking I’d lost Max forever? So much has changed between us. And between me and Devon. So much for her
rescuing me with a bottle of liquor and her sage, sisterly advice. Pretending to be my friend.

I stare out at the breaking waves—and scream.

There is her body way below, sprawled on a thin stretch of beach. Or
a
body, anyway. Two arms, two legs, dark clothing.

“Devon?”
I shout.

The body doesn’t move.

Yoonie peers down. “Is that her? I can’t tell from here.”

“Is she dead?” Priscilla cries out.

“Don’t even
say
that,” Elinor whines.

I glance around frantically. “Does anyone know the fastest way down there?”

“Yeah. Jumping. Second fastest is this way. Follow me,” Yoonie says.

She starts crab walking along a narrow, rocky path that winds down the face of the cliff. “Be careful, it’s slippery!”

We all follow. Behind me, I hear Priscilla calling 911. My brain is on total overload. I can’t believe this is happening. This morning, I was ready to strangle Devon—not literally, but the sentiment was there. And now she may be lying dead on Whitwater Beach.

“I think it’s just a piece of driftwood,” Elinor says anxiously.

“Don’t be clueless! That’s a fucking
person
!” Yoonie yells over her shoulder.

We get to the bottom of the cliff. It
is
Devon. Lying facedown in the sand. I recognize her fur-trimmed black parka, which she once told me cost more than my entire wardrobe times ten.

“Devon!” I drop to my knees and flip her over carefully.

Her emerald eyes are wide open, like a dead fish. Her lips are blue.

I bend down to check if she’s breathing.

She isn’t.

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God . . .

“Oh, fuck! Get out of the way!” Someone pushes me aside roughly.

I tumble into a cold tide pool. Killian straddles Devon’s body and rips open her parka. Behind him are three boys I don’t recognize, all in long, baggy shorts, polos, and hoodies. They must have reached the base of their trail the same time we reached the end of ours.

Killian begins CPR. He alternates the pumping motions with mouth-to-mouth. “Come on, darling. Wake up!” he grunts at Devon as he presses down on her chest. “Did someone call 911?”

“Done. I’m gonna call campus security too,” Yoonie says, reaching for her phone.

I watch, mesmerized. Killian the dilettante party boy is performing CPR like a trained medic.

“Dude, where’d you learn how to do that?” one of the other guys comments.

“Internship. Mass. General. Hospital,” Killian pants. “Breathe, damn it!”

Elinor and Priscilla are clutching each other and crying. Yoonie is on the phone with security.