Vanished (18 page)

Dying was exciting. Being dead was dull.

Britney was emailing me because she missed her life. She
already wanted to come back. She couldn't survive without being the center of attention. All I needed to do was tip the scale, make returning irresistible. Brit was smart, and she'd planned her escape carefully, but I had an advantage.

Britney didn't know that I knew the truth.

I stood and downed the rest of the Diet Coke. “Thanks for answering my questions.”

“Of course. Not knowing is often harder for people,” Officer Siegel said.

A laugh slipped out and I tried to cover it with a cough. “I'll see you around.”

“Kalah?” Officer Siegel called. “If you need something, or if you're in trouble, you should feel free to call me.”

“I'll be fine.”

I'm not sure either of us believed me.

If Buckingham Palace had a doorbell, it would sound
like the one at Brit's house. I stood on the front porch, listening to the sound of the chimes echoing through the giant foyer, bouncing off the marble floors.

Brit's mom opened the door and looked at me. She had a glass of white wine in one hand. There were deep black circles under her eyes. They looked as if they'd been carved into her flesh.

“Well, hello, Kalah.”

“Hi, Dr. Ryerson. I wondered if I could talk to you about an idea.”

For I moment I thought she was going to say no, but then she opened the door wider. “You know you're always
welcome here,” she said stiffly.

I followed her into the kitchen. There was a bowl of marinated olives on the counter. There were also a couple of takeout containers that she was in the process of emptying into a dish to be heated up. The place was far from an episode of
Hoarders
, but it was a mess compared to how it usually looked. There were crumbs on the table, and the kitchen towel hanging on the oven door was stained and limp.

Dr. Ryerson pushed the olives toward me, but I shook my head. Their salty scent filled my nose. The stereo was on in the living room playing some kind of opera, deep drums and mournful cellos. I wondered if Brit's dad was sitting in there in the dark.

“How are you?” I asked, stalling to see what sort of mood Brit's mom was in.

Dr. Ryerson took a drink of her wine. Her lipstick had bled into the lines around her mouth, which seemed deeper than I remembered. “We're holding up as well as could be expected.”

“I was thinking about Britney's things,” I said carefully, lacing my voice with sympathy. “I know when my dad's sister died, my mom said one of the most difficult things was figuring out what to do with her clothing. Britney always had the best outfits.” I gave her a significant glance, like I knew all along it was she who'd been the fashion guru behind Britney's look.

She tilted her chin up and looked wistfully off to the side. “I raised her to understand that quality lasts.”

“People at school always loved what she wore. We all sort of looked up to her, admired her style.”

Dr. Ryerson looked down her nose at me. “Are you asking if you can have Britney's things?” The fact that she found this immeasurably tacky was written all over her face.

I put my hand on my chest. “Gosh, no. Not for me. But knowing how everyone loved Britney's style so much . . . well, I thought we could auction off some of her things and use the money for the foundation.”

Dr. Ryerson put down her glass of wine.

This was make-or-break time. “Some of the things could probably bring in a lot of money, like that jacket she got in Chicago—”

“She has those Kate Spade handbags,” her mom added. “And that one Italian leather tote too.” Then her face clouded over. “It has a couple scratches on it.”

“People wouldn't care about that,” I said quickly. “You know, because they were
hers
.”

Dr. Ryerson's finger spun around the lip of the wineglass, her ring catching the light. “It would be a lot of work,” she hedged. “Someone would have to catalog and take pictures of everything. I'm not going to have people crawling all over her things.”

“I could do that,” I offered.

“Are you sure?” She gave me an appraising look.

“I'd be honored to help Britney's foundation in any way I can.” I hoped my voice sounded sincere. “Helping other kids reach out in their time of need is what Brit would have wanted.”

Doctor Ryerson's eyes were glassy with tears, and I felt a flash of guilt. It wasn't her fault her daughter was a sociopath. At least, not her fault entirely.

“Let's do this.” Dr. Ryerson gave a sniff and blinked rapidly. I reminded myself if anyone should feel bad about upsetting her it should be Brit.

“If it's okay, I'll take a couple pictures now with my phone so I can post a teaser about the auction and start drumming up interest around school and online,” I said.

“You know where Britney's room is, so I'll let you pop up on your own. I still find it hard to go in there.” She reached over and squeezed my hand. “Thank you.”

I didn't have anything to say to that. I squeezed her hand back and grabbed my purse off the floor.

I slipped into Britney's bedroom. As always, it looked like it was taken right out of a magazine spread. I pulled open Brit's closet and took a moment to drink it all in. There are people who live in apartments that are smaller than Britney's walk-in. It had drawers, shoe racks, and a floor-to-ceiling mirror with a light that you could turn to different settings to see how your outfit would look in daylight versus evening. Each of the drawers had a lavender sachet tucked inside so her things would smell fresh.

I pulled out Brit's newest purse, arranged it on a bright pink scarf with some designer sunglasses, and took a picture. I grabbed a few other things and did a quick photo shoot. I sat on the tufted bench in the closet and uploaded the photos to our school events page with an announcement, and hummed under my breath. Another piece was in play.

Monday morning I
got to school early. I scanned the street across from the student parking lot. The school administration had forbidden reporters from being on school grounds. For the first several days after Brit's supposed death, there had been a collection of vans with satellite dishes and small white tents set up clustered across the street. Now it was quieter, but there were still a couple of reporters around. They'd probably been stationed there just in case Beth finally came back or Brit's body was found. Or maybe they were hoping another student would jump.

I spotted the guy who'd approached me on the steps that very first day after Brit was gone. The one I'd almost hit with my car. Derek, he'd said his name was. I jogged over.

Derek was sitting in a metal folding chair that was sinking into the ground. He had a cigarette hanging out his mouth, and he paused every so often to tap the ash into a dented Mountain Dew can that was balanced on his crotch. He raised an eyebrow when he saw me.

I passed him one of the flyers I'd made the night before. His eyes skimmed over it.

“An auction, huh?”

“The Ryerson-Matsons and I are hoping to raise money for Britney's foundation. I thought you might want to promote it.”

“Maybe.” He dumped the cigarette butt in the can where it went out with a hiss. “Does it come with a statement from the dead girl's best friend?”

Classy. “It could.”

Another reporter who had been listening in elbowed her cameraman and approached. “Would you mind if I filmed your comments?” she asked.

I bit my lip. “I don't know.” I didn't want to come across like I wanted the limelight, but I'd been counting on an on-air opportunity. What good was the show if Britney couldn't watch it?

The woman crunched her face into an expression I think she hoped would mimic concern, but actually made her look constipated. “Think how a few words on television could help spread the news about your auction thingy.”

I'd barely nodded before a bright light was shoved in my face.

“Tell us about your relationship to Britney,” the reporter said. Derek stood behind her with his recorder.

I fingered Britney's scarf that I'd tied on that morning. I knew she'd recognize it instantly. “I like to think I was one of Brit's best friends, but I know I failed her.”

“Can you tell us what you mean?” The reporter had
almost perfectly square white teeth. Her smile reminded me of one of those creepy wind-up monkeys with cymbals. The kind Stephen King wrote stories about.

“Britney always seemed so perfect. And she was special, she really was. Everyone looked up to her. I think most of us wanted in some way to be like her. The problem is, she wasn't perfect; she was human like the rest of us. Even those of us who loved her best—we never realized how much she might need us too. We let her down.
I
let her down.”

“Do you blame yourself for her suicide?”

I forced my voice to shake and looked down as if I was about to break into tears. “People keep talking about why Britney killed herself, but they're missing what's important. They're focused on the last thing she did in her life instead of looking at the whole picture. Brit made one horrible mistake. One I know she would take back if she could. Don't judge her by that one desperate decision. I don't.”

They let me say a few words about the online auction, and I nodded to show I was done. When the camera light went out there was still a white dot in the center of my vision. A blind spot.

I spelled my name for Derek and for the woman from the cable show. Derek passed me one of his cards in case I wanted to talk to him again.

That's all it was. One bad decision. Regrettable. Not something Britney would have done in normal
circumstances. Certainly nothing for her to ruin her life over. Didn't she know her other best friend would be here for her?

Come back, Brit
.

Believe me
.

Come back
.

I was going to have to run to make it to homeroom on time. I grabbed my bag and turned to sprint, then jerked to a standstill. Zach was across the street, staring at me. He must have seen me standing in front of the camera. He looked at me like I was a slimy bug he'd discovered when he turned over a rock. Before I could reach him, he turned and walked away.

I didn't bother to chase after him. He wasn't interested in listening, and there was no way he'd believe the truth.

WTF?! B's parents are selling her stuff??? Like, all her possessions, everything? How could they?

I smiled at the screen and sipped the lemon spice tea my mom had brought up to my room to help me sleep.
I kept thinking about how we should do something for Brit, something nice in her memory. I think she'd really like this
, I wrote.

I don't know
, she typed.

To be honest, I think her parents need the help. They're not doing so great. You can tell they're just sick about all of it. I think they regret being so hard on her all the time. Her
mom said something like they wish they had a chance to do it all over
.

They wanted to push her
, Brit wrote,
so she could be the best
.

It looks like they pushed her too far. And anyway, Brit was the best
.

I saw you on TV. What you said about her was really nice
.

Ugh. I hate those vultures, but I had to do something. It's like people here are already forgetting her
, I typed.

What do you mean?

You don't know because you're not in school, but it's like people are all ready to move on. They have the attention span of gnats. Get this: they're talking about changing the prom theme. People don't want the one Brit picked because they think it might be too depressing
.

Oh
.

And you should see Jason and Sara
, I wrote.
I see them walking the halls holding hands and making out like they're auditioning to be cover models on a romance novel. They make me sick
.

She'll be sorry. Once Jason goes away to college in the fall he'll drop her flat. Sara's going to discover that no one trusts a bitch who would steal another girl's boyfriend
, Brit wrote.

Unless Jason doesn't go away. I heard he's thinking about deferring admission and taking classes here in town for a year or two
, I lied.
I hate that by dying, Brit let them win
.

He got into an elite university and he'd go to some rinky-dink community college for Sara? What is it about her? Does she piss glitter or something?

I didn't respond. The cursor blinked on the screen. I pinched the pocket watch pendant and waited her out.

You still there?
Brit asked.

I waited another minute. Patience.

Kalah?

I have to talk to you about something
, I wrote.
You know I love you and I want you to come back . . .
I let the dots trail across the screen.

But?

But I'm mad at you. I've tried to not be. I don't want to be, but I am. We're best friends, and that means I have to be honest with you
.

What did I do? I told you, I'm sorry I abandoned you
.

It's not that. It's what you did to Brit
, I wrote.

But that was Sara
.

Yes, but Brit told me that she confronted you about Jason after you left and you cut off all contact with her. If you guys had just talked then she wouldn't have taken that last step. Can't you see how you ignoring her just made it seem even more like you were the one who had betrayed her?

Brit should have known I wouldn't do that
, Brit protested.