Vanished (8 page)

I had the treadmill in the basement cranked up high.
Maybe if it went fast enough I could run away from everything happening in my life.

The rumor mill had taken off as the afternoon went on. Beth disappearing was one thing, but now there was sex and scandal mixed in. People were practically giddy with the idea that Beth had betrayed Brit. Stories about Jason and Beth were exploding like fireworks, each one flashier than the last.

Some of them had to be lies. There was one report that Jason and Beth had been seen up at the sand dunes making out on the last night of spring break. I knew without any doubt that one wasn't true because I'd been with Beth that
night. Beth was pretty amazing, but even she couldn't be in two places at once.

There were others that I couldn't prove were false, but they didn't feel right to me, like shoes that don't quite fit. Something about the stories was off. Or maybe I just still wanted to believe that Jason and Beth weren't the star-crossed lovers everyone kept trying to make them out to be.

I pressed the speed button up another notch. My breath was ragged from my pace, but I kept pushing myself, liking the sharp sting as my feet slammed down on the belt. I had my music up so loud I didn't hear my mom calling my name. When she touched the back of my shoulder I jumped and missed a step. I started to stumble, but my mom hit the emergency button that shut off the belt before I fell. I pulled the buds out of my ears, panting.

Mom held up the phone. “Call for you.” Her mouth pressed into a thin line. I started to get that uneasy feeling that I was in trouble. She pressed the phone into my hand.

“Hello?”

“Kalah? This is Dr. Ryerson. Have you seen Britney?” Her voice was frayed. I could feel the waves of panic coming through the receiver. “Have you talked to her since school?”

“Um, no.” My mom was staring at me while I talked. She still had on her pharmacist lab coat. I turned so I couldn't see her looking at me.

“Did something happen at school today? Something to upset Britney?” Dr. Ryerson asked.

“I'm not sure. . . .” I hedged. My mom grabbed my hand and that's when I realized that I was tapping my fingers on the treadmill. My skin felt itchy from the inside, like I was breaking into hives.

If Brit hadn't told her mom about Jason and Beth, I wasn't sure that I should. Brit would be pissed if she knew I was talking about her. I couldn't betray her—I was the last person left she could count on. She trusted me. I bit down on my lip.

“Listen to me. Britney's missing.” Dr. Ryerson's voice went up sharply.

My heart jerked in my chest.

Brit's dad got on the phone. “Kalah, is it? It's Dr. Matson. It's very important, do you have any idea where Britney might have gone?”

“No,” I said honestly. My mom was still holding tight to my hand to keep me from tapping. I wanted to explain to her that I had to tap. That stopping meant something bad could happen, that I was barely holding the universe together.

“But you know something,” he said.

Both of Britney's parents are psychiatrists. They also appeared to be at least part psychic—that, or playing around in other people's brains all day made them sniff a lie out before it was past your lips.

“Britney and Jason had a fight,” I admitted.

Dr. Matson let out a whoosh of air. “What about?”

My throat squeezed shut, as if Britney was pinching my
airway closed to keep me from saying anything.

I felt like Alice in the illustration from Beth's book, when she drank from a bottle labeled
Drink Me
and shrank down, and everything suddenly towered over her.

“Kalah. What was the fight about?” Brit's dad demanded. Something in his voice scared me into telling him.

“They're breaking up,” I said. “Jason cheated on her. Brit was devastated and really mad. She left school early, right after lunchtime. I don't know where she was going. I offered to go with her, but she just wanted some time to think.” The words flew out of me. My mom patted my back like I was a baby spitting up and she wanted me to be sure to get it all out.

“If you hear anything from her, if she calls or texts you or stops by, you need to call us right away, do you understand?” His voice was harsh.

I nodded before I realized he couldn't see me. “Okay,” I whispered. I opened my mouth to say I was sorry, but he'd already hung up. I stared at the phone as if I expected it to spring to life and do something, but it was just a phone. I turned to my mom. “Britney didn't come home for dinner. Her parents are freaking out.”

“I know. They're concerned about her.”

I waited for her to tell me that everything was going to be okay, but she didn't. “I should take a shower,” I mumbled. The air on my sweaty skin gave me shivers.

“I wonder if you should talk to Dr. Sherman.” Mom
tried to sound casual, but I knew there was nothing casual about the suggestion.

“I don't need to see anyone,” I said. I clenched my hands to make sure they wouldn't start fluttering around. I didn't need therapy. I needed my friends to come back.

“You've got a lot on your plate these days,” Mom said. “It's normal to find it upsetting.”

“I'm fine,” I insisted. I could tell she was trying to decide if she wanted to push it. “All right, I'm not fine, but I'm okay. I'm dealing.”

“I wish I could save you from feeling anxious,” Mom said. I knew she felt guilty. There's a genetic component to OCD anxiety, and even though I didn't have it nearly as bad as my grandma, I could tell my mom still felt responsible. Genetics can be a real bitch. Personally, I was more upset that I'd gotten my dad's giant flipper feet, but saying so probably wouldn't help.

“I think being seventeen means I have to be anxious. It's part of the job description,” I said, trying to make things lighter.

Mom didn't smile. “Maybe all this is a good reminder that it's important to spend time with your other friends. Not just being all wrapped up in Britney and Beth.”

My jaw clenched. “I like Beth and Brit.” I didn't mention that my “other friends” weren't real friends at all, just people I hung out with. If I told her that, she'd be even more convinced I needed some kind of help.

Mom held up her hands. “I like them too, but they're intense.”

“You don't even know them,” I protested.

“It isn't that I don't like them . . .”

“But?” I crossed my arms, creating a barrier between us.

“There are some people who collect more than their fair share of trouble. I'm not saying it's their fault, but they do. It's my job as your mom to want to keep you out of it.”

Too late. When it came to Beth and Brit, I was already in deep.

Beth stole a
bottle of her dad's bourbon and we took it out to Lighthouse Park
.

“Will you get in trouble for taking his booze?” I grabbed a few more pieces of driftwood and stuffed them in the fire pit. I rubbed my hands on my jeans trying to get them warm, but my fingers felt stiff and clumsy from the cold
.

Beth had her turtleneck sweater pulled up over her chin. “This?” She waved the bottle. “My dad goes through so much he hardly knows what he has anymore. He won't miss it.”

I touched the match to the dry beach grass under the sticks and blew on it. I tried to buffer the small fire from the wind with my body. I didn't want to fail after I'd bragged I could do it
.

“Look at you—you're a regular Girl Scout.”

I couldn't tell if Beth was impressed or making fun of me, but either way, the attention made me glow. “A few years ago my dad got it in his head that we were going to become campers,”
I said. “We bought all the gear and took a daylong class on how to forage, build a shelter, escape from bears, that kind of thing.” The fire started to grow and I added some larger sticks. My fingers loosened up in the heat
.

“So, do you guys go camping every summer?” Beth held her hands out to warm them
.

“Nope. We only made it three days before my brother quit and my parents remembered that they're basically allergic to everything that lives outdoors.” I shrugged and pointed at the now roaring campfire. “At least I got some use out of those classes.”

Beth passed me the bottle after taking a swig. “Handy skill to have. I'm totally going to keep you around if there's a zombie apocalypse.”

I felt absurdly proud. I didn't know what it said about me that I wanted a brain-eating undead end-of-the-world event to happen just so Beth could find me useful and want me around
.

Spending time with Beth was random. There never seemed to be any sort of plan; she would just show up at my house and ask if I wanted to go somewhere. If I invited her to do something, she would either say she was busy or invite Britney to join us. Time with her alone was on her terms or not at all
.

I took a sip of the bourbon and tried not to spit it right back out. It was like liquid smoke, burning as it went down. I'd had beer at a few parties, but bourbon was so different it didn't seem possible that they could both be in the alcohol family
.

“Thanks for coming with me. I had to get out of the house. My mom is in a fighting mood.” Beth tossed a stick in the blaze.
I could tell it was too damp to burn well, but didn't stop her
.

“Did you guys always have trouble getting along?”

“No. Yes.” She laughed. “How's that for exact? We never got along as well as I did with my dad. I was a daddy's girl. My brother was a total momma's boy. I think she resents me because she lost her half of the deal.”

The smoke from the fire was making my eyes water. I wanted to say something that would make it better, but I didn't have any idea what that would be
.

“I know she wishes I'd been the one to die instead of Lucas.”

Whatever I'd been about to say turned to ash in my mouth. My heart winced
.

“I can't blame her. You never met Lucas, but he was an amazing kid. He had this giggle that made you laugh, even at his stupid knock-knock jokes. And he was mischievous but insanely cuddly. The thing is that he died when he was really young, right? So he never had a chance to screw up. He never snuck out of the house or brought home a C in math. He never stole liquor from my parents or put a dent in the car. He's frozen at sort of this perfect stage, whereas I just keep on disappointing my parents over and over. I don't think I'm that bad, but I'll never be as good as he was, or as good as she imagines he would have been. We're sorta doomed.”

I wanted to reach over and hug Beth, fold her into my arms and keep her safe from anyone trying to hurt her. I shifted on the log, trying to figure out if it would be okay or just weird. She wasn't the superhuggy kind of friend like
Brit. Beth hardly ever touched me
.

“Things are so bad I told my mom I thought our family should see someone. She told me there wasn't anything wrong with her.”

“I saw a psychiatrist for a while,” I said. The bourbon was burning a hole in the center of my chest. It was like the Iron Man power pack. I took another sip to buy some time. I didn't know why I'd admitted that
.

Beth nudged me with her elbow. “You don't have to look like you're confessing to murder. It's no big deal.”

“I get anxious,” I explained, just in case she was imagining something worse. Or something less. The tip of my shoe made a pattern in the sand. “I worry about stuff. Like if someone is late, I start thinking about how they might have been in an accident, and then I picture it. How the car would look with all the glass broken and the air bag slowly deflating. And I start thinking about that person being hurt or even dead. I know it's stupid because the person is only a few minutes late and now I'm all worked up. So I started doing stuff to feel better.”

“What kind of stuff?”

I flushed, and I hoped Beth couldn't see how embarrassed I was. “Weird stuff. Like tapping a set number of times, or needing things in my room to be arranged a certain way or else it feels like I'm putting people at risk. I have to do it right or something bad will happen.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I don't do it anymore.” I realized I was holding a stick
so tightly that it was going to break. I forced myself to loosen my grip and be honest. “I still do it sometimes if I'm really stressed, but at least now I know I'm doing it. Knowing you're crazy is half the battle, right?”

“You're not crazy. Well, no crazier than the rest of us.” Beth took the bottle from me and took a drink. “We've already established I'm screwed up. And Brit's whole family is seriously fucked.”