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When 17-year-old Arbor Hayes' best friend turns up alive after a mysterious six-month disappearance, she must piece together the fragments of her story to make sense of what happened. But as clues e...
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I gnaw at the inside of my cheek as I draw my hair into a ponytail, the blonde strands frizzy from a restless night of sleep. I'm exhausted, what little strength I do have leaching out of me as I force myself to get dressed.
Last night's unexpected conversation cyclones through my head. The more I think about what Emma said, the more frustrated I am. Was she seriously trying to convince me that this is all in my head? That she's innocent, and Jordan's innocent, and I'm the one who's guilty?
When I make my way downstairs the house is empty, though slinking through the rooms in the daylight doesn't feel as ominous as it did in the dark.
Mom must be at her appointment. With the obvious dark circles beneath my eyes she'd know something's up, and I don't have the time or energy to pretend like things are okay. And I'm no closer to knowing how, or why, Emma disappeared. If Jordan can give me something, anything, to go on, then maybe I can share the burden with someone else. Keeping it to myself is interfering with my sleep.
I toss my soccer tote over one shoulder, and just as I'm about to head out the door, I turn on my phone and notice two texts waiting for me from Smith. I don't even try not to smile.
Smith: As long as we don't go into overtime, I should see you in about forty-five minutes.
Smith: Btw, I can't wait 😉
Neither can I, I text back, and something flutters in my stomach. No matter what's going on, or how stressed I might be, Smith has this way of breaking through the tension. But then, he always has. Just like in second grade. He was there for my first panic attack, and he's been here ever since—in one way or another.
I scroll through the rest of my alerts. Four text messages came in from an unknown number around one-thirty in the morning, less than an hour after Emma left my house.
Unknown: u awake? its jordan pacey. im outside ur house
Unknown: can we talk?
Unknown: id rather do this in person. there r some srs things u should prolly know
Unknown: its about emma
My mouth falls open and a rush of adrenaline tingles through my limbs.
Jordan tried to get a hold of me last night. Multiple times. She even came over—which can only mean one thing: something more is going on. All is not right in the world Emma's trying to create, and maybe Jordan is finally willing to talk.
My tote drops to the floor, my fingers moving over the screen even faster than usual.
Me: Hey! Sry I missed ur txts. I turn off notifs b4 bed
Me: I'm heading 2 the field rn. Can we talk b4 the game? Or we can meet up after. Ttys
The early morning is unusually prickly as I step into the hazy sunshine, an earthy scent lingering on the breeze. It whistles through the trees and lifts the hair around my face. I drive the entire way with the windows down, my sandal pressed against the gas pedal, letting the crisp air clear my head and strategize what I'm going to say to Jordan. This is too important to leave anything out.
