“I guess we could just keep looking at booths for a while,” Frank suggested. “Harper might turn up again. And if not, at least we’ll get to see more.”
Jones and I agreed, and the three of us continued our slow-and-casual walk up and down the aisles, pausing to look at things, separating and meeting up again. But something was nagging at me, keeping me from getting really interested in anything I saw. What happened to Harper? I couldn’t help but think of the fear on her face when she saw whatever it was she saw earlier, the thing she claimed was a mouse.
After another half hour or so, there was an announcement over the loudspeaker. The convention was closing in fifteen minutes. It would open again tomorrow at ten, but we’d only bought tickets for today.
Frank groaned, but Jones shrugged. “We should probably be heading back anyway,” she said, but her eyes were darting all over the convention floor—still looking for Harper, I figured. “We’ve seen about everything there was to see. This was fun!”
But her voice was missing some of the enthusiasm she’d had that morning. I had the feeling we were all wondering what happened to Harper. Even if she’d just wandered off and gotten involved in something else—wasn’t she even going to say good-bye?
We slowly made our way to the exit, pausing to use the restrooms and watch the trailer for a new science fiction series debuting next fall. We walked out the door onto the nearly dark boardwalk, which was gusty and cold, despite it supposedly being spring. March in the Northeast is the worst.
“Does anybody remember where—?” Frank began, but before he could finish, a purple-coated auburn-haired figure dove out from behind a lemonade stand and tackled us.
“You guys!” Harper cried. “I am so, so sorry I lost you. I had to take a call from my boyfriend, Matt—he’s a worrier. So I went outside for some privacy, but when I came back, you guys were gone. I couldn’t find you.”
That seemed a little weird, because the three of us had stayed in the same aisle for a while, waiting for her. I suddenly remembered the way Harper had looked around the boardwalk when we’d first met her—skittish, almost, like she was afraid someone might see her. I thought of Von, and the card he’d given Jones. Had Harper ducked out to avoid him, maybe?
Was someone after her?
But before I could think on that too much, Jones pulled the card out of her pocket and pushed it at Harper. “Omigod, you will not believe who I just met—ComiczVon from InkWorld! He was totally nice, and he just missed you—he really wanted to say hi. So he gave me this card.”
Harper reached out and took it, looking down at the information with a thoughtful expression that I couldn’t quite read. Was it scared? Or just curious?
“Maybe we could meet up with him for dinner!” Jones went on, clearly excited. “I’m starving, actually. I heard there’s a good Mexican place one town over. We could give Von a call, tell him to meet us there?”
Now Harper’s face changed. For just a second, she seemed to pale. But at just that moment, the lights on the boardwalk came on, casting blue light on everything. Had she really turned pale, or was it just the changing light?
“You know,” she said, her expression turning back to its usual friendly self, “I’m actually kind of beat. Is that awful, to be this antisocial? But I would like to keep hanging out with you guys—and maybe get something to eat.” She slipped the card into her pocket. “I can send Von a note tomorrow. Maybe we could meet up before I leave.”
Jones nodded. “Sure, no problem! We could all get Mexican, just the four of us?”
“I have an even better idea.” Harper’s eyes sparkled in the bluish light. “I rented a place for the night—just a UrMotel apartment a couple towns over. It’s actually pretty great, it’s on the beach, and it has a TV and stuff.” She smiled. “What if we just go there and order a pizza? We can relax, hang out, and chill for a while.”
“That sounds great,” I said, maybe a little too quickly. But honestly, she had me at “pizza.” My stomach let out an enthusiastic growl.
Jones chuckled. “Well, Joe is in,” she said, smiling at Frank. “What do you think?”
“Sounds good to me,” he said. “We’ll need to get on the road in a couple hours, but it sounds like the perfect end to a perfect day.”
And surprisingly, I totally agreed with my brother.
2
PARTY POOPER
FRANK
I WAS ALREADY IN A PRETTY great mood when we pulled up to the apartment complex where Harper was staying. I mean, how many days like this does a guy get? Hanging out, meeting super-fun comics people, getting to look at and learn about something you love—all with the coolest girl you’ve ever met! Oh, and Joe.
Joe seemed to be having a lot better time than I’d expected. “This is the place? It looks awesome,” he said as I parked and we all climbed out of the car. He wasn’t wrong. The complex was high-end-looking, with bright white walls and an outdoor system of stairs and walkways with railings. Behind the complex, sand stretched out toward darkness in the distance, and we could hear waves lapping the shore.
Pretty swanky digs for someone not much older than us.
Harper was pulling her little blue sports car into a space across from us. After a few seconds, she emerged, smiling.
“This place really is right on the beach!” Joe said. “I mean, I know you said that, but there’s right on the beach and there’s right on the beach, you know?”
Harper laughed. “I know,” she said. “The apartment is pretty nice too. I checked in this morning.”
“You were able to check in this morning?” Jones asked, looking puzzled. “Don’t most hotels make you wait till the afternoon?”
“This isn’t a hotel, it’s a UrMotel,” Harper explained. She began leading us toward the complex lobby. “It’s a website that helps connect people who want to rent out their places with people who want to rent them. I like to use it because it ends up being cheaper than a real hotel—plus, it’s a little homier. Like here, I have a whole apartment—not just a bed and a desk, you know?”
Joe nodded. “Yeah, I’ve heard of them,” he said. “But does that mean you’re staying with someone?”
Harper shook her head. “Not in this case. Every host handles things a little differently, but this host sent me the security codes for the front door and the apartment door, so I haven’t even met her. I have her number if I need anything, though. She lives nearby. She owns a few of these units, and she rents them out.”
We’d reached the front gate. Harper pulled out her phone and clicked around for a bit, then read the code and punched it into the security pad. With a click, the front gate opened. We all walked in and entered a bright white lobby decorated with color-saturated photos of the beach. There was a sand-colored leather couch and two chairs in a corner, and mailboxes lined one wall. It all looked pretty nice.
We followed Harper through the lobby and out the back door. It led to a small patio facing the beach, with stairs leading up to walkways on different levels. Harper swung a left and headed up the stairs. “Don’t worry,” she called behind her, “I’m only on the second floor.”
As we climbed, a family of four—mom, dad, a boy of about five, and a toddler girl—came down the stairs. The mom nodded at Harper and smiled. “Did you have fun at Comic-Con?”
Harper smiled back. “Sure did,” she said. “Even found some friends there!”
“That’s great,” the mom said, trailing her family down to the patio. “Have a good night!”
After we’d all reached the second-floor walkway, Harper turned to face us. “They’re UrMotel guests too,” she said. “Same host. I met them this morning.”
“This seems like a really cool place,” Jones said. “I just hope it has good pizza.”
Harper laughed. “Well, there are a bunch of take-out menus in the room. We can see which one sounds the best.”
She led us down the walkway, past a few locked doors, to apartment 2F.
Ma
ny of the apartment doors had tiny keypads, just like the front door. I guessed these were the ones that were rented out to tourists, through UrMotel or other sites. Harper clicked around on her phone again, then tapped the code onto the pad. With a softer click, the door unlocked and swung open.
“Here we are,” said Harper, walking in and switching on the light. She turned to us and swept her arm across the room. “Home sweet home!”
Inside, the apartment was also painted bright white. It was clean and modern, with brightly colored furnishings. A huge flat-screen TV was mounted to the right wall, and a squishy-looking red couch faced it, holding an array of cozy-looking pillows and a fluffy blanket. A small galley kitchen led off the back wall.
Two doors stood to the left of the television. “Oh, you guys can look around,” Harper offered. “I don’t mind at all. I’m still learning my way around the place.” She opened both doors and turned on the lights. The room on the left was a modern bathroom, filled with clean, folded towels; on the right was a small but tidy bedroom. It had a full-size bed covered with an orange duvet.
“This is really sweet,” Jones said, poking her head into each room. “Is it rude of me to ask—was it expensive?”
“Not at all.” Harper shook her head. “It’s not really beach season yet, so I got this place for about what I would have paid for a decent motel in the suburbs,” she explained. “But it’s so much comfier.”
“Agreed,” said Joe with a nod. “This place is really great. But, guys, can we talk about what’s really important?”
Harper and Jones both looked surprised. “What’s that?” Jones asked.
Joe pointed to a file folder on the kitchen counter, bursting with take-out menus. “Which of those places can get me a pizza the fastest? I’m starving!”
• • •
An hour and a half later, satiated, we were all lying around on the couch and on some pillows Jones and Harper had moved to the floor. An empty pizza box was on the coffee table in front of us, and we’d moved on to a pretty intense conversation.
“Seriously, though,” Jones was saying, gesturing with a pointed finger, “Batman has no superpowers. He wasn’t, like, bitten by a radioactive spider, or born on another planet. And yet he’s still out there, kicking butts, doing his best to keep Gotham safe.”
“But Gotham is still kind of crummy, right?” Joe asked. “I mean . . . I would never choose to vacation there. Like, from what I see in the movies.”
Jones rolled her eyes. “He’s doing his best, okay, dude? It’s not like he’s getting a lot of help from those corrupt cops.”
“I just like Superman better,” Joe said with a shrug.
“Oh my God,” moaned Jones, burying her face in the huge pillow she was leaning on.
“Do you even like comics?” Harper asked him with a giggle. “No offense, you just seem a little . . . new.”
Joe turned to face her, his expression the picture of sincerity. “I like comics very much,” he said.
I tried to stifle my laugh. “Joe saw Black Panther twice,” I said, trying to be a supportive brother. Because he liked the rhino wearing armor, I added silently.
But Joe was busy digging his own hole. “I think comics are very,” he was saying, “very . . . colorful.”
Jones let out a loud bark of a laugh, and Harper dissolved into giggles.
“What?” asked Joe.
“They’re also rectangular,” I said drily. “And have lots of lines and bubbles.”
Jones and Harper laughed harder, and even Joe looked a little sheepish and shook his head, chuckling.
“Maybe I am kind of a newbie,” he admitted.
“It’s cool, Joe,” Harper said, getting up to walk to the counter and grab another soda. “You had fun today, right? So maybe you’re a—”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three loud bangs on the door cut Harper off, and we all looked toward it in surprise.
“What on earth . . . ?” Harper muttered.
“Do you know anyone here?” Jones asked, standing up and looking a little concerned. “Like, besides us and ComiczVon?”
“Or the family we met on the way up,” I added.
But Harper was shaking her head, walking slowly toward the door. “No one in that family would bang on my door that hard.”
“Open up!” a man’s voice yelled from the walkway. “I know you’re in there! I’ve been listening to your partying all night!”
“Partying?” Joe asked, frowning and standing up.
I was confused too. We’d been goofing around and eating pizza. We were having fun, but it was hardly a party.
Looking irritated, Harper went to the door and swung it open. “Listen,” she said, “I think—”
But the man who was standing there, a tall guy with a shaved head and one thick eyebrow that was furrowed in anger, wasn’t listening. “You kids need to keep it down! ” he yelled (sort of ironic, when you think about it), waving his pointer finger around at the four of us. “I’m staying in the apartment next door, and I’ve been listening to your shouting and laughing all night. I’m here on vacation, okay? I want a relaxing experience!”
His angry shouting made a weird contrast with the waves crashing against the beach behind him. The air outside was cool, and I shivered.
Harper started to say something, then stopped. I saw her take a breath and slowly let it out. When she spoke, her voice was a lot calmer than I would have been able to manage.
“I’m sorry we bothered you,” she said, “but we’re not having a party or anything. We were just hanging out eating pizza and talking.”
The guy looked at her, and then his gaze traveled over to Joe, standing in front of the coffee table like he was ready to jump in as soon as Harper needed backup. Then he looked at Jones, still leaning on a pillow, and me, sitting on the couch.
“Sure you are,” he spat, glaring at each of us in turn. “I know what kids are like. I remember being your age. You probably have beer stashed somewhere, and you’re all too wasted to know how loud you’re being.”
Now Harper looked mad. “Actually,” she said, “I don’t drink. Listen, we’ll keep it down, but—”
The guy swung back around to face her. “You’d better,” he said, “because if I get disturbed again, I’m calling the cops.”
Now I stood up. “Dude,” I said, pulling out my phone and glancing at it, “it’s eight p.m. If this town even has a noise ordinance, it’s way too early.”
He glared at me again, and Harper threw up her hands in a placating gesture. “Okay,” she said quickly, “okay. Never mind. We promise to keep it down.”
He turned to her. “You’d better,” he repeated.
“We’ve got it,” Harper insisted. “You won’t have to come over here again.”
The guy nodded, a little cockily, like he’d really shown us. Then he turned away, and Harper shut the door behind him. We could hear him walking down to the next apartment, and then the beeping of the keypad and the click of the door opening.
Jones, Harper, Joe, and I all stared at one another in surprise.
“Wow,” Jones said finally. “What the . . .”
Harper gestured to her to keep it down. “That was crazy,” she said quietly, “but throwing a party would go against my UrMotel agreement with the host. I just don’t want him to complain—or worse, call the cops.”
“But that’s nuts,” I said. “We didn’t do anything wrong. What would happen if he did complain to the host? Would you have to pay more?”
Harper shrugged. “No. At worst, I might have to leave the apartment early. But the real danger is that the host could write a bad review of me as a tenant, and then it might be really hard for me to use the UrMotel service from that point on.”
Joe shook his head. “Ugh. Well, my review of this place just went way down.”
Harper smiled sadly. “The host can’t exactly guarantee your neighbors. I don’t know if she even owns that apartment. He might have rent
ed from some other site, or someone he knows.”
I caught Jones shooting me a significant glance. Should we leave?
I coughed. “Well, listen, we should probably get going anyway. You were tired when we left the convention hall, so you must be exhausted now. And—”
Harper was holding up her hands. “Oh, no, don’t feel like—”
She was cut off by the chorus of “Uptown Funk,” which suddenly started blaring from her purse.
Looking startled, she grabbed for her purse on the kitchen counter while holding up a single finger to me. “Hold on.” She dug in her purse for a few seconds, the song getting more muffled, then louder, then more muffled again. “I don’t know why I carry such a big purse. I can never find anything. . . .”
The song trailed off.
“Shoot,” Harper hissed. She dug a little more and then pulled out a smartphone in a Wonder Woman case. When she looked at her screen, her face fell.
“Who was it?” Jones asked.
Harper groaned. “Oh, it was Matt—my boyfriend.”
Jones shrugged. “Go ahead and call him back if you need to! We’ll wait.”
Harper bit her lip. “It’s just—my phone is almost dead, and he hates it when I don’t take his calls. He gets so antsy when I leave. I think—my charger is in my car still. I—” She picked up her car keys, but Jones stopped her.
“Wait,” said Jones, standing up and pulling her own phone out of her pocket. “Just call him back on mine. It has plenty of juice.”
Harper beamed gratefully, taking the phone and dialing. She held the phone to her ear and strolled toward the bedroom.
“Hey,” she said. “Yeah, I saw . . . No! No, I just couldn’t find it in my purse. I’m calling from the landline at the apartment. I’m not doing anything, really, I’m just about to go to sleep. . . .” Jones, Joe, and I all looked at one another a little awkwardly. Jones held her finger to her lips. Why wasn’t Harper telling her boyfriend about us?
She’d strolled into the bedroom now and stood where we couldn’t see her, but we could still hear her voice, suddenly dull and worn out. “Yeah . . . That sucks . . . Well, don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow by dinnertime. Yeah. I’m not sure. It dep—” She fell silent for a minute. “Okay . . . okay. I’ll leave as early as I can and try to be back for lunch. Yeah. Yeah, no, it’s fine. I . . . I love you, too.”
The Disappearance Page 2