But Jenna didn’t want to touch Eli, nor did she want to be in the lap of the person who’d just groped her, so she ignored the apologies that were coming at her, crawled her way past Eli, and stumbled to her feet. She staggered a few feet and disappeared down the basement stairs. When she emerged into the rec room, she smelled pot and knew right away she needed more. She scanned the room, and when she spotted Corbin, she took off in his direction.
The next thing Jenna knew, she was leading Dustin upstairs.
“Jenna, where are we going? Slow down.”
She heard his voice but nothing he said registered because she only had one thing on her mind.
“What are we—”
Jenna leaned up and pressed her lips to Dustin’s as she closed the door of the room they’d just entered with her foot. Dustin continued trying to talk for a few seconds, but then he gave up and started kissing Jenna back. Then next thing Jenna knew, they were on the bed. Then her shirt was off. Then Dustin’s shirt was off. Then she was unbuttoning his pants.
“Whoa . . . Jenna, hang on . . . Jenna, stop,” he finally demanded.
But Jenna was lost in a pot-induced haze, and just below that haze was the memory of Eli wiping the front of her shirt and an unknown person grabbing her breasts. She didn’t know if either incident was an accident, but she didn’t care anymore. Lurking even deeper was Leighton’s warning that Dustin wouldn’t wait much longer for her, and even further below that was Thomas. She was determined to do what she had to do to take as much power away from her memories of him as she could, and the thing that made sense that moment was having sex with Dustin. It seemed like the only solution to her problems.
“Dustin, I’m ready,” Jenna whispered in his ear.
“No, Jenna, we can’t. Not like this. Not here.”
“Come on, Dustin. Yes, we can.”
“Jenna,” Dustin forcefully grabbed and pulled her hand from inside his boxers, “stop. Why are you doing this? Just stop.”
Stunned by his rejection, she looked him in the eyes and what first felt like sadness morphed into anger.
“Wait, are you high?” Dustin shot to his feet, zipped his pants and grabbed his shirt off the bed where Jenna remained glaring at him. “This is ridiculous, Jenna. What the heck is going on with you?” He threw on his shirt and walked toward the door.
“Dustin, wait . . .” she called after him. He turned back to face her but remained silent. “I thought this was what you wanted.”
Dustin shook his head. “Trust me, it is, but what I want even more is you and for you to want me back. But apparently you need to be high or drunk in order to feel that way. This is just . . . I think we need a break.”
When Dustin turned and left the room, Jenna ran after him, yelling as she followed him down the stairs.
“You’re breaking up with me? You’re . . . breaking up . . . with me? Dustin, wait! Fine . . .” Jenna looked around at the faces staring up at her, among them were Delaney, Corbin, Tina, and Haley Tompkins. Then when she looked to the right into the living room, there was an additional sea of faces looking at her, including Keeley and Eli.
“This is all your fault,” Jenna yelled, pointing at Eli. Then she ran down the rest of the stairs and got in his face. “Why do you have to be here? Why are you trying to steal my best friend? Why, Eli? Haven’t you done enough to me? Why do you protect your brother?”
“Jenna, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eli tried to grip Jenna’s upper arms, but she jerked away from him.
“Keep your hands off me.”
“Jenna,” Keeley pleaded, “why are you so hysterical? What happened up there?”
“Shut up, Keeley, just shut up, and stay away from my cousin,” Jenna mumbled under her breath. Her hurtful words were met with Keeley’s wide devastated eyes, but Jenna didn’t care. She had reached an emotional breaking point that wouldn’t be easy to return from.
Done with Eli and Keeley, Jenna rushed to the kitchen where she knew there was a keg. Moments later, Dustin entered the room along with Keeley, Delaney, and Eli. Delaney lunged forward to rip the beer from Jenna’s hands as she was poised to take a drink. For the second time that night, beer spilled down the front of Jenna’s shirt.
“You’re such a bitch, Delaney. And you wonder why girls sometimes seem like they don’t want to talk to you. I’ll tell you why. It’s because you’re a bitch and you have to flirt with EVERY guy you meet.”
“Okay,” Dustin held up a hand to Delaney preventing her from responding to Jenna’s horrible words, “Jenna, you don’t need anything to drink. You just need to go home.”
“Well, I’m not going home with you. You dumped me, remember?”
“Fine, then find someone else to drive you home, but if you don’t do it soon, I’m calling your mom to come and get you.”
Jenna glared at him, not believing his threat, and one by one Dustin and the rest of her friends exited the kitchen. She was left standing there, her shirt soaked with beer, and people awkwardly distancing themselves from her. Embarrassed and disoriented, she made her way into the first-floor bathroom just off the kitchen and texted the only person she could think of who hadn’t let her down.
Jenna: Can you please come and get me?
Leighton: Sure. Where are you?
Jenna: One sec.
Jenna went into Google Maps and retrieved her location, then texted it to Leighton. Then she left the bathroom and snuck out without anyone noticing. Before she scurried past the living room, she peeked around the corner and spotted Delaney whispering in Dustin’s ear. The sight made her want to puke as she recalled how Delaney always used to say how cute Dustin was and what a catch he was. Now the door was wide open for her to have him for herself.
When Jenna entered the kitchen the next morning, her mom walked over from where she was standing at the sink and embraced Jenna in a hug. “I’m so sorry honey. So, so sorry.”
“About what?”
Her mom studied her face for a moment. “About you and Dustin.”
“Oh, right,” Jenna let her head fall back down onto her mom’s shoulder and started to cry. She suddenly remembered everything, starting with getting home last night and breaking down into tears and telling her mom about how Dustin had dumped her. Her mom wanted to know why, but Jenna wasn’t about to tell her any part of the truth, so she said she didn’t know.
“Do you think you’ll still go to homecoming?” Bonnie asked, still holding her daughter, wishing she could erase the pain she was feeling over her first breakup.
“I don’t know.” Jenna couldn’t believe her mom was already thinking about next week and how easy it was for her to just accept that she and Dustin had broken up. It almost seemed like she’d been waiting for it to happen.
“Well, you already have your dress and shoes, so maybe you can go with some friends. You certainly don’t need to decide right now, though.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Keeley
Monday, October 30, 2017
Three Days After Jenna’s Disappearance
“Doughnut.”
Delaney points to an oblong-shaped cluster of clouds that doesn’t look anything like a doughnut. I respond by pointing to nothing in particular and say, “Cotton candy.”
“You can’t say cotton candy. It all looks like cotton candy.”
We slowly propel the merry-go-round with our legs.
“It’s almost four thirty. We should go. Mrs. Kemp will be home soon,” I say.
My sneaker drags across the ground for a few feet until the merry-go-round comes to a stop. We continue to lay and look up at the sky until the spinning sensation wears off.
“So, how are we going to get Jenna’s diary without her mom knowing? I mean, we can’t just waltz into her bedroom and grab it out of . . wait, do we even know where it is?” Delaney asks as we start walking along the path away from the old playground.
“I’m pretty sure she just keeps it in her nightstand. The last time
I slept there—the night before our meet in Delafield—she’d written in it.”
“Okay, well, if it’s in there, what’s the plan? Are we just going to walk straight to Jenna’s room and grab it? Don’t you think Mrs. Kemp will want to know what we’re doing?”
“I don’t know,” I say, feeling overwhelmed with uncertainty about pretty much everything. “Let’s just figure it out when we get there.”
We walk in silence for a few minutes. Somehow, Delaney finds a rock to repeatedly kick ahead the way she always does.
“Hey, remember when Jenna used to keep her diary under her mattress?” I ask, smiling to myself.
“Yeah,” Delaney laughs. “She acted like there was top secret information in there.” She stops laughing and looks over at me, suddenly serious. “Who knows? Maybe there was.” She refocuses on the path and gives the rock a kick.
It hadn’t occurred to me until now that maybe we should grab Jenna’s older diaries too. Reading any of her personal thoughts is a total invasion of her privacy, but maybe she wrote things that will help us understand what’s going on with her. “Hey, do you think maybe we should try to find her older diaries too?”
Delaney shakes her head. “I can’t even believe we’re on our way to find her current diary.”
“I know, but what if there’s something in them that might help us figure out what’s going on with her?”
Delaney sighs. “I don’t know, Keeley. It’s your call. I don’t think Jenna and I will ever be close like we used to be, especially if she finds out we did this. She’ll forgive you, though.” I don’t respond because I have a feeling Delaney might be right, and I get the sense she’s beating herself up again over the whole Dustin debacle. “Do you have any idea where her old diaries could be?”
“Actually, I do. She keeps them in one of the shoe boxes in her closet. Second row, third from the right—unless she rearranged the boxes. Charcoal gray and hot pink Saucony Hurricanes.”
“How do you even know that?”
“We went through her shoes a few months ago, and I opened that box. A stack of her old diaries was inside. Not sure where the shoes are,” I say with a shrug. “Even if the box isn’t in the same spot—which I doubt—I’ll be able to find it.”
“Wow. I can’t believe your shared obsession with Jenna over running shoes might actually come in handy.”
The walkway to the Kemps’ front door is covered with leaves from the two maple trees in their front yard. This isn’t normal for Jenna’s house because her dad is that neighbor who’s always meticulous about outdoor maintenance. And Mrs. Kemp provides the same attention to detail inside their home. Everything with the Kemps is usually perfect, even Jenna, up until a few months ago. It might seem like no big deal to most people, but an unkempt walkway means something is up with the Kemps.
We’re just stepping foot on the large front porch when the front door flies open. “Keeley? Delaney? What are you girls doing here? Please tell me you heard from Jenna,” Mrs. Kemp leaves the door wide open and steps outside in bare feet.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kemp,” I say, annihilating the hopeful look on her face. “But, no, we haven’t.”
Delaney offers a sad shake of her head in apology.
“Oh.” She looks from me to Delaney. “Well, what are you girls doing here then?” Normally perky with a smile bright enough to light up a room, she stands before us looking like she hasn’t slept for weeks.
“We just wanted to see how you’re doing. Maybe talk a little.”
“That would be great,” she says, opening the door wide for us to enter. “Please come in.”
We know Jenna’s house rules as well as we know our own, so as soon as we enter, we place our shoes on the mat just inside the door and hang our jackets in the hall closet. Doing so makes me think of several times when Jenna was upset with her mom for wanting everything to be perfect. Mrs. Kemp would never be the same if she knew how imperfect Jenna had been lately. It occurs to me for a moment that all the pressure to be perfect is what may have finally pushed Jenna over the edge, but then I shake the thought away because as much as Jenna stressed about the expectations her parents placed on her, she’d grown to expect the same of herself. And when she wasn’t striving for her own perfection, she was pushing Delaney and me to be the best at whatever we were doing.
After nearly two decades of being Holly Homemaker, even worry and sorrow aren’t enough to dash Mrs. Kemp’s desire to keep things orderly. The house still looks spotless. The only noticeable change is that instead of the bowl of potpourri and framed family photos that are usually kept on the hall table, it’s now covered with a small shrine to Jenna consisting of last year’s school picture, a photo of her from when she was a baby, the medal she won at our first track meet freshman year, and a baptismal cross with her name engraved on the base. There are also lighted candles and a set of car keys with a big purple ribbon on them.
“Why don’t we go into the kitchen and I’ll get you girls something to—”
“Actually . . . um, excuse me for interrupting . . . but would it be okay if we talked in Jenna’s room? It’s just that . . . I miss her.” It’s not a lie. “And I wonder if it would make me feel better to just be around her stuff for a little while. You know?”
Mrs. Kemp wraps her arms around me and kisses the top of my head. While she does so, Delaney gives me a suspicious look. “Oh, sweetie, I know. Trust me, I know.” Then she leads the way to the stairs.
Jenna’s room is not what you’d expect of a sixteen-year-old girl’s room. It looks more like a dude’s room with the dark mahogany colored wood furniture and turquoise and gray bedding. The girliest thing would have to be a poster of the soccer pro Cristiano Ronaldo, but I imagine the same poster is probably hanging in a lot of guys’ bedrooms too. Besides Cristiano, there are framed pastel paintings of runners. She’d been receiving one every year for her birthday from her parents. Mrs. Kemp’s best friend owns an art gallery in downtown Milwaukee, so she has them custom-made for Jenna.
Mrs. Kemp takes a seat on the edge of Jenna’s bed. Then she scans the room slowly. “It feels like she’s gone off to college or something.” She leans over to grab a fuzzy turquoise pillow and hugs it to her chest.
Delaney and I stand awkwardly next to each other until she takes a seat at Jenna’s desk, leaving me standing in the middle of the room. I cross and uncross my arms while Mrs. Kemp fills us in on all the phone calls they’ve received from neighbors, teachers, and members of the congregation. She talks about how they have enough casseroles in the deep freezer to last a year, how no one in the Kemp house is getting enough sleep, how Mr. Kemp can barely concentrate on work.
After about ten minutes of crossing and uncrossing my arms and shifting from foot to foot, I inch my back to Jenna’s closet, eventually sliding into a sitting position on the floor. I can almost hear her diary calling to me, and my back feels oddly warm. It makes me think about the hotter and colder game when you’re looking for something and you know when you’re close to it because someone tells you you’re hot and vice versa. Then there’s warm. If you’re warm, you’re close enough that if you keep looking around where you are, you’re sure to find it, but if you veer too far out of the warm pocket, you find yourself cold once again. Jenna’s diary might not tell us anything, but maybe, just maybe, it will contain a hot spot. If we’re lucky, it’ll contain many.
The sunlight streaming through the windows is beginning to fade, so I know it must be close to five. Time to act. Clearing my throat, I ask, “Mrs. Kemp, may I please have some water?”
Delaney pipes in. “Yeah, me too, please.” I look at her with wide eyes. How am I supposed to have time to snag Jenna’s diary in the amount of time it takes her mom to walk downstairs for a glass of water and return?
Mrs. Kemp stands. “It’s about time for me to finish making dinner anyway. Come on down to the kitchen, and I’ll get the two of you bottles to go.”
“Actually,” I say, clutching my he
ad. “I’m feeling a little dizzy. Probably wasn’t smart to run right after school and not replenish my fluids right away.”
“I’ll bring you some.” Delaney to the rescue. “That way you can work on dinner, Mrs. Kemp.”
Mrs. Kemp nods. “All right.”
The moment I hear their footsteps on the stairs, I throw open the first drawer of Jenna’s nightstand and panic when there’s no diary. Then I remember it had been in the second drawer and am relieved to find it there. As soon as I shove it into my backpack, I open her closet doors and search the rows of boxes. I sigh with relief when I find the correct Saucony box exactly where I remembered it being, except the box is empty. As I contemplate searching every box, the sound of someone clearing her throat sends me into panic mode, and I scramble to my feet.
“What are you doing?”
“Shaina! Hi!”
She hands me a bottle of water. “What are you doing in Jenna’s closet?”
“I was just . . . she had borrowed a pair of flip flops from me over the summer and I was just—”
“Flip flops?”
I can’t tell if she’s just confirming what I said or questioning my honesty. Desperate to change the subject, I say, “How was volleyball practice?”
She emits an exasperated sigh. “The same as everything has been ever since Saturday morning when my parents realized Jenna never came home. It sucked.”
“I’m so sorry, Shaina.” I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know Shaina that well, but she’s always gotten along with Jenna. Never any of that bratty little sister stuff I hear some older siblings have to put up with. I wouldn’t know because, according to my big brother, I’m the bratty little sister. Shaina’s blank stare makes me wish I knew what else to say. But if I’m being honest, I’m starting to lose hope. That’s why I’m here for the diary. Maybe it will provide some hope that Jenna is just off doing something she shouldn’t be doing or that she ran away the way I heard the police think she did.
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