by Mila Gray
The door behind me bursts open. Spinning around with a yelp, the phone still pressed to my ear, I expect to see my father standing there in the doorway, but it’s Tristan, out of breath and sweating. He sees the horror on my face and stops midstep.
“What’s the matter?” he asks.
I drop the phone. It clatters to the floor. I stare past Tristan, out through the open door and onto the street. “He’s watching me,” I whisper.
TRISTAN
I wanted this evening to be something special, but Zoey and I are both too on edge to do anything besides sit on the sofa and watch a movie—The Breakfast Club—though neither of us is able to focus on it. Zoey keeps jumping at every sound that bursts out of the speaker, and I’m restless. I keep wanting to get up and check the locks on the doors and the video feeds of the security cameras.
I told her that my bike broke down, but I didn’t tell her that I think her father was responsible for it. She’s freaked out enough without me adding to her panic. He was watching her at the restaurant, lurking somewhere outside. What kind of a psycho does that? He probably followed us back here. We called the police, but they said unless there was an actual crime or an actual threat, there was nothing they could do. It’s maddening.
What’s he planning? I wonder. And how did he find them? Did he somehow find a way to contact Cole? Did Cole tell him Zoey’s number, and tell him where she worked? I stare blankly at the TV, wondering what I can do to protect Zoey. The simple, frustrating fact is that I can’t do anything—not until he makes a move.
As the credits roll, Zoey stays staring at the screen. I’m not even sure she’s noticed that the movie is over. I lean over her for the remote and switch off the TV. “Let’s go to bed,” I say instead, getting up and holding out my hand to her.
ZOEY
I’m not letting my father win. I’m not letting him ruin tonight. I roll toward Tristan, who is lying staring up at the ceiling with his eyes open, and start kissing him. Trying to banish all thoughts of my dad from my head, I squeeze my eyes shut so I stop staring at the door, which I’m terrified is going to fly open at any point to reveal my dad standing there.
Reluctantly, it seems, Tristan starts kissing me back. I pull him over and on top of me. He hovers above me, holding his weight on his forearms so as not to crush me, but I wrap my arms around his neck and tug him down on top of me. “Make me forget,” I murmur against his lips.
Tristan freezes, then rolls off me, frowning. His fingers stroke my cheek, brush a strand of loose hair out of my eyes. “Zo,” he says, “I don’t want to make you forget. I want you to be here, with me. I mean … this night … I want it to be something you remember. That we both …” He breaks off. “I want it to be special.”
I draw in a breath, knowing he’s right, but frustrated that my dad has ruined this, too, now. I feel the pent-up fury spilling out of me in tears that roll down my face.
“Shhhh,” Tristan says, pulling me close and cradling me against his chest. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to stop crying, and Tristan wipes away the tears, then holds my face in his hands and kisses my cheeks. “Don’t cry.”
BANG!
I bolt upright in alarm, as does Tristan. Someone is pounding on the front door. I freeze, but Tristan is on his feet, already moving for the door. “Stay here,” he warns me. “Lock the door.”
I fumble out of bed. No way I’m staying here and letting him answer that door alone. The banging hasn’t let up, and now I hear someone yelling my name too. “Zoey!”
It’s my mom.
I reach the living room in time to see Tristan yanking open the door. My mom is standing there, nearly hysterical. “It’s Kate,” she cries. “She’s gone.”
“What?” I rasp.
“I went to check in on her and Cole, and she’s not there. She’s not anywhere.”
“Wait,” says Tristan. I turn to look at him. He’s holding his phone. “A camera detected motion. It sent me a text thirty minutes ago.” My heart plummets to my stomach. “I missed it.”
My mom and I crowd around Tristan and watch the video. It’s Kate, sneaking out the front door. The time on the bottom is stamped 2:58 a.m. “Where’s she going?” I ask as we watch her scamper down the stairs.
“She’s got a bag with her,” Tristan says as she vanishes out of sight. He hits play again, and we watch the video one more time.
“Let’s go back to your apartment,” Tristan says to me.
I nod and grab my bag and phone, then follow my mom across the courtyard and up the stairs to our place. We let ourselves in.
“Where do you think she’s gone?” my mom asks me, clutching my hands. She’s speaking in a whisper, trying not to wake Cole.
I rub my hands through my hair, aware I must look a mess, but there’s no time to think about it. “I don’t know,” I say. “Did you check her room for clues?”
“I didn’t want to wake Cole, so not really. But she’s taken her toothbrush and hairbrush, and I think she went through my purse. I found it on the table.”
That makes my eyebrows shoot up. “Your purse?”
“Did she take any money? Cards?” Tristan asks.
My mom shakes her head. “I only had a twenty. She took that. But not the cards.”
Something strikes me then. “Oh God,” I murmur before rushing to the bedroom I share with my mom.
My mom follows. “What?” she asks, worried.
I drop to my knees in front of the closet and pull out a shoe box that I’ve been using to store a few things—my community college paperwork, a handful of letters from Will, receipts and movie theater tickets I’ve collected from dates with Tristan, as well as the notes he leaves me on the pillow every morning. I rummage around until I find the envelope I keep stashed at the bottom. I pull it out and feel my heart sink.
I open it, feeling a mix of fury and disappointment, the latter immediately snuffing out the former when I see it’s empty.
“What is it?” my mom asks again.
“I had almost a thousand dollars in here,” I say. “It was all the tips I’ve saved. I was going to use it to buy a car.”
“Oh no,” my mom says, sinking down on the edge of the bed. “Why would she take it? What for?”
“She’s run away,” I say.
“But why?” my mom asks, confused.
I stand up, checking the time. It’s almost four in the morning. “Where could she have gone?” I wonder out loud.
“I’ll call the police,” my mom says, coming up behind us.
“I’ll go and look for her,” Tristan says.
“I’m coming too,” I tell him. I can see he wants to argue with me but doesn’t.
“I have to stay here with Cole,” my mom says.
I take her hand. I’m scared to leave her. But I don’t want to tell her. She smiles at me. “I’ll be okay,” she reassures me.
“We’ll check the bus and train stations,” Tristan says.
“What if she took an Uber?”
“Do you think she’s gone back to Vegas?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I thought she hated it there.”
“What’s going on?”
We all turn. Cole stands in the door to his bedroom, rubbing his eyes with his fists and yawning.
“Nothing,” I say. “Go back to bed.”
“What time is it?” he asks, looking among us all, confused.
“It’s late. Or rather, it’s early,” I tell him, moving his way.
“Where’s Kate?” Cole asks.
I look at my mom. She kneels down in front of Cole. “Kate’s gone,” she tells him. “Do you know where she might be?”
Cole stares at her, and I study his reaction. It hits me for the first time, like a slap to the face, that there’s a chance Kate might be the one in touch with my dad and not Cole. What if it was her who told him where we were living? This whole time we’ve been focused on Cole, but what if
it was Kate? What if she’s gone to meet him now?
“Cole,” I say, also kneeling alongside my mom. “We need to know: Did you speak to Dad? It’s really important to tell us if you or Kate have.”
Cole looks between us. His face turns red and blotchy—his very own Pinocchio tell. “I haven’t spoken to him! I don’t know where Kate is,” he shouts.
My mom takes Cole’s arm. “Cole, tell us!” she cries.
Cole snatches his arm back. “Get off me!”
I stand up, seeing that this conversation is only going one way, and that’s toward a screaming match with Cole, but then Tristan interrupts. He’s in the kitchen, standing by the trash can. He’s holding a crumpled piece of paper in his hand after rummaging through the garbage for clues.
“Look,” he says, offering me the piece of paper.
I take it. It’s a MISSING CAT poster with Romeo’s photo plastered across it and Kate’s phone number written at the bottom. “You think she’s gone to find Romeo?” I ask.
“It’s a possibility, right?” he says with a shrug. “She’s been really upset about him and about you guys staying here in Oceanside.”
He’s right. At least, I think he’s right. And it’s a way better prospect than the thought of her going off with my dad.
Tristan kneels down by Cole. “We need you to stay here and look after your mom while Zoey and I go look for Kate.”
Cole pulls a face and then glowers daggers at my mom. “Why do I need to look after her?” My mom visibly flinches, and I wonder if for her it’s like seeing a miniature version of my dad appearing in Cole.
“Because that’s what real men do,” Tristan tells him in a calm voice. “They take care of their families. They watch over them and protect the people they love. And your mom needs you.”
I look at Tristan as he says those words, and my heart swells. Cole nods at him, his expression serious, and I wonder, will he turn out like my dad? Or will he learn by Tristan’s example?
TRISTAN
It’s dawn by the time we get to Emma Rotherham’s house to pick up Dahlia’s car so we can make the trip to Vegas. Dahlia comes down the stairs wearing a satin robe, which piques my curiosity, but with Kate missing I don’t have time to ask questions about the status of Dahlia and Emma’s relationship.
“Are you okay?” she asks Zoey, hugging her.
Zoey nods, distracted. She just wants to get going, and Dahlia can see that, so she hurries to fish her keys out of her bag.
“You sure it’s okay to borrow it?” I ask again, taking the keys she offers.
“I can borrow one of Emma’s if I need to go anywhere, and besides, I’m kind of staying here at the moment.” She brushes her hair behind her ear as she says it, and a blush spreads up her neck. It’s clear from her expression and the glow on her face that she and Emma are officially … something.
“Drive safe.” She turns to Zoey. “And I hope you find her.”
“We’ll find her,” I say to Zoey an hour later as I drive east, reaching across to squeeze her hand. She squeezes mine back and doesn’t say anything. I hope she can’t tell how worried I am. I don’t think their dad is involved, but I do worry about a kid of Kate’s age out there all alone, a possible target for anyone. The only way she could have gotten to Vegas from here is by bus or hitching, and neither of those options is particularly safe. But Zoey has enough to worry about without me bringing that up.
Every few minutes she tries calling Kate, but Kate’s phone is switched off and it’s going straight to voice mail.
“What about her friend Lis?” I ask.
“I don’t have her number,” Zoey answers. “I’m going to try calling her school office when it opens.”
“How about Instagram?”
“Her account’s set to private. I can’t see what she’s posted.” She starts tapping something into the search bar of her phone. “I found Lis’s account. I’ll send her a message.” Once she’s done, she starts scrolling through Lis’s feed. “There are loads of photos of her and Kate and …” She trails off.
I glance over quickly and see Zoey is frowning. “What?” I ask her. “What is it?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. There are photos of the two of them together.”
“And?” I ask, overtaking a semi that’s hogging the center lane.
“It’s not the photo. It’s the comments below. Someone’s commented that they make a perfect couple. And there’s another one—a hashtag ‘love goals.’ ”
I turn to Zoey, who looks over at me. “Oh my God.”
“They aren’t just best friends.”
“I think Lis is her girlfriend,” Zoey finishes. She turns back to the photos and keeps scrolling. “Why didn’t she tell me? Why would she hide that?” She asks it plaintively.
“A lot of people have trouble coming out to family,” I tell her. “Even my sister. Even in my family, where we were already flying a rainbow flag from the house during Pride week. She only told me after I found her kissing this girl I liked at a party. And she didn’t tell our parents for another year after that.”
A deep frown line runs between Zoey’s eyes. “But she knows I wouldn’t care.”
“When we find her, you can ask her why she didn’t tell you,” I say, reaching my arm across her headrest and stroking the back of her neck.
Zoey nods unhappily.
ZOEY
I look at the bare brick facade and think of how it resembles a prison rather than a school. But Kate was happy here. She had Lis, who was more than just her best friend, and I tore her away from that. It’s no wonder she’s been so unhappy since we left. How could I not have seen it? Kate was right to accuse me of not caring about anything except myself. I’ve been so focused on Tristan that I didn’t bother to notice the pain my own sister was going through.
I suppress the whispering voice of panic in my head when I think about her out there in the world, all alone. I try too to suppress the annoyance I feel when I picture her using all the money I’ve saved.
The bell rings, and kids start streaming out of the buildings—most heading for the football field and the bleachers. Lis spots us straightaway and comes jogging over, wearing multicolored leggings and a cropped top. She has several ear piercings and a nose stud, and her eyes are lined with dark purple kohl. Her backpack is covered in pins, most of a political persuasion. I remember Kate saying Lis was into art and politics.
“Hey,” she says when she reaches us, eyeing us warily.
I introduce Tristan to her, and she shakes his hand. “I don’t have long,” she says, fidgeting from foot to foot.
“Thanks for meeting us,” I say. “We’re trying to find Kate. We think she might be in Vegas. Have you heard from her?”
She nods. “I saw her this morning.”
“What?” I say, relief making me light-headed. “You saw her?”
Lis nods. “Yeah, at recess. She was here.”
“How did she get here?” I ask.
“She caught a bus from San Diego. It left at, like, four thirty this morning.”
“Where is she now? Do you know?”
Lis’s gaze darts to our feet. “I don’t know.” She digs the toe of her scuffed Vans sneaker into the asphalt. “We got in a fight.” She shoots a nervous glance at me and then at Tristan.
I look at Tristan. He reads my mind and takes a few steps away, giving us privacy.
“I know you guys were dating,” I say as Lis glances at her watch.
Lis looks up, alarmed. “How did you find out?”
I shake my head. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Lis’s eyes brim with tears. “We broke up. I told her I couldn’t do the long-distance thing anymore.”
“So she came here to try to change your mind?” I ask.
Lis nods, her slender shoulders shaking.
“How long were you guys dating for?” I ask.
Lis swipes at her eyes, smudging the mascara across her cheek. “Six month
s.” She pauses. “She told you?”
I shake my head. I can’t believe Kate held on to this secret for so long. It’s no wonder she was so upset about leaving. “Do you know why she didn’t tell me?” I ask.
“She didn’t want to tell anyone, at least not at first. She had just come out to a few people when … you left.”
I take a deep breath. So much was happening in Kate’s life, and I’ve been oblivious.
“Do you know where she might have gone?” I ask, racked with guilt.
“She said something about going to find the cat.”
I squeeze Lis’s arm. “Thank you.”
She tries to give me a smile, but it comes out wobbly. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Can you tell her that?”
I nod, and she turns and jogs back toward the school entrance. Tristan comes up behind me and puts his arm around my shoulder. “What did she say?” he asks.
“That I win the award for worst sister ever.”
Tristan double-takes. “She said that?”
“No,” I admit, “but she might as well have. They were dating, and I didn’t even know it. How could I not know something so important about my own sister? She came out to strangers before me.”
“That’s normal,” Tristan says. “Don’t take it personally. Dahlia did the same.”
I move toward the car, and Tristan follows, opening the door for me.
“Where are we going?” he asks. “Did Lis know where she was?”
“You were right. She’s gone to find the cat.”
TRISTAN
Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?”
Zoey arches her eyebrow at me, and I mumble, “Sorry.” Not the time. Or the place. Speaking of which, it’s hard to picture Zoey living here, and not only because the house is boarded up but because everything is beige and brown and gives off an air of dereliction—from the peeling paint to the dirt-bowl front yards and the dust-covered cars. The only signs of nature are the brave blades of grass forcing their way through the heat-cracked asphalt.