Capsule

by Mel Torrefranca

  Should’ve worn concealer.

  Jackie fixed the uneven part in her hair, straightened her back, and took a deep breath. She raised her phone to her cheek—screen facing the mirror—to reveal nothing but—

  The home screen. Even Capsule’s reflection refused to make itself shown. She flipped her phone around, facing the screen directly. There Capsule was again. Back to the mirror, and it was gone. She lowered her arm, blinking at her clone inside the glass. If this app was real, and this countdown supposedly had something to do with Peter and Kat, she was the only person with a lead on their disappearances.

  THE SUBJECTS ABOVE ARE IN DANGER. That’s what Capsule displayed below the descriptions of Peter Moon and Kathabelle Pike. COMPLETE THE LEVELS IN TIME TO WIN THE GAME, ERASE THE MEMORIES, AND REVERSE THE DAY.

  As curious as she was about the game, she had no clue what starting the countdown would do, and considering the fact that Capsule had the power to appear to her and her alone, she wasn’t confident that she was ready to find out. She might’ve been the only person who could get involved, but did she really want to go through the trouble for two strangers?

  Two strangers whom she didn’t even like?

  Kat was full of herself, and the students of Brookwood High naively went along with it. They worshipped every one of her Instagram posts, spamming her with hundreds of likes, and she did nothing to even acknowledge her unearned support.

  And Peter—well—he was on a whole new level.

  Jackie returned to her bedroom, thinking back to the various rumors she’d overhead at school. There were the playful ones—theories that Peter and Kat had some kind of hidden romance and ran away together. Then there were the messed-up ones—the scenarios where Peter was the villain. The kidnapper. The stalker. At first Jackie had found the rumors far-fetched, but after scrolling through Moral Moon during fourth period today, Jackie wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

  She dragged the chair back to the PC, sat down, and typed moralmoon.blogify.com into the search bar. She scrolled through his entries, blood simmering. Peter posted about twice a week exposing the so-called truth behind different students. He ridiculed people’s very essence as though he were born a prophet. No one could please him because he never gave them the chance. Who would bother being friends with him after being called an insecure jock or a rich kid who buys attention? It sounded like he was too good to become friends with any of the lowly students at Brookwood High.

  Jackie clicked the filter button in the sidebar to sort the posts in ascending order. She didn’t recognize any of the names the entries had been addressed to until she reached #013.

  What kind of parents name their kids Kathabelle and Emmeline? Probably the same to raise an attention-seeking bitch.

  Peter had written this entry about Kat. The date on the blog post was marked February 17, 2020. A little over a year ago. Judging by Peter’s nasty descriptions of her, it was likely that the two didn’t get along, but nothing about the entry gave Jackie the impression that Peter thought of Kat any differently from the rest of the students at Brookwood—to him she was just another teenager riddled with flaws.

  Jackie scrolled to the bottom of the entry and read Peter’s last sentence. Kat’s family is just as broke and clueless as your neighbor across the street, so stop treating her like she’s royalty and study for those chem tests you keep failing.

  The first comment on the post was by a user named Indigo. A little birdie told me you failed last week’s chem test, the comment read, but you wouldn’t share that detail with us, would you? Hypocrite.

  Jackie’s phone buzzed on the table. She didn’t have to check the screen to know it was Eugene calling. She’d been ignoring him since last night, and he at least deserved an explanation. It took all of her willpower to remove her eyes from Moral Moon.

  “Hey, if it isn’t JackieLantern.” Eugene spoke as soon as she tapped the green answer button. “Finally picking up my call.”

  Jackie put her phone on speaker mode.

  “Yeah. Sorry about that, dude.” Jackie scrolled further through the blog posts, tapping a random entry addressed to a name that sounded vaguely familiar. “I’ve been really busy.”

  This next blog post had over twenty comments, the first of which was written by that same user, Indigo. Students from Brookwood retaliated against Peter, pummeling insults that could easily rival the same degree of hatred he’d used first. Some defended friends under unknown aliases—and others chose to take action without the protective mask of anonymity—but no one had anything nice to say. Maybe Peter wasn’t solely responsible for the fight, but he did throw the first punch.

  “Busy? Is that the best excuse you can give me, Ms. I-don’t-need-friends?”

  Jackie clicked the back button and rapidly scrolled through Peter’s posts, stopping at the sight of her own name in the entry labeled #389. She spun her chair around, sheltering her eyes from the dangerous text. After seeing what Peter had exposed about the other students at Brookwood, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to read what he’d written about her. How could Peter possibly critique her character when they’d never spoken to each other before?

  “Okay look, I’m sorry about what I said the other day.” Eugene spoke again, reminding Jackie of the phone call she’d forgotten she was on. “I could’ve made my point less harshly.”

  “Dude, I’m not mad or anything. There’s just been a lot of drama about those kids who went missing.” Jackie squinted at the camera sitting on her bed, remembering her failed attempts to view the app with anything but her own eyes. “Remember that game I told you about? Capsule?”

  “Not really.”

  “The app that popped up on my phone out of nowhere?”

  “Oh right.” His voice was dull. “What about it?”

  Jackie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She peeked over her shoulder to spot the blog entry Peter had written about her. How could she possibly explain what was going on? An invisible app? He’d call her crazy, and Eugene was the one person Jackie cared about losing.

  The door busted open.

  Mrs. Mendoza entered the room, still dressed in her blue work scrubs. She had her hair tied back in a ponytail, placing her deep forehead wrinkles on clear display. The downturned curve of her lips pressured Jackie into taking immediate action.

  “Hold up, I’ll call you back in five.” Jackie spun the chair to face her desk again, ended the call, and exited from Moral Moon before Mrs. Mendoza could spot Peter’s questionable online content.

  “Why did you take it out?” Mrs. Mendoza walked to Jackie’s bed and lifted the camera. “I thought you hated taking photos now.”

  Of course she had to put the word hate into Jackie’s mouth.

  “I never said I hated it.” Jackie didn’t look at her—she stared at her PC’s screensaver, a simple purple gradient.

  “Can you not live a few minutes without your screens in front of you?” Mrs. Mendoza’s voice stabbed Jackie in the spine. “Sit next to me. Please.”

  Jackie joined Mrs. Mendoza on the bed. A discussion like this hadn’t come as a surprise, but the timing couldn’t have been worse.

  Mrs. Mendoza tried to massage the folds from her forehead, but she failed. Her stress wrinkles were as malleable as dented memory foam. Impossible to smooth out without reverting back to its imperfect form.

  “I wasn’t gaming earlier.” Jackie rubbed her black socks against the carpet. “I was talking to Eugene.”

  “I don’t care what you were doing. You are never present and I’m starting to get really tired of it.” She dropped her hand from her forehead with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m just concerned about Jay. Something is bothering him, but I think he would feel better after talking to his little sister.”

  Jackie shook her head at the floor. It was true that Jay and Jackie had been close when they were younger, but even back then
they’d never been each other’s emotional support. They always had their differences. Jackie liked rainy winter days and sipping hot chocolate while she played Minecraft in her glowing bedroom. Jay preferred summers outdoors in the field and biking with friends to the park. Jackie was quiet; Jay loved to talk. Jackie liked taking photos; Jay liked being in them. It was those exact differences that helped them get along so well. They never fought for controllers because Jay was never in the mood for playing video games. They never fought over toys because they never wanted the same one.

  It was only a matter of time before the differences that united them morphed into the differences that drove them apart.

  “I’m sure Dad could cheer him up better than me.” Those two were insanely close. Jay went to Mr. Mendoza for practically everything.

  “You always underestimate yourself. Do you not notice how much Jay wants to know his little sister?” Mrs. Mendoza smiled. “Just talk to him for a bit, okay?”

  “Kuya can handle himself.” Jackie’s jaw stiffened. Of course the first time Mrs. Mendoza smiled at her in months had something to do with Jay. “He’s fine.”

  “He is not fine, Jackie.” Mrs. Mendoza stood from the bed and stared down at her with that familiar chill in her voice. “You would have to be very stupid to look at your brother right now and say he is fine. You are always like this. Hiding in your room with your screens. And so you know, if you were in the Philippines my family would have kicked you out of the house by now.”

  “Well, we’re not in the Philippines.”

  “So? That does not mean you can neglect your brother.” She raised her voice to a near shout. “All you care about are your games.”

  Jackie held a firm face. She’d learned not to let her mom’s outbursts affect her emotionally. “And all you care about is Kuya.”

  Mrs. Mendoza breathed in a violent huff. Her foot stood planted for a few blinks before she retreated to the bedroom door. “I bet that if someone were hanging off the edge of a cliff, you would not even bother offering them a hand, huh?”

  Jackie stared at the wall, refusing to look at her.

  “Even if you don’t get along with someone, that does not make it right to ignore them.” Mrs. Mendoza swung the door open. “True kindness is unconditional.”

  The door shut softly behind her, definitely an upgrade from the last time Mrs. Mendoza had left her room.

  Jackie ran her fingers through her hair, breaking the tangles. No, Mrs. Mendoza was wrong. Surely if someone were in immediate danger, if someone were really hanging from a cliff right in front of her, Jackie would offer them a hand.

  Right?

  She found herself standing at her desk, heart pounding as she reached for her phone. All she knew about Peter was Moral Moon, and all she knew about Kat was her Instagram page. Judging from their online presences alone, Jackie didn’t like either of them. Kat Pike was a narcissist. Peter Moon was a hater.

  But they needed her help.

  Jackie opened Capsule to the START THE COUNTDOWN button.

  If Peter and Kat were hanging from a cliff in front of her—if she had no context about their lives whatsoever—what would she do?

  Jackie’s thumb hovered over the button.

  And she tapped.

  Simple as that.

  23:59:59

  PETER MOON’S SEVENTEENTH birthday. He thought his family would be sick of bringing it up by now, but like every awful year they burst into his bedroom singing the same song at the same time, but in different keys. It was even worse than the horrible iPhone alarm that woke him up in a panic every morning.

  At least Mr. and Mrs. Moon didn’t have their hands wrapped around a camera like they had when he was younger. For years Peter had refused to be in their silly YouTube videos, and they eventually gave up on recording him. It was only a matter of time before they’d give up on him next.

  And then there was Grace.

  Oh, Grace.

  His little sister had always loved singing happy birthday to Peter when they were younger. Surprising him was one of her favorite hobbies. She’d draw Peter surprise paintings, bake him surprise cookies to show off her baking skills—although they both knew it was their mom doing the work, and would sometimes offer him a surprise compliment, but Grace didn’t have the enthusiasm to surprise him anymore. Today she leaned against the wall of his bedroom, singing happy birthday so quietly he couldn’t hear her over Mr. and Mrs. Moon’s booming voices. Grace’s eyes trailed along a cream-white envelope in her hands.

  “Happy birthday to you!”

  Peter waited until the vocals faded completely before sliding his feet out from under the sheets. “You guys are up early.” He reached for his phone, but his hand met nothing but the cold wood of his nightstand.

  “I know you don’t get enough sleep.”

  Peter caught sight of the blood-red phone case in Mrs. Moon’s spidery fingers. Great.

  “And on your birthday,” his mom continued, “you really should wake up well-rested.”

  “I get exactly seven and a half hours a night.” Peter gripped the sides of his mattress, eyes on the shaggy carpet. He hated how that was a lie. “What’s the time?”

  “Hm?”

  “Mom.” He raised his chin to face her. “Please.”

  Silence.

  “Awesome. I’m late.” Peter held his palm out, waiting for Mrs. Moon to drop his phone onto it, which she did. He gritted his teeth, bracing himself before checking his screen for the time. It was past 8:30, which meant school had already begun. “Are you kidding me? My attendance was perfect this year.”

  “It’s a nice day. We were thinking you and Grace could take off school for a family trip to the beach.” Mr. Moon smiled.

  “Really, Dad? The beach, of all places?” Peter frowned at Grace, who instantly crossed her arms, encouraging him to go along with their silly plan. It was easy for Grace to take a day off from school as a twelve-year-old in sixth grade, but high school was much less forgiving. “I can’t miss class.”

  “That’s exactly our point. You work so hard, and you deserve a break.” Mr. Moon tried to set a hand on Peter’s shoulder, but Peter jumped out of bed, dodging his sympathy.

  “That’s not your decision to make.” He headed for his dresser and opened a drawer of perfectly-folded shirts. Gosh, what should I wear? Normally he’d wake up at 5:00 to get ready and study before school, but now it was already 8:36. He’d have to accelerate his entire schedule now, and he hated rushing. He wouldn’t be able to do his morning stretches, look over his homework assignments for a third pass, or even play his favorite song on the guitar. It took Peter an average of fourteen minutes to bike to class, so even if he left now he’d be at least twenty minutes late. If only his family would honor his schedule for once.

  Mr. Moon retreated to the door. “Your favorite breakfast is waiting for you.”

  I don’t have time to overthink this. Peter grabbed a scarlet t-shirt and slammed the drawer shut. “Pancakes, right.”

  He waited for the receding footsteps of his parents to disappear before scanning the jeans in his second drawer.

  “Is this your life now?”

  Grace was still standing against the wall. She could never mind her own business. Always asked him questions and tried to teach him morals as though she could possibly understand life more than he could.

  “I don’t know.” Peter grabbed a pair of blue jeans and threw the random outfit onto his bed. “Is it your life to find out?”

  Grace held an envelope in the air, locked between her middle and pointer finger. “It’s from that girl.”

  “How wonderful. Another letter from dear Isabella.” Peter approached Grace and snatched the envelope from her hand. “When is she gonna stop this?”

  “She’s trying to be nice.” Grace squinted. “I think.”

  “Sh
e’s only doing it because her all-knowing parents tell her it’s the right thing to do.” Peter frowned at the return address. Ravensburg. Even the sight of the town’s name in writing got on his nerves. Those mega-rich families in Ravensburg always thought of everyone in Brookwood as a charity case.

  “Sure, keep thinking that.” Grace slowly backed out of the room. “And happy birthday by the way.” She paused to close the door in front of her, and her face vanished in a swipe.

  Peter tossed the letter into a metal bin standing at the side of his desk. Inside were stacks of unopened envelopes from the same girl. For nearly two years she’d been writing to him and receiving no replies back. When would she get the point? And who even mailed letters nowadays anyway?

  I don’t know why I bother keeping them.

  Peter shook his head to restructure his mind. He needed to focus on getting to math class as fast as possible, not stressing over another stupid letter. After changing into his red shirt and jeans he fumbled to his desk and opened the top drawer to reveal an assortment of supplement bottles. Normally he’d take only a few at a time, but today he pooled a capsule from each bottle into his hand and chucked them into his mouth at once, chugging his tall glass of water to send them down his throat in a steady stream.

  His textbooks formed a straight tower on his desk, ready for his next study session. Peter scooped the school supplies into his backpack with a lazy arm and rushed downstairs. He hadn’t missed a morning studying session in months, but now he’d broken his streak because his own mom had turned off his alarm.

  Mr. and Mrs. Moon sat in the dining room and watched Peter emerge from the end of the spiral staircase. He made a turn for the entryway, his sneakers squeaking against the marble floor.

  “Wait!” Mrs. Moon raised her voice, hands landing against the glass dining table louder than she’d meant to, judging by the slight whine that slipped between her lips before saying, “It’s your birthday.”

  Peter stopped, eyes running along the abstract wooden carvings in the front door. He gripped the straps of his backpack tighter as Mrs. Moon spoke again.