by Angel Lawson
Juliette sobs, pressing her face into Finn’s chest. He wraps his arm around her, providing comfort.
Mr. Waller continues, “I also want to add that if anyone knows anything, even the smallest detail, please let us or the police know. Anything could be helpful as we search for answers.”
He steps back from the podium and a voice calls from the crowd. “Wait!”
All eyes shift to Juliette, who is walking up to the platform and is dragging Finn behind her. Chief McMichael steps forward to intervene, but Mr. Waller encourages them forward. After a quiet conversation, Juliette walks up to the microphone, pushing her long, blonde hair over her shoulder.
“As most of you know, I’m Juliette Chandler. Rose is my best friend—well, more sister than friend. I’ve organized a vigil in her honor tonight at the high school. Just a place for all of us to get together and share positive energy that will hopefully guide her back home.”
I don’t miss the best friend/sister comment. I shouldn’t feel petty and territorial at a time like this, but the wound runs deep. Finn looks incredibly uncomfortable standing next to Juliette, like a deer caught in headlights.
“Please join us on the back field at seven.”
She waves and with that, the press conference is over.
“Well, that was rich,” Alice says, a few minutes later. We’ve moved away from the crowd, and my parents have gone over to talk to the Wallers. My friend is busy shooting daggers over at Finn and Juliette. “Way to make this whole thing about you.”
She’s not wrong, but I keep that thought to myself. “Are you going to go tonight?”
“To play homage to a bratty mean girl? No, I think I need to wash my hair.” She studies me. “What? You are?”
“I guess so.” I look over her shoulder and catch Ozzy’s eye. He gives me a tight smile. “I should probably document it, you know, in case we want to use this for the yearbook.”
“See?” she says. “It’s already working.”
“What’s working?”
“That this whole thing is a dramafest. It’s peak Rose Waller.” She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Juliette’s in on it, too.”
“You’re being a little paranoid,” I tell her.
“Am I? How many times over the last three years have those two managed to take over every moment at our school. How many pages of photos do you print of them in the yearbook because of being on the cheer squad or on the homecoming court? They’re vampires, sucking up all the energy for themselves.”
I listen to her rant, one she’s had a million times before—but now the situation is different. Rose is missing. Perhaps in danger or worse. “Alice! That’s enough.”
She blinks.
“I can’t listen to you go off like this anymore. This situation is real, and your grudge is petty and childish in a time like this.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and juts her chin out. “I always knew it would come down to this,” she says. “That in the end you’d pick Rose over me. Even out of the picture, she means more to you than I ever did.”
“That’s not true,” I say, but I’m tired, and Alice’s insecurities are not a priority right now. “I just think that maybe right now, we need to be compassionate and not assholes.”
She snorts and throws up her hands. “Whatever. You know where to find me when she shows up with a fresh tan and a crappy tattoo.”
I don’t chase after her, but I do notice that people heard our exchange, not that I really care. Ready to go, I walk toward my parents' car, but stop short when I see someone waiting for me.
Chief McMichael.
14
Ozzy
I can’t help but overhear the whole exchange between Alice and Kenley. Alice is notoriously temperamental, running hot to Kenley’s levelheaded cool.
“You may want to knock that talk down a notch,” I say when Alice passes me. “Or you’re going to land in trouble.”
“Do you think I care?”
“I think you care about Kenley.”
She pauses, her expression softening. It’s enough of a shift that it makes me wonder if the desire to protect her friend could lead to her having something to do Rose disappearing.
“I just hate how much Rose hurt her, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” And for once, I really do know. That story she told about the girls vandalizing her house…man, that was rough. “But their relationship lasted a long time. She probably hoped to repair it someday.”
That’s something I get, too. I don’t like that Finn and I aren’t friends anymore. Even Ezra. We spent so much time together when we were kids—that bonds you together if you like it or not.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of,” she says, cutting her eyes over to Juliette, who is now talking to a newspaper reporter.
“What do you mean?”
Her lips purse, but then she says, “I saw Kenley and Rose talking last week. A few days before school started. Ken was closing up the pool, and we were meeting to go get some food when she finished. When I got to the parking lot, Rose’s car was there, and I saw the two of them having a conversation just inside the gates.”
Kenley hadn’t mentioned that at all. But why would she? It’s not like we’re confidants.
“Did you ask her about it?”
“No, as you can tell, conversations about Rose don’t go over so well.”
“Because you’re jealous.”
She glares at me, her brown eyes dark and hollow. “I’m not going to deny I have a few insecurities about their old friendship, but it’s not enough to make me murder someone.”
The word hangs between us. It’s the first time I’ve heard it said in this situation. Murder. Well, other than Kenley suggesting that maybe someone pushed Rose off the bridge. Maybe she does know more.
Alice continues, “I just don’t want Kenley to get hurt again, that’s all. She’s too nice and trusting.”
She walks off and as much as I hate it, my big takeaway from the conversation is that Kenley is keeping secrets. I lean back and study the crowd, my gaze passing over Finn and Juliette, the Chandlers, the Wallers, and many other residents of Thistle Cove, and wonder who else has secrets that haven’t come to the surface.
15
Kenley
Once again, fire lights up the back field of the high school, but this time it’s not a raging bonfire and there’s no celebration. The mood has shifted completely—sad and scared, worried and suspicious. It’s weird to think that it’s only been twenty-four hours since we were at the bonfire and now we’re back at that same field for a different reason—to hold a vigil for Rose Waller.
Juliette is running the show, Finn following behind her like an obedient dog. It’s reminiscent of his relationship with Rose over the past few years, although the look on his face with her was affectionate and smitten. In the current situation, he just seems miserable.
Keeping to the edges, I discreetly take photos. It feels morbid, but I consider myself a journalist of sorts. No, I don’t work on the school paper, but I do document history. I also need something to do with myself so I don’t lose my mind.
It’s been a full day, and there’s no information about Rose. No posts on social media, no calls or texts, and as much as I hate going there…no body. The worry I’d been feeling all day is slipping into something else. Terrifying fear.
“Need some help?”
I look over and see Ozzy. He’s not holding one of the candles Juliette had been handing out. His hands are shoved in his pockets. I do see the muted pink ribbon pinned to his jacket. The true color would be “rose” for our missing classmate. The cheer squad is handing them out to everyone as they arrived.
“No, I’m just trying to keep busy, you know?”
“Yeah, I do know.”
He trails behind me as I take a few more photos. Coach Chandler is here, providing support to the players and students. He’s both good looking—like what girls would call a DILF—a
nd reassuring. There’s a strain on his face. A tightness to his grin. He feels what we feel and that’s what makes him relatable.
He’s not the only adult here. Other teachers, like the art instructor, Mrs. Allen. Rose was a talented artist and had been in her class since freshman year. Then there’s Mr. Cortez, the Spanish teacher. Rose was president of the Spanish club. Mr. Russell, the principal, stands to the side, worry etched on his face. He’s probably concerned someone is going to light up the school. It’s valid.
“She really was ‘that girl’ wasn’t she?” Ozzy says, watching me, watch the crowd. “Thistle Cove’s best and brightest.”
A chill runs down my spine when I realize he said it in past tense.
He’s right, though, Rose was ‘that girl.’ It’s obvious from the pile of mementos people brought to the event. Photos of Rose in her cheerleading uniform, with the art award she won the prior year, standing on the field during the homecoming court with Finn, and of course, a large one in the middle of her and Juliette in a tight embrace. Scattered around this are stuffed and plastic unicorns—something she notoriously loved—and a few cupcakes from the diner. All you had to do was scroll down her ChattySnap feed to see what she was into. Rose is one of those high school girls with thousands of followers—letting the world know what products she approves of. Not quite an influencer in the traditional sense of the word, but locally, in Thistle Cove? She had created her own brand and the objects brought here tonight confirms it.
“Can everyone huddle around?” Coach Chandler calls out, using his booming voice. I step forward, squeezing through to get to the front. Ozzy stands next to me.
At the top of the circle I see Reverend Jacobs, from First Methodist. Rose’s family are members, although sometimes it feels more for political show than anything else. Seeing him brings back a flood of memories from our childhood—First Methodist Preschool is where Rose and I met in the two-year-old Lambs class.
I remember the day vividly. Despite the bright colors and alluring toys, I’d been hesitant and scared to walk in the room. I’d been clinging to my mother’s leg as she spoke to the teacher, and I spotted a dark-haired girl with perfect braids watching me. After a moment she walked over and said, “I’m Rose, let’s be best friends.”
And that was it.
Until it wasn’t.
The Reverend starts to speak, and emotion swallows me. It only gets worse when I look across the field and see Finn. Our eyes meet, and he looks so miserable, so sad. My hands tremble, and Ozzy takes the camera from me. Then, to my surprise, he wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close.
“It’s okay,” he says, hand running up and down my arm. He smells good, feels so safe, and I press my face against him. It’s not okay. It may never be okay again, but having Ozzy by my side at least makes me feel like I can at least get through this moment.
I’m an odd mixture of drained and wired when I get home. My parents ask me a dozen questions about the vigil, telling me they’re taking the morning off work to help with the search. We’re supposed to go to school for first period and will be released early afternoon if the Chief still needs our help.
“Go to bed,” my mom says, squeezing my hand.
She doesn’t have to ask me twice.
I don’t turn on my light when I enter, finding solace in the dark. Like always, Finn’s room is closed off to me—the shade drawn—the space between our houses a dark void. I stare out the window as I change, easing out of my jeans and sweater. Unhooking my bra. Everything is dropped in a pile on the floor and I reach for the T-shirt I sleep in. It’s an old college shirt of my mom’s, the cotton worn completely bare, but it’s perfectly soft.
I’ve just pulled it over my head when I see a glimmer of light in Finn’s window. A reflection? My heart pounds and I walk over, bending over the desk and peering out the window.
I see nothing. No one.
I shake my head, thinking maybe I’m confused.
My phone buzzes, skittering on my bed. I walk over and pick it up.
Ozzy: Get home okay?
Kenley: Yes, thanks for checking.
Ozzy: See you tomorrow.
Kenley: Night.
Ozzy: Night.
I put the phone down and glance back out the window. I should close the shade, but I don’t. I want Finn to know that I’m here for him—that my door, well window, is always open.
Even if he’s too scared to open his in return.
16
Ezra
Mrs. Gimple continues on with AP Lit like there’s not a crisis brewing outside these walls. Like the rest of the town hasn’t come to a full stop and a group of two hundred adults is out there combing the banks of the cove, looking for the body of our classmate.
I can’t help but wonder if they’d make the same effort for me?
I assess my fellow classmates, zeroing in on Finn two rows ahead. He came to school today even though out of everyone, he’d get an easy pass. The fact he skipped yesterday was an anomaly. Or maybe he’s like me, knowing that now is not the time to bring attention to yourself. Head down—hood up. That’s the way to proceed while shit is hitting the fan.
I shift my gaze to Juliette, who’s positioned her body in Finn’s direction. For all the crying she did yesterday, her peaches and cream complexion looks as smooth as ever. Since the day she arrived in Thistle Cove, she’s been a series of ticking bombs, each one going off in timely succession. The first was destroying the relationship with Rose and Kenley. The next, alienating everyone else that didn’t meet her standards. With every explosion, their status elevated. There was only one person with a higher profile than her—Rose.
Ozzy, to my left, is one of those that got the cut early on. Quirky and creative, he’d been Finn’s best friend since they were kids, despite the difference in interests. They had one of those yin-yang relationships that seemed to work. At least it did until they got to high school, and Ozzy’s differences made him a social liability. A little too smart and nerdy—not the kid Juliette or Rose would want tagging along.
I lean forward and check out Kenley. Jesus. That girl had no fucking clue how the school viewed her. She was Juliette’s biggest threat, and she eliminated her swiftly. I knew about the spray paint and the shitty words they’d scrawled across the front of her house. People tell me things—it’s like I’m a bartender or barber, but in this case I’m the drug dealer; we just hear stuff. People smoke up and bare their souls. They seek me out at parties and just fucking unload. Rose had been the one to confess that to me on the boat last summer. She was shit-faced and had spiraled into that weird sobbing mess girls get into once they’ve passed three drinks.
They always assume I’m high or drunk, but the truth is, I rarely use. Yesterday had been the first time in months. My dad had been serious about the motorcycle and the football team. I know when to cut my losses.
So when Rose told me about vandalizing Kenley’s house, everything clicked into place. Except one thing, she admitted it was her idea, not Juliette’s.
But that’s the thing about Kenley, she gets under your skin. I know she’s wiggled under mine, but it doesn’t matter. She’s got eyes for one guy, Finn Holloway, and that may have been Rose’s real motivation. Because Finn is like the rest of us. The way he looks at Kenley matches the way that Ozzy stares at her from a seat away, and the way I feel every time she’s near.
I’m thinking about all of this when the intercom over the whiteboard crackles to life.
“Excuse the interruption, but I need the following students to come to Mr. Russell’s office…Finn Holloway,” every eye in the room shifts to Finn, “and Kenley Keene.”
Finn and Kenley barely look at one another, although Juliette reaches across the aisle and squeezes Finn on the arm. I sink back in my seat, relieved and surprised it wasn’t my name called. It’s only a matter of time.
“Well, you two better head to the office,” Mrs. Gimple says. “You can check my website for the homework.”
<
br /> I watch as Finn stands, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. At the door he waits a beat for Kenley to catch up. Still, neither say a word.
I’ve been to the office a dozen times, but Mr. and Ms. Goody-Two-Shoes definitely haven’t. Especially when the stakes are a missing classmate. The door clicks behind them and Ms. Gimple starts back up again, but I can’t focus. I know at any moment there will be an announcement calling me up to the office. I don’t know what Holloway and Kenley did to get called to the office, but I do know one thing; I was the last one to see Rose Waller before she went missing.
17
Kenley
“Any idea what this is about?” I ask on the way to the office. Finn walks behind me, like if he goes slow enough maybe we’ll never get there. “Do you think it’s because we skipped yesterday?”
“They didn’t call Ozzy or Ezra.”
I slow my pace. “Maybe they have news about Rose?”
He sighs, leaning his back against a row of lockers and rubbing his forehead. “This whole thing is crazy.”
I stop. “I know.”
“Where the hell is she?”
“I don’t know. I wish I did, but I have no clue.”
He clenches his jaw, making the lines sharp and his looks deadly. He looks up at me, and it almost hurts to hold his gaze. “I’m sorry about what happened that night—at your house. They’d already done it when they called me to come outside. Probably because I would have told them to knock it off. It was mean, and if I’d known it was going to trigger this…” he searches for words, “…this divide between us, I would have done so many things differently, but everything got so out of control starting at that very moment. Like a runaway freight train. I don’t think I really understand that until the last few weeks.”