Vanished

by E. E. Cooper

  “If it’s okay, I’ll take a couple pictures now with my phone so I can post a teaser about the auction and start drumming up interest around school and online,” I said.

  “You know where Britney’s room is, so I’ll let you pop up on your own. I still find it hard to go in there.” She reached over and squeezed my hand. “Thank you.”

  I didn’t have anything to say to that. I squeezed her hand back and grabbed my purse off the floor.

  I slipped into Britney’s bedroom. As always, it looked like it was taken right out of a magazine spread. I pulled open Brit’s closet and took a moment to drink it all in. There are people who live in apartments that are smaller than Britney’s walk-in. It had drawers, shoe racks, and a floor-to-ceiling mirror with a light that you could turn to different settings to see how your outfit would look in daylight versus evening. Each of the drawers had a lavender sachet tucked inside so her things would smell fresh.

  I pulled out Brit’s newest purse, arranged it on a bright pink scarf with some designer sunglasses, and took a picture. I grabbed a few other things and did a quick photo shoot. I sat on the tufted bench in the closet and uploaded the photos to our school events page with an announcement, and hummed under my breath. Another piece was in play.

  Monday morning I got to school early. I scanned the street across from the student parking lot. The school administration had forbidden reporters from being on school grounds. For the first several days after Brit’s supposed death, there had been a collection of vans with satellite dishes and small white tents set up clustered across the street. Now it was quieter, but there were still a couple of reporters around. They’d probably been stationed there just in case Beth finally came back or Brit’s body was found. Or maybe they were hoping another student would jump.

  I spotted the guy who’d approached me on the steps that very first day after Brit was gone. The one I’d almost hit with my car. Derek, he’d said his name was. I jogged over.

  Derek was sitting in a metal folding chair that was sinking into the ground. He had a cigarette hanging out his mouth, and he paused every so often to tap the ash into a dented Mountain Dew can that was balanced on his crotch. He raised an eyebrow when he saw me.

  I passed him one of the flyers I’d made the night before. His eyes skimmed over it.

  “An auction, huh?”

  “The Ryerson-Matsons and I are hoping to raise money for Britney’s foundation. I thought you might want to promote it.”

  “Maybe.” He dumped the cigarette butt in the can where it went out with a hiss. “Does it come with a statement from the dead girl’s best friend?”

  Classy. “It could.”

  Another reporter who had been listening in elbowed her cameraman and approached. “Would you mind if I filmed your comments?” she asked.

  I bit my lip. “I don’t know.” I didn’t want to come across like I wanted the limelight, but I’d been counting on an on-air opportunity. What good was the show if Britney couldn’t watch it?

  The woman crunched her face into an expression I think she hoped would mimic concern, but actually made her look constipated. “Think how a few words on television could help spread the news about your auction thingy.”

  I’d barely nodded before a bright light was shoved in my face.

  “Tell us about your relationship to Britney,” the reporter said. Derek stood behind her with his recorder.

  I fingered Britney’s scarf that I’d tied on that morning. I knew she’d recognize it instantly. “I like to think I was one of Brit’s best friends, but I know I failed her.”

  “Can you tell us what you mean?” The reporter had almost perfectly square white teeth. Her smile reminded me of one of those creepy wind-up monkeys with cymbals. The kind Stephen King wrote stories about.

  “Britney always seemed so perfect. And she was special, she really was. Everyone looked up to her. I think most of us wanted in some way to be like her. The problem is, she wasn’t perfect; she was human like the rest of us. Even those of us who loved her best—we never realized how much she might need us too. We let her down. I let her down.”

  “Do you blame yourself for her suicide?”

  I forced my voice to shake and looked down as if I was about to break into tears. “People keep talking about why Britney killed herself, but they’re missing what’s important. They’re focused on the last thing she did in her life instead of looking at the whole picture. Brit made one horrible mistake. One I know she would take back if she could. Don’t judge her by that one desperate decision. I don’t.”

  They let me say a few words about the online auction, and I nodded to show I was done. When the camera light went out there was still a white dot in the center of my vision. A blind spot.

  I spelled my name for Derek and for the woman from the cable show. Derek passed me one of his cards in case I wanted to talk to him again.

  That’s all it was. One bad decision. Regrettable. Not something Britney would have done in normal circumstances. Certainly nothing for her to ruin her life over. Didn’t she know her other best friend would be here for her?

  Come back, Brit.

  Believe me.

  Come back.

  I was going to have to run to make it to homeroom on time. I grabbed my bag and turned to sprint, then jerked to a standstill. Zach was across the street, staring at me. He must have seen me standing in front of the camera. He looked at me like I was a slimy bug he’d discovered when he turned over a rock. Before I could reach him, he turned and walked away.

  I didn’t bother to chase after him. He wasn’t interested in listening, and there was no way he’d believe the truth.

  WTF?! B’s parents are selling her stuff??? Like, all her possessions, everything? How could they?

  I smiled at the screen and sipped the lemon spice tea my mom had brought up to my room to help me sleep. I kept thinking about how we should do something for Brit, something nice in her memory. I think she’d really like this, I wrote.

  I don’t know, she typed.

  To be honest, I think her parents need the help. They’re not doing so great. You can tell they’re just sick about all of it. I think they regret being so hard on her all the time. Her mom said something like they wish they had a chance to do it all over.

  They wanted to push her, Brit wrote, so she could be the best.

  It looks like they pushed her too far. And anyway, Brit was the best.

  I saw you on TV. What you said about her was really nice.

  Ugh. I hate those vultures, but I had to do something. It’s like people here are already forgetting her, I typed.

  What do you mean?

  You don’t know because you’re not in school, but it’s like people are all ready to move on. They have the attention span of gnats. Get this: they’re talking about changing the prom theme. People don’t want the one Brit picked because they think it might be too depressing.

  Oh.

  And you should see Jason and Sara, I wrote. I see them walking the halls holding hands and making out like they’re auditioning to be cover models on a romance novel. They make me sick.

  She’ll be sorry. Once Jason goes away to college in the fall he’ll drop her flat. Sara’s going to discover that no one trusts a bitch who would steal another girl’s boyfriend, Brit wrote.

  Unless Jason doesn’t go away. I heard he’s thinking about deferring admission and taking classes here in town for a year or two, I lied. I hate that by dying, Brit let them win.

  He got into an elite university and he’d go to some rinky-dink community college for Sara? What is it about her? Does she piss glitter or something?

  I didn’t respond. The cursor blinked on the screen. I pinched the pocket watch pendant and waited her out.

  You still there? Brit asked.

  I waited another minute. Patience.

  Kalah?

  I have to talk to you about something, I wrote. You know I love you and I want you to come back . . . I let the dots
trail across the screen.

  But?

  But I’m mad at you. I’ve tried to not be. I don’t want to be, but I am. We’re best friends, and that means I have to be honest with you.

  What did I do? I told you, I’m sorry I abandoned you.

  It’s not that. It’s what you did to Brit, I wrote.

  But that was Sara.

  Yes, but Brit told me that she confronted you about Jason after you left and you cut off all contact with her. If you guys had just talked then she wouldn’t have taken that last step. Can’t you see how you ignoring her just made it seem even more like you were the one who had betrayed her?

  Brit should have known I wouldn’t do that, Brit protested.

  You can’t blame her for believing you and Jason might have been hooking up. What was she supposed to think? You used to push her buttons all the time. Annoying her was funny to you. The idea of you being with Jason isn’t completely ridiculous. It’s not like someone already having a girlfriend was enough to stop you from fooling around in the past. You knew how much Jason meant to her, and you couldn’t be bothered to reassure her because you were so busy with your fun new adventure. Britney deserved better than you gave her. You were a shitty friend, Beth.

  I know, she wrote.

  I wish I’d told her when I had the chance that I’d have done anything to help her through what happened with Jason. I wish she knew that even though she’s gone, she can still always count on me.

  Brit always knew she could rely on you.

  You don’t know that. We’ll never know what she thought. I missed the chance to tell her, to make sure she knew without a doubt that I would always have her back, no matter what.

  My fingernail snapped as I jammed down on the keys. I tore the broken part off, wincing at the sharp pain. What I was writing wasn’t a total lie. While trying to convince Britney that I was her closest friend in the world, I might have uncovered another truth. I was still mad at Beth too.

  Beth had known Brit was upset, and upset for good reason, but she’d laughed off Brit’s anger and protected Jason instead of telling the truth right away.

  And I was mad at myself too. I’d been so focused on Beth I hadn’t seen how close Britney was to the edge. I hadn’t wanted to get mixed up in another one of their fights. If I hadn’t been so busy obsessing over Beth and trying to figure out what to do about Zach, then maybe I could have stepped in and defused things before this all happened.

  Before things were forever fucked.

  I picked up Roogs and buried my face in his fur. I needed to stay focused. I took a few deep breaths and then went back to the computer.

  Sorry, I typed, slower this time. I had to get that out. I didn’t want it to be between us.

  I’m glad you told me, Brit responded. Now we can move forward from here. No secrets.

  No more secrets.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  When I got home from school the following day, I went up to my room and stopped short in the doorway, my body on high alert. Someone had been in my room.

  It wasn’t trashed. No one had dumped out my desk drawers or thrown everything in my closet onto the floor, but it felt wrong. Things were just slightly out of place, moved only enough to be noticeable to me.

  I was compulsive about the things I kept on my dresser. I liked them arranged a certain way. My field hockey trophy needed to be lined up square with the upper corner. The silver hairbrush that belonged to my grandma had to be sitting horizontally, directly below the trophy, next to my jewelry box. The small ceramic bunny my dad gave me when I was five had to sit at an angle so I could see his face when I was lying in bed. Yes, it was weird that it had to be like that, but it was like that. Always. But not now.

  I slowly turned the bunny so he was at the correct angle. I hoped that would make me feel better, but I still could feel the wrongness of the room. The bedspread, which I always tugged all the way up, was folded back a few inches. My mouth tasted funny, almost electric, as if I’d been sucking on pennies. I stepped forward slowly, like I thought someone might be lurking in the closet, waiting to attack.

  I reached for the things on my desk, but I was almost afraid to touch them. My fingers hovered above where my papers were still stacked, but I was almost sure they weren’t in the same order. The window blinds were open all the way. I never left them like that. Never.

  Thinking someone would break into my room just to rearrange things a touch was paranoid. Nuts. A prickle of sweat broke out under my arms.

  Not someone. Britney. Somehow she knew I was lying to her, and this was a warning of what she could do.

  I had to calm down. Brit couldn’t have broken in. She was too far away. The things out of place were just a coincidence, or a trick of the imagination. There had to be another explanation.

  I started organizing my room. I needed things to be back the way they were supposed to be. It felt as if my skin was smoldering beneath the surface, all itchy and wrong. I shook out my folders and reordered the papers, tapping them each six times before tucking them back in.

  I ripped the sheets off the bed. I didn’t want to sleep on them. I hated the idea that Brit might have been here, looking through my things. I shoved the sheets into the bathroom hamper and pulled a clean set from the closet.

  I twisted the blinds almost shut, trying to get the right angle. When I couldn’t get it at first I almost started crying in frustration.

  When everything was back the way it was supposed to be I thought I would feel the tiniest bit better, but I still felt horrible. It being right now didn’t undo the wrongness that had been there. My heart was racing.

  I sat down and tried to do the deep breathing that I’d learned years ago with Dr. Sherman. But I was shaking harder, breaking down. It wasn’t working. I could feel control slipping out of my grasp. It felt like I was hanging off the roof of a hundred-story building and my fingers were sliding off one by one.

  My breathing was coming faster. I worried my heart might explode out of my chest.

  I dialed the phone. It took me two tries to hit the numbers right. When it went to voice mail I jammed the off button and called again. And then again. I gripped the phone like it was the only thing holding me in place.

  “Kalah, I meant it when I said I needed some time,” Zach said instead of hello when he finally picked up.

  “Help,” I gasped. I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs to say more.

  “What’s wrong?” Zach’s said, his voice instantly concerned. “Wait, never mind, where are you?”

  “Home,” I whispered.

  “Do you need me to call the cops? Or an ambulance or something?”

  “No. You.”

  “Stay on the phone. I’m close to your place. I’m on my way.” I could hear him grabbing things. “I’ll keep talking to you until I get there, okay? You don’t have to say anything, just let me know you’re there once in a while.”

  I gripped the phone like it was a life jacket and my ship had just gone down. I couldn’t focus on what he was saying, but he kept talking in a soothing voice, keeping me from sinking. I heard his car squeal into the driveway within minutes.

  “Kalah?” Zach yelled as he came through the front door. His feet pounded up the stairs. My door flew open and he spotted me on the floor. I must have looked as bad as I felt because his eyes grew really wide. He crouched down next to me. “Are you hurt? Should I call nine-one-one?” His hands patted my sides as if looking for a bullet wound.

  I shook my head. Every nerve in my body was on high alert. “Panic,” I gasped out.

  “Panic attack,” Zach finished. I’d told him about them, but he’d never seen one. Even though I knew it was all in my mind, it felt impossible to stop it. I was trembling and sweating. It seemed possible I might die.

  Zach looked scared, but he sat down on the floor and pulled me between his legs so that my back was against his chest, and wrapped his arms around me.

  “Try to breathe with me,” he s
aid. He took a long breath in and held it for a beat before letting it out. I tried to match it but couldn’t. My entire body was shaking. “Shhh, you’re okay. I got you,” Zach murmured.

  I tried to tell him I was sorry, but I couldn’t get the words out.

  “Don’t talk. Don’t think. Just breathe. We’re going to get through this together.” He took another deep breath in and out. I did the best I could to clear my thoughts and parrot his breathing. Time slowed down.

  I closed my eyes and slowly felt myself start to calm. My heart no longer felt like it was straining out of my chest. I relaxed into Zach. His familiar smell helped. I became more aware of how close we were, how the heat of his body warmed mine. Zach’s thumb slowly rubbed the back of my hand.

  I sat forward, putting some space between us. “I’m better now,” I said. I was embarrassed and grateful and mad at myself all at the same time. Why did I have to have this problem? Why could no part of me be normal?

  Zach leaned against my bed. He let out a shaking breath. “That was freaky.”

  “Sorry.” I pulled my knees up and rested my chin on one. My shirt was stuck to my skin with sweat. Great. No better way to see your ex-boyfriend than while having a panic attack and sweating like a freak.

  I tried to explain. “I wouldn’t have called you, but my parents are at a cooking class. Nadir is too far away to do anything. I didn’t know who else to call.” The fact that there was no one else in my life that I could reach out to said a lot about how shitty things were going. “Thank you.” I felt a chill where his warm body had touched mine just seconds before.

  Zach shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t mind that you called.” He looked like he minded. He looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor, which made two of us hoping for a magical way out of this awkward situation. “What happened?” he asked.

  “It’s a panic attack. They just happen sometimes.”

  Zach raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Out of nowhere?”

  No way I was telling him that I was freaking out because I had a feeling that Britney had been in my room. He’d think I was losing it.

  “I’m okay now,” I said instead. Part of me hoped he would push, that he’d beg me to tell him what was going on. I wanted to tell him everything. I needed him on my side.