“It was interesting,” I told Sundog. “Being in Enzo’s apartment was like being in his mind.”
I stopped.
I thought about what I’d just said.
I had an idea.
• • •
“I was thinking,” I said to Enzo.
“Oh?”
I had an hour before I got off work. Enzo sat in his usual booth, drinking coffee and waiting for my shift to end. I pretended to wipe down the table next to his, even though it was already clean and no one was watching me.
“You can tell a lot about someone by where they live.”
“I guess so.”
“All their stuff is there. Like, if something mysterious is going on with the person, you’d probably find evidence in their bedroom or whatever.”
Enzo raised his eyebrows. “Get to the point, kid.”
“Well, don’t you think we should check out Lizzie’s apartment?”
Enzo didn’t reply, and I feared I’d crossed some sort of line. Maybe going to her apartment was too much of a personal invasion. Maybe he didn’t want to take me that deeply into Lizzie’s world.
“It was just a thought,” I said, backtracking. “We don’t need to.”
“No, you’re right. I haven’t been there since…before.”
“Is it too weird?” I asked.
“No, it’s a good idea. The police might have missed something. We can go tonight.”
“We can get in?”
“I have a key,” Enzo said.
That gave me pause. He had a key to her apartment. I wanted to ask if she had a key to his place too, if she could go there anytime she wanted. If she could drive over on a whim, simply because she wanted to be in his home, surrounded by his art, surrounded by the Enzoness of it all.
“Hawthorn?” Enzo asked.
“Sorry. Just thinking. Yeah, let’s go tonight.”
An hour later, we were on our way to the place where Lizzie Lovett lived. I hoped we’d find something telling. Maybe an essay titled “Where I’d Go if I Ever Turned into a Werewolf.”
• • •
Lizzie’s apartment was only a couple blocks from the Sunshine Café. The building was old and run-down, not much better looking than Enzo’s.
“Lizzie Lovett lives here?” I asked.
“The diner doesn’t exactly pay well.”
We got out of the car, and Enzo led me to a ground-floor apartment.
“Why didn’t you two move in together?” I asked.
Enzo hesitated. “I don’t think either of us was really at that place yet.”
I wanted to ask a million questions, like what was preventing him from being at that place, but we’d arrived at a door, and Enzo was putting his key in the lock.
“I feel like we’re breaking in,” I said.
“Yeah, well, I’m sure the cops wouldn’t be thrilled to find us here.”
But he opened the door anyway and gestured for me to go ahead. I stepped into Lizzie’s apartment. It was dark and silent. Behind me, Enzo fumbled with the light switch.
When the lights came on, I imagined it would be like the curtain rising on the show of Lizzie’s life. I’d cross the threshold and step into Lizzieville. Instead, I found myself looking at an apartment that was bare except for a few pieces of furniture.
“Someone cleared it out,” I said.
“No. This is how she keeps it.”
“What?” It seemed impossible. There was no clutter, no art on the walls, no dishes in the sink. Everything was impossibly clean. “It’s like this all the time?”
“She started going through this Spartan phase a little while ago.”
It could have been a hotel room. Completely impersonal, a place you don’t intend to stay very long.
The apartment was only a little bigger than Enzo’s, but the emptiness made the difference seem vast. I walked through the living area and into the bedroom. Enzo followed behind.
The white comforter and pillowcases made Lizzie’s bed look like it belonged in a hospital. The only other furniture was a nightstand. But on the nightstand, there was finally a sign of life. A picture frame—an indication that Lizzie had loved ones. I picked the frame up. There was no photo in it.
“What used to be in here?”
“A picture of the two of us,” Enzo said. “Lizzie’s mom gave it to the police.”
I wondered if it was the picture I’d seen in the newspaper right after Lizzie had gone missing.
“How does she live like this? There’s not even a TV.”
“She doesn’t spend much time at home, I guess.”
“You guess? She’s your girlfriend.”
“I don’t make her report every detail of what she does when we’re not together.”
“But you must have some idea,” I pressed.
“She goes hiking. She reads a lot. There’s not that much to say.”
I knew all about reading a lot. About how it could take you to a world that was better than the real one. A world where there were adventures and mysteries and magic. Except, of course, books ended eventually, and then you had to go back to being yourself.
“It’s kind of like she was living in a prison cell,” I said. “I’d be too freaked out to sleep here.”
Enzo shrugged. He opened a drawer in the dresser, closed it, and opened another. “Nothing scares Lizzie.”
A memory suddenly came flooding back to me.
“Did you know she made it to the second floor of the Griffin Mansion?”
“The what?”
“The mansion on the hill. The founder of Griffin Mills haunts it or whatever. Kids dare each other to go in, but no one usually makes it past the entryway. Except I heard Lizzie did.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Enzo said. “How far did you get?”
“No one’s ever dared me to go in. You have to have friends for that.”
That wasn’t exactly true though. In the third grade, Robbie Larson, who lived down the street, dared me. I was too afraid to take the challenge. High school kids snuck into the Griffin Mansion. Or middle school at the very least. I wasn’t ready for it. And I figured it wasn’t a big deal, because I’d have plenty of chances to make up for it when I was older. But, of course, I never did.
It taught me a good lesson about taking opportunities when they’re presented.
“Why do you need someone to dare you?” Enzo asked.
“What?” I hesitated, poised to open the closet.
“If you want to do something, just do it. You don’t need someone to dare you or give you permission.”
“Is that what you do?” I asked.
“No. But I wish I did.”
Enzo reached around me and opened the closet door, which distracted me from our conversation. There were clothes and shoes and even some books on a shelf. It was a normal closet. I pulled out a long, flowy dress. It was pale yellow. Lizzie would have looked like sunshine wearing it. I put the dress back and pulled out a crocheted top. A worn pair of jeans. A soft blue T-shirt.
“Hey, look at this,” Enzo said.
He pulled a book from the top shelf. I looked over his shoulder. It was a yearbook.
“That’s not from Griffin Mills,” I said.
“No. Somewhere in Pennsylvania. Middle school, it looks like.”
“I don’t really know anything about Lizzie before she moved here.”
“Let’s see what we can find out.”
We sat next to each other on Lizzie’s bed. It felt like maybe, probably, a terrible thing to do. Being alone in Lizzie’s apartment, alone on her bed, with her boyfriend. Going through her things. But I figured since we were doing it to help her, Lizzie would understand. At least, I hoped she would.
Enzo flipped through the yearbook until he f
ound Lizzie’s class. He traced his finger over the names.
“Wow.” He pointed to Lizzie’s picture.
It was Lizzie. Same flawless skin. Same wide eyes. She was in seventh grade but didn’t seem to be going through the awkward puberty phase that the rest of the girls in her class were experiencing. Which figured.
Except it wasn’t our Lizzie. It wasn’t the cheerleader Lizzie I’d known or the laid-back Lizzie Enzo was dating. Thirteen-year-old Lizzie had dyed-black hair chopped off at her chin. Her eyes were ringed with heavy liner. Her nose was pierced.
“Did Lizzie have an emo phase?” I asked. In slightly different circumstances, like if Lizzie wasn’t missing, it would have been hilarious.
“This is just…weird,” Enzo said.
“It’s like every few years, she becomes a different person.”
I stared at the picture, trying to make sense of it. Make sense of her. Then something clicked.
“Think about it,” I told Enzo. “Lizzie was born a werewolf. So she’s always had this duality, probably always felt like part of her was pretending to be something she wasn’t. So she tried on different personalities, never guessing that she’d never find one that fit. Not until she had her first transformation anyway.”
“Yeah,” Enzo said, still flipping through the yearbook. “I guess so.”
“I want to see if there’s anything like this in any of my werewolf books.” I jumped to my feet. I was suddenly buzzing with energy. We’d found another piece of the puzzle. We were one step closer to solving Lizzie’s mysteries.
“I actually think I’m going to stay here,” Enzo said quietly.
“Oh.”
“I kind of want to be around her stuff for a while longer.”
I deflated. He’d rather be around the idea of Lizzie than chase a lead with me. Who would have thought you could be rejected for someone who wasn’t even present?
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “Don’t you need a ride home though?”
“I can take the bus.”
I hesitated in the doorway.
I was stupid. I’d been so happy to have an ally that I’d let myself forget why Enzo was hanging around in the first place. It wasn’t about discovering magic. It wasn’t because he felt some kinship with me. He missed his girlfriend. He missed his girlfriend, whom he loved very much, and he wanted to find her. I was just a means of making that happen. I was a pit stop on the road back to Lizzie.
“Really, it’s OK,” Enzo said. “I’ve taken the bus from here a million times, kid.”
“Yeah. Of course you have. I’ll give you a call later, OK?”
Enzo nodded and looked back at the yearbook. I left him sitting in Lizzie’s sterile, white apartment.
There was a weird feeling in my stomach that I tried to ignore.
Chapter 18
Full Moon
At work, Christa was babbling about how she had so much to do to get ready for her cousin’s bridal shower and how her cousin was being a bridezilla and checking her registry, like, once an hour to see what gifts had been purchased. Which made Christa not want to throw the shower at all, but she had to. I nodded like I cared, even though weddings are not at all interesting to me.
“Want me to take your shift tonight?” I asked. I got off at eight, and Christa was scheduled to close. “It sounds like you could use a few extra hours.”
“That’s sweet, but you don’t need to do that.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Hawthorn, you’re seventeen, and it’s Saturday night. You have better things to do than hang out with Vernon.”
The thing was, I didn’t. I’d rather be at work than sitting at home feeling sorry for myself, because what could be more boring than that? I thought about telling Christa that, but she’d maybe, probably, think I was a loser, because she likely always had weekend plans when she was my age.
“Yeah, I guess I do have plans,” I mumbled.
“A date?” Christa asked, her eyes all sparkly at the prospect of gossip.
“Not really.”
“You aren’t still hanging out with Lizzie’s guy, are you?”
No one had sat at the counter since I’d last wiped it down, but I grabbed a cloth and hit the Formica with some elbow grease.
“Enzo, you mean? We hang out, but it’s not like that.”
“Good. You should be dating someone more…wholesome.”
I frowned. “What if the wholesome boys don’t like me?”
“Then make them like you.”
“What if I don’t like them?”
Christa laughed and patted me on the back. “We’ve all had that problem.”
She wandered to see if Vernon needed anything, and I continued to clean.
Did Christa really think I could just make someone like me? It sounded like something Lizzie would say. It wasn’t that simple. Either someone liked me or they didn’t, and it was out of my control.
Or was it? Christa was the kind of person who’d probably show up to a party whether she was invited or not. And she’d be so friendly and easygoing that no one would think anything of it. Christa accepted everyone, so everyone accepted her too.
Maybe it was my own fault that I didn’t have a real boyfriend. Or friends. Or a social life. Maybe I should have been putting myself out there instead of waiting for people to come to me. If I had nothing to do on a Saturday night, maybe it’s because I wasn’t really looking.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I went into Mr. Walczak’s office and called Enzo.
“Hello?” he said, sounding like I woke him up, even though it was evening.
“Do you want to go to a party tonight?”
• • •
The scene at the Barn was pretty much what I expected: drunk teenagers making stupid decisions while listening to bad music.
Enzo and I parked and walked across the empty highway toward the lights and noise. The full moon was high in the sky, and I wondered where Lizzie was and if the moon was on her mind too.
The barn doors were thrown open, creating a sort of half-inside, half-outside party. There were people everywhere. Small groups leaned in to hear each other over the sound of the band. Other kids were dancing and playing drinking games that had rules I’d never been taught. Enzo and I passed a girl who was on all fours, puking beside a trash can instead of into it. I was finally experiencing the sort of party I’d seen in a thousand movies. And I didn’t particularly like it.
“I can’t believe I’m here,” Enzo said, leaning close so I could hear him over the music. “When I was a teenager, I had nightmares about places like this.”
“We’ll just stay long enough to hear the band play, OK?”
“I’m the oldest person here,” he said, looking around like he expected the police to jump out of the bushes and arrest him for being too adult.
“Well, everyone here hates me, so we’re equally out of place.”
I strode into the barn like I had purpose, because I didn’t know what else to do. We squeezed by a group of football players and their girlfriends who were clustered around a keg. One of the guys shouted, “Holy shit, Hawthorn Creely at a party?”
“Don’t you have werewolves to hunt?” one of the girls taunted.
I ignored them and kept walking.
It was warm inside despite how cool the night was. The whole place reeked of beer. A stage was set up opposite the doors, and a band was playing. I didn’t see Logan though, so it must not have been Strength in Numbers. I looked around for something to do or someone for Enzo and me to talk to, and even though I recognized almost every face, there wasn’t a group we could join.
Enzo and I stood awkwardly at the edge of the crowd, and I was thinking what a mistake it was to have come when I heard someone shout my name in a much friendlier way than the jock outside had.
Emily ran up to me and gave me a hug. “I can’t believe you came!”
I was pretty sure she’d been drinking. Otherwise, she looked like regular Emily, wearing a peach cardigan. That made me feel better. Normal.
Logan was right behind her, and she introduced me to him, even though technically we’d met before. Then I introduced both of them to Enzo.
Emily was polite. She smiled at Enzo and told him it was nice to meet him. I was probably the only one who noticed that the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Or that Emily, with her impeccable manners, hadn’t offered to shake Enzo’s hand.
“Hey,” Logan said, “aren’t you the guy whose girlfriend is missing?”
I could tell how uncomfortable Enzo was without even looking at him. It’s like the feeling was radiating off his skin. “Yeah. I am.”
“That sucks, man. I’m really sorry.”
“Thanks.”
“So, are there, like, any updates?”
“No,” Enzo said, glancing around the room as if not looking at Logan would make him disappear.
Emily and I looked back and forth between them. I wished for something clever to say that would take the whole conversation in a new direction, but instead, I just stood there.
“You think an animal got her?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s harsh. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
Enzo ended the conversation by saying he was going to find us some drinks. Emily, ever helpful, pointed him in the right direction. For the second time in just a few minutes, I felt relieved.
“Why did you bring him here?” Emily asked as soon as he was out of earshot.
“I didn’t want to come alone.”
If it were any other time, she would have pressed the matter, and it would have turned into an argument. But we were at a party, and no one wanted to think about unpleasant things.
“You’re not alone,” Emily said, putting her arm around my shoulder. “You have me.”
I laughed and squeezed her back. The alcohol was probably responsible for her uncharacteristic display of affection, but I’d take what I could get.
• • •
An hour later, Logan’s band was onstage, and I was probably the closest to drunk I’d ever been, which was OK, because I felt great. Strength in Numbers was better than I thought they would be, Emily and Enzo were getting along, and I’d stopped caring about everyone else and what they thought of me.
The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett Page 13