Bellamy Rising

by A. E. Snow

  I felt reasonably certain that he wasn’t dangerous so I answered the door. I had this crazy idea that maybe he was bringing me homework. If so, he was wasting his time because I don’t do homework.

  Cracking the door open just to be on the safe side, I peeped out.

  “Yes?” I stood there for what felt like five minutes before he answered.

  “So, uh, the cops told us that you were the last one to see Jenna,” he said. His eyes were red and puffy like he hadn’t slept in days. It hit me suddenly that he was her stepbrother. Crap.

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s what they told me too.”

  “I didn’t see you at the vigil.” He didn’t make eye contact with me.

  “I was there . . . near the back.” I had no idea what else to say. Should I hug him? I didn’t usually hug people I barely knew. Realizing he was just standing there on the porch, I said, “Come in.” I showed him to the couch and sat at the other end. I threw the afghan out of the way. For some reason I didn’t want him to know that I’d been huddled under an afghan on the couch, terrified of my own shadow.

  “The police don’t know anything,” Mason said, after several moments of quiet with only an old sitcom playing faintly in the background. “They told us they had a few leads, but they haven’t said what any of them are. The only thing concrete anyone said is that they had interviewed the last person who saw her and that it was you . . .”

  “Are they allowed to tell you that?” I blurted. Then I realized what I’d said. “That was super insensitive. I’m sorry, I’m a little bit freaked out.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” he said. “I guess I came over here to see if there was anything you could tell us. Like any information at all since we have nothing right now.”

  I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. “Uh, I don’t know how helpful this is, but she stopped into The Beans on Friday night. It was almost seven. We were about to close and she came in and ordered a gingerbread latte. Then she left. I locked the door and I was flipping the sign to closed when I noticed her standing on the sidewalk. And then a black car came and picked her up.”

  “That’s all?” He crinkled up his eyes, as if both frustrated that I didn’t know more and relieved that I didn’t tell him anything else.

  “Yeah, that’s all.”

  “You didn’t see the driver of the car?”

  “No. I’m sorry that I didn’t really see anything. I obviously didn’t know . . .” I stopped talking before I said something terrible.

  “I know. We are just grasping at straws here.” He let his head drop into his hands just for a moment. When he raised his eyes, they were shiny.

  “I guess so.”

  I waited for him to leave or something, but he just sat there. Nothing that popped into my head felt appropriate to say. I decided to err on the side of not saying anything.

  “It’s just so weird,” he said finally. “I mean, she doesn’t live with us—just visits every other weekend—but it still feels like there is something huge missing. My stepdad hasn’t slept since it happened, and my mom cries all the time. I just had to get out of there and I thought . . .”

  “I understand,” I said with caution.

  “I mean, it’s not like we were super close or anything, but we’ve been steps for six years now.” His voice cracked.

  I had never before noticed Mason or his dark brown eyes.

  “She’s your family,” I said softly.

  “Yeah, she is . . . I just feel so fucking helpless.”

  “I know. I kind of do too. I didn’t know her at all and I feel like I should do something, but—”

  “You have no idea what to do,” he said, finishing my sentence. “Me either.”

  I nodded and let the silence cover us like a balm. The helplessness that he felt was the same helplessness I’d felt when my dad died. I just hoped she wasn’t dead.

  “I know we don’t know each other very well, but if you ever need to talk . . .” I said.

  “Thanks. I guess talking to you is better than talking to Mr. Holland,” he said, referring to the guidance counselor who fancied himself the BFF of everyone in school. “He called me today and offered to talk or put me in touch with a counselor. I guess he is doing his job but . . .”

  “I will try not to be as earnest as Mr. Holland,” I said. It was true, he was very earnest about his job and helping the troubled youths find a path to a bright future and more importantly, feel their feelings.

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.” Mason stood up. “I should go.”

  I jumped up. “You don’t have to.” I don’t know what made me say it, but it came tumbling out of my mouth.

  He sat back down awkwardly. “Okay.”

  I cleared my throat and sat back down too. “We don’t have to watch this.” I changed the channel, leaving I Love Lucy behind. Of course, the first channel I landed on was the local news at 10 p.m. covering the candlelight vigil held earlier. I changed it back to Lucy as fast as I could. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” He stared at Lucy’s antics. “I don’t really want to go home.”

  “No wonder.”

  “This is actually the first real conversation I’ve had all day. Everyone just keeps telling me how sorry they are and bringing casseroles.” He threw his hands up, as if bringing a casserole was the most ridiculous thing to do in a time like this. Maybe it was.

  “I don’t know why people bring casserole in a crisis. Things are usually bad enough without tater tots and potato chips covered with cream of chicken soup and cheese.”

  Mason actually laughed. We realized what we were doing and stopped. Laughing felt wrong and we both felt guilty for it, but it was the first normal moment I’d had since I’d woken up.

  “It’s true, though. Casserole? How does that make anyone feel better?”

  “Did someone bring a tuna casserole?” I asked.

  With a small smile and the hint of a twinkle in his eye, Masson nodded. “They always do.”

  I groaned. “Tuna never helped a thing.”

  “What was school like?” Mason asked, glancing over at me.

  “Weird. It started off normally but by the end of first period, everyone knew. I left early, though. I had to go to the police station.” Talking about it seemed to be what he needed and wanted but it was weird.

  He stared at the ground.

  “I stayed home after that.”

  “I didn’t go. We all had formal interviews with the police today. They’ve been at our house around the clock.”

  “That must suck,” I said, thinking of how uncomfortable that would make me.

  “It’s kind of reassuring, I guess.” He fidgeted with his cell phone, twirling it in his hands. “I’m going back tomorrow, I think.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I need something to do. Maybe AP Calculus will be a distraction.”

  I groaned. “I barely made it through Algebra. Plain old Algebra.”

  Mason’s phone beeped, startling us both. He glanced at his phone. “My mom. I gotta go.” He made no move to leave. The tiny bit of light that had crept into his face was gone.

  Without thinking, I grabbed his hand. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I intended to let go immediately but I surprised myself when I left my hand there.

  Pulling away, I got up, a little unsure. “So I guess you have a curfew or something?”

  He stood up and followed me to the door. “I do now, but I never really needed one before.”

  “I break mine every week.” I opened the door.

  He lingered on the porch. “Thanks for talking to me. It was a little weird . . . me coming over here.”

  I leaned against the doorframe. “I’ve lost someone too. Not that she’s lost.” Heat rose on
my face. “I just mean . . .”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” He paused. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He gave a slight wave before trudging to his car. I watched him leave and kept staring long after he was gone.

  Chapter 8

  I’ve heard before that the first forty-eight hours are critical in a missing person’s case. We were well past that window. In the past few days, search parties had been out all day and well into the night. Dozens of volunteers had shown up to help search and there was talk of dragging the lake. No one talked about anything but the missing cheerleader at school, or anywhere else.

  Still, life went on, though it didn’t feel normal. I got up, went to school, and went through the motions. It was just worse. Homeroom, never my favorite place, was now the class I hated the most as it had the highest concentration of assholes.

  Cam turned around as soon as I sat down. “Hey, Foster?”

  “What?” I asked in a way that wasn’t meant to encourage him to keep speaking.

  “I heard you spent the night in jail and that you know something but you just won’t tell the cops.” His face twisted in a smirk, yet part of him believed what he was saying. “They’re saying your little buddy knows something too.”

  I stared him right in the eye. “Fuck off.”

  “You better watch your back,” Cam said in a voice so low I almost didn’t hear him. “Ethan is my best friend. Everyone knows Mason didn’t get along with Jenna and, well, you don’t get along with anyone.”

  I glared at Cam but didn’t say another word.

  Anger simmered in my stomach the rest of the morning. I counted the minutes until lunch when I could escape my classmates and have some peace in the relative quiet of the library where I’d been spending lunch. In the library, no one asked me about seeing her. I had no idea how that had gotten out, but I obviously had no information.

  With a sigh, I plopped down in the back corner of the empty library. I took out my phone and composed a text to Iris.

  Bellamy: I’ve gone into hiding.

  Iris: What happened?

  Bellamy: What didn’t happen?

  Iris: Where are you?

  Bellamy: My usual spot.

  I put my head down on the table while I waited. Jenna’s smiling face and blond hair appeared again. I sat up and rested my head in my hands, breathing deeply and trying to calm the trembling that always came when I thought of her. I blinked back tears, grateful that Iris was on the way. Five minutes later, she appeared.

  I drew in a shaky breath and rubbed my eyes. “That was fast.”

  She sat down and flashed her hall pass with a grin. “I had office duty and Mr. J loves me.”

  I tried to crack a smile. “Teacher’s pet.”

  Iris rolled her eyes. “So what’s wrong?”

  “People think I did it. I knew they were saying that but . . .” The very idea that people thought I had any involvement in someone’s—anyone’s—disappearance made me tighten my hands into fists. I resisted the urge to punch a hole through the time/space continuum.

  “Why?”

  I reenacted the scene from Homeroom.

  “He was just messing with you,” she assured me.

  “What if he wasn’t?”

  She ignored me. “I wonder who it was. It could be anybody. Not you, obviously, but anyone else. Maybe it was a summer person.”

  “It’s winter.” Good. I still had it in me to be snarky.

  “I know that,” Iris said, rolling her eyes. “I’m just saying that she could have met someone over the summer and had a mad affair and then he, or she, had a jealous rage because she’s already in a relationship.”

  “Actually, that isn’t outside the realm of possibility any more than Jenna getting kidnapped is.” I thought for a moment. “Or vice versa. Ethan was in a jealous rage.”

  “Or she ran away.”

  “Why, though? She runs . . . ran, this place. Jenna Woodson, most popular, most athletic, best dressed, best all-around.” I counted out her superlatives with my fingers.

  “Too much pressure?” Iris countered. “Hey, what about her stepbrother?”

  “Mason? I don’t think so.”

  “Anything is possible. Jealousy? Intense sibling or stepsibling rivalry? Just think about it.”

  “I know him, though. I don’t think he was involved.”

  “Wait. You know him?” Iris pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “Are you friends?”

  “I guess so.” I cleared my throat. “He came over the night of the vigil.”

  “Really?” Her eyebrows pointed toward the ceiling. “What for?”

  A flush spread across my chest and up my neck. “I think he just wanted to talk. He seemed really upset, lost almost.”

  “You’re blushing,” Iris pointed out. “Do you like him?”

  “No,” I said, belligerent. “I mean, I wouldn’t say that. He’s nice. We’ve been talking and he stops by my locker occasionally. He comes in here at lunch too.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Mason Ellis? The intense nerd?”

  “Intense?”

  “Yeah. About his grades especially. He does about five extracurricular activities too. I’ve had two classes with him this year. He’s definitely intense.”

  “Oh.” Fiddling with the lace on my boot, I tried to think of something to say. Iris beat me to it.

  “What do you talk about?” she asked, her tone softened.

  I shrugged. “About Jenna, mostly. He seems like he needs to talk about it and it just feels like we have this weird connection.” I let my head drop into my hands. “This all sounds really screwed up, I know.”

  Iris moved to sit next to me. She threw her arm around me and I leaned my head on her shoulder. “Her friends think he’s involved?”

  “They think both of us are involved. But why?”

  “Maybe they know him better than you. Maybe they have a reason for thinking he knows something. And now you guys are hanging out . . .”

  “What about Ethan?” I asked, throwing my hands up.

  “He has one helluva temper. Did you see him after that championship football game we lost? He went nuts.”

  “Ugh.” Slumping back against Iris, I blinked back a few tears. “This is a gigantic mess.” I wiped the tears away. “Do you think maybe Ethan and his cronies are trying to divert attention away from Ethan himself?”

  The watch she always wore made a soft ticking sound. I listened to the tick tock tick tock, finding comfort in the steady beat.

  “I have no idea,” Iris said finally. “Why didn’t you tell me then? I know how you are. You never tell me about these boys because you think I’m judgy.” Iris tried to mask the hurt in her voice.

  “I don’t think you are judgy and there is nothing to tell.”

  “Bellamy.” Iris grabbed my hand. “How well do you know Mason? Is there any possibility . . .?”

  I knew what she meant and I didn’t want to think about it. “I don’t know. Maybe. He gets really angry when we talk about what everyone is saying.”

  Wrapping her arms around me, Iris gave me a bear hug. “I gotta get back to the office. Just think about it, okay? I know you want him to be a good guy—”

  “He is a good guy!”

  The library door banged open eliciting a “Shhh” from the ancient librarian and Mason appeared.

  Iris glanced at me and whispered, “Be careful” before standing up to leave.

  “Hi,” she said to him on her way out the door.

  “Hi,” Mason said and headed to the table to sit. “The phone records came in and there was nothing.”

  “Nothing? I said. “There has to be something.”

  “Nothing at all.”


  “Do they have anything else to go on?”

  “Nope.” Mason had dark circles under his eyes and his shoulders slumped as he stared at the floor. “Should hear something about her computer today.”

  “Mason?” I said. Our eyes met. “You need some sleep.”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “I just couldn’t spend another second in the cafeteria.”

  “Why not?”

  “Didn’t want to sit and listen to the gossip anymore.”

  “They are gossiping about her already?” I was genuinely surprised.

  “Yeah, almost everyone on the football team claims to have ‘made it’ with her. I don’t know if it’s true or not but I don’t want to hear that about my stepsister.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. I thought they’d at least wait a few months.”

  “I wish. How are you?”

  “I’m tired of avoiding people’s accusations, silent and otherwise.”

  He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m really sorry you got dragged into this mess.”

  “Don’t be sorry. None of this is your fault. I just hope that the cops found anything I said useful, which is not something I’d ever thought I’d say.”

  “Let’s talk about anything else.” He pushed his hair back and ran his hands over his face like he was resetting.

  “How’s AP Calculus?”

  I figured he would laugh. Instead, he tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. “Not bad at all. I’ve gotten A’s on everything this semester.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Well I knew you were smart but you are really smart, aren’t you?”

  He almost laughed. “I do okay. You’re smart too.”

  I did laugh. “I’m street-smart. Like Aladdin.”

  “There’s more to you than that,” he said, his voice soft. Mason looked at me, really looked at me, like he saw past the bravado, the rebelliousness, and saw the me underneath.