Lost Girls(11)

...

I never expected my first class to begin like this. A rabble of papers shuffling, backpacks slamming to the floor, desks creaking as people sat down, mumbling, giggling, whispering, a teacher scrambling to write something on a whiteboard, his back turned. Me entering the room and then a hush descending, all sound disappearing as heads lifted to look at me, until all I could hear were my own footsteps, my own breathing.

Each time, I forced my shoulders back and my head to stay high, although I wanted to cringe.

Everyone was staring at me, open-mouthed, just like Dylan had a few moments ago. I could practically hear their thoughts.

So glad it wasn’t me that went missing.

Thought she was dead.

Wonder what happened to her.

Eyes traveled over me, brushed me and unwrapped me, searching for hidden scars and broken places. I tried to push my lips into a smile, but it hurt too much. So I settled for a stoic expression, one that I hoped communicated strength.

And, right about then, when I was searching for my seat and Dylan pointed toward an empty place—the empty place in the room that belonged to me—right then, the teacher noticed the unnatural silence and turned around. He spotted me, the smile on his face fading and a sorrowful look filling his eyes.

I was stealing everyone’s words today, like this was my new super power.

Finally, the teacher woke up. “Welcome back, Rachel. You’ve been in our thoughts and prayers, and we’re all very glad you’re back.”

And then a really bizarre thing happened. The whole class started clapping. I never thought applause would feel so good, but it was like a drug I’d been craving, like I was an addict and didn’t even know it. Girls got up from their seats and gave me hugs or hastily written notes or a small favor, something they’d been carrying with them for two weeks. Soon my desk was covered with pink wristbands that said, FIND RACHEL. The boys stood awkwardly, trying to see over the girls, giving me a nod and a shy grin, lifting their wrists to show that they were wearing the bands, too. Even my teacher was wearing one.

Dylan came over to my desk then, pushing his way through the cluster of sad-faced girls and making me blush when he rolled up his cuff and showed that he was wearing three wristbands.

I couldn’t speak. It was more than I could take in, that all these kids had been looking for me. It overshadowed everything and gave me hope. I still didn’t know who I could trust or who my real friends were, but I knew I would find out soon enough.

You always find out who your true friends are at lunch.

...

The cafeteria looked the same. Big enough to swallow us all, to contain all of our laughter and teenage angst, to make us feel small and insignificant. I already had my lunch, so I stood in line to buy some chocolate milk, part of me wondering where I was going to sit, the other part wondering where my best friend, Molly, was. I hadn’t seen her yet, but it was possible she was out sick today. She had a problem with asthma, and spring was the worst season of the year for her.

Kyle slid past me then, joking with a group of his soccer/video game buddies. He paused to lean toward me and asked, “Doing okay? Remember, you’ve got my class schedule if you need me.”

I wanted to ask him where Molly was or why he hadn’t told me about those wristbands—and why he didn’t have one, the jerk—and what the heck was going on with Dylan. But my brother just breezed away, laughing when one of his friends tripped and almost fell.

“Little brothers. You can’t live with them and you can’t hang them upside down from the goalposts—even though you want to,” a girl behind me said with a toss of her head. She grinned, waist-long, blond hair falling over one shoulder. Her smile looked different from the sad-girl grins I’d been getting all day. She had on one of those pink wristbands, but she didn’t point it out and she didn’t take it off. Lauren Maxwell, head cheerleader. Not someone who would have talked to me last year and, judging by my behavior this year, not someone I would have expected to be my friend now, either.

“I know you don’t remember me,” she said.

We inched past the glass-covered case, past meat loaf sandwiches and veggie burgers, when she held up her hand, pointing toward a spinach salad.

“Lauren. Yeah, I think we had PE together last year.” And you’re the girl every boy in school wants to hook up with in the janitor’s closet.

She paused, as if fumbling for words. “Dylan said you didn’t remember him, so I guess I should have expected you wouldn’t remember me, either.” She had that sad-girl expression in her eyes now. “We were friends, Rach. Really good friends. I stopped by your house almost every day when you were gone. And I’ve texted you about a hundred times since you got back.”

“My phone got lost when I was—” I could never finish that sentence.

She bit her lip and looked away. Her voice shattered, just a bit, when she tugged at the wristband she wore. “I had everyone looking for you,” she said. “We’d all go out for a couple hours every day after school. And you probably haven’t seen it, but we have a memorial out by the student parking lot, the last place anybody saw you.”

I didn’t know what to say. It seemed like a weird way to prove she was my friend, but she’d always been one of those girls who lived by committee, either running for class secretary or organizing a blood drive. Thank you didn’t feel like the right thing to say, so I just nodded and paid for my milk and a bag of Cheetos that looked too good to pass up. And then it happened again. When I turned around, heads lifted, eyes stared, people stopped talking. It spread across the room from where I stood to the far side of the cafeteria, a soul-stealing hush, one that could make your skin crawl. Whispers started.