Lost Girls(12)

It’s Rachel, that girl who went missing.

I thought she was dead.

Well, she’s obviously not dead now.

Lauren laid a cool hand on my arm, and spoke softly in my ear. “Why don’t you come eat with me and my friends? They’re your friends, too.”

I took a deep breath and followed her across the lunchroom.

“Look who’s here,” she said with enthusiasm when we reached a table of kids I couldn’t imagine all hanging out together. Besides Lauren, there was another rich, college-bound girl, with glossy brown hair and expensive designer jeans. Next to her sat a shaggy-haired guy wearing horn-rimmed glasses who looked both half-asleep and scarily alert, and another guy who sported thick, muscular biceps and a graphing calculator in his back pocket instead of an iPhone. I recognized Brett, the square-jawed captain of the football team, by his jersey and signature loud voice, but wasn’t sure if I knew the petite, lavender-haired girl, dressed head-to-toe in black.

And then there was Dylan.

I almost dropped my tray.

“Hi,” I said, hoping he didn’t notice the flush that was working its way from my chest to my face. “You guys sure it’s okay if I sit with you? I mean, Molly is probably here somewhere.”

Before I could scan the lunchroom again for someone else to hang out with, the lavender-haired girl jumped up. She gave me a long hug that I thought was never going to end, the scent of patchouli in her hair. “I knew you’d be coming back to school, Rachel. I just knew it!” she said. “We’ve been saving a seat for you all week long, haven’t we, Dylan?”

My heart skipped a long beat when I looked at Dylan.

He gave me a sexy grin and patted the empty chair between him and the lavender-haired girl. At the same time, Lauren grabbed my arm and tried to lead me toward two empty chairs on the other side of the table, where we could sit together.

“Come over here, Rachel. We’ve got so much to talk about,” she said.

I still didn’t know for sure what my relationship with Dylan was—were we boyfriend and girlfriend, had we hooked up once or twice, were we friends with benefits? I wanted to find out.

I pulled away from Lauren. “I’d rather sit here.”

Lauren’s mouth dropped open, probably as surprised by my boldness as I was, but she recovered quickly. She sat across the table, eyes downcast, picking at her salad with a fork.

I slid into place, Dylan’s arm around the back of my chair while everyone said things like, we’ve been looking for you and we never gave up hope and it hasn’t been the same without you. Their eyes told me things their words didn’t, that these emotions were real and that somehow I belonged with this bizarre, mismatched group. Like instant sunshine, warmth washed over me, flowing from my head to my feet. I may not have recognized all of these people, but I knew this was where I belonged.

This was my other family. These were the people I hung out with in the middle of the night, the ones I got drunk and high with. But there was more. A lot more.

I just couldn’t remember it yet. But I knew I would.

Soon.





Chapter Nine


School was over. Cars pulled away, and tires ground over gravel, while the faint scent of spring hung in the air. I stood in the student parking lot, staring down at a memorial. A row of Japanese flowering cherry trees lined the sidewalk, all of them in bloom, all glowing in the sunlight and dropping petals that fell like snow. At the parking lot entrance, beneath the largest cherry tree, there lay bundles of dying flowers and a poster board covered with photos, surrounded by candles, crosses, and strings of rosary beads.

The photos were of me.

“What the heck?” I mumbled as I moved closer to the tree. Notes written to me hung from ribbons tied to the lower branches, tiny white slips of paper that dangled and twisted in the wind.

I turned the notes in my hand so I could read them. Most of them were comments from people who barely knew me.

I hope you’re safe.

We’re praying for you.

Others were long and sincere, almost too painful to read.

You were in my sophomore geometry class and we didn’t really know each other. I wish we had, but now I’m afraid it’s too late...

I miss the way you laugh and how you always used to blame me for using all the hot water when we were getting ready for school...

“Crap,” I said, choking up when I read the last one, knowing it was from Kyle. I recognized his back-slanted, left-hand scrawl. I pulled the note down and slipped it in my pocket.

Most of the other papers were water-stained from the rain a few days ago. One was so blurry it was almost illegible. It must have been one of the first notes hung up. As I struggled to read it, I realized it was a poem and that it might have been written by Dylan. I tugged it loose and cradled it in my palm, wondering what we meant to each other. I had already missed our first kiss. What had that been like? Had it been rushed or long and sensuous? Had it been recent or nearly a year ago? Then I remembered those condoms in my drawer and I blushed, like my life was an R-rated movie that starred somebody else.

That was when I noticed the other notes, the ones that had been posted more recently. These weren’t blurred by the rain and all the letters were large and sharp-edged.

Wish you had stayed dead!

Bitch, go back where you came from.

Hope those kidnappers come back and do the job right this time!