You Have a Match(73)

The chill that goes through me is more immediate than the one from Polar Bear Swim, more ancient than anything I can shake off. “She hasn’t been with me at all.”

There’s a beat, and then Mickey starts whisper-screaming, “Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit—”

“When did you last see her?”

“She was outside the cabin, taking the call, and I was—I didn’t want to hear it, I…” Her face has gone ashen. “She was trying to get better service and walked out toward the main office, and that’s it. That’s the last time I saw her.”

Only then do I remember the flash of her phone number lighting up my screen, right before I fell from the tree. I pull out my phone and call her back, Mickey’s eyes glued to me for the few long seconds it takes.

“Voicemail,” I mutter.

Mickey looks like she’s about to bawl. “Rufus wanted to go with her, but I was feeling sorry for myself, and I made him stay and cuddle with me. Oh my god. Oh my god—”

“It’s okay,” I hear myself saying. The girl with angry parents in the car, and a wrist ballooning more by the second, and a brain that’s basically in free fall, is telling someone it’ll be okay. “We’ll find her. Is there some kind of camp protocol? Anyone we’re supposed to call?”

Mickey sucks in a breath, drawing herself up and blinking until her eyes are clear. “Yeah. I’ll go tell Victoria.”

“I’ll…”

Mickey is full-on sprinting away already, leaving me in the dust. I stand there, glancing back to see if my mom has followed me. But it’s only Rufus, staring at me fully alert, sans slobber or stolen camp paraphernalia in his mouth, like he’s waiting for a command.

My parents are gonna kill me.

“Let’s go.”





thirty




I’m not a runner, but today I sure as hell am. Rufus starts sprinting ahead of me, recognizing the trail I’m headed for before I reach it, and my adrenaline somewhat cancels out the pain of my wrist. Whether it’s going to cancel out the pain of being grounded for the rest of my life is another matter entirely.

What’s strange is that I’m not panicking. Maybe it’s naive, but I know that Savvy is okay. First of all, if she were really in danger, she would have called an authority figure long before she called me last night. And second of all, I doubt there’s much this island could throw at Savvy that she doesn’t have some solution for hidden in one of her leggings’ pockets.

Rufus and I make slow but steady progress, kicking up mud from last night’s rain. The trail is way more slippery than I remember. I nearly topple over twice and actually do a third time, just barely catching myself with my unmangled hand.

Still, even with the mud working against us, we make it up to the abandoned archery spot Savvy showed me within minutes. We pass the tree where Savvy’s and Mickey’s names are carved into the trunk and skid to a stop—at least, Rufus does. My feet stop, but my body doesn’t, the mud creating some kind of nature-made Slip ’n Slide. And before I know it, I’m slip ‘n’ sliding right to the edge of the spectacular view of camp, and kissing it goodbye as I swoop down, down, down on my butt, finally coming to a stop with a muddy thunk at the bottom of the minicliff.

Once I’m pretty sure I have stopped sliding into an abyss of mud, I open my eyes to see one mucked-up, frizzy-haired, wild-eyed Savannah Tully, who is—praise be to Gaby the camp ghost—very much intact.

“First off, are you okay?” she asks.

I am too embarrassed to answer, knocking my head back into the mud and feeling it congeal in my hair. She correctly interprets this as a yes.

“Second off, please for the love of all that is holy tell me you brought help.”

Rufus lets out a woof, before promptly disappearing from our sight.

“Other than Rufus, whose last two brain cells are committed to eating strangers’ iPhones.”

I close my eyes. “No.”

There’s a silence, and then: “I am so fucking hungry. Abby. I’m at the level of hungry where I might actually eat you.”

“I’m not Instagrammable enough to eat,” I mumble, still too humiliated to move. “There’s some gum in my pocket?”

“You’re dead to me. Hand it over.”

I pull myself up with my good arm and reach into my front pocket, pulling out my lanyard and some admittedly warm cinnamon gum that’s been chilling there for I’m not sure how long. Savvy rips open two pieces and crams them in her mouth, half crying, “God, I wish this were food.”

“Well, people definitely know you’re missing now, so I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before—”

“People only just started looking? Are you kidding me? I’ve been stuck down here for—what the fuck time is it, anyway? My phone’s dead.”

I reach for my phone, but it’s not in my back pocket. Savvy’s eyes go so wide and murderous on mine that I almost want to strangle myself so she doesn’t have to put in the effort.

“It must have slipped out of my pocket when I fell.”

“Dead. To. Me.”

“Fair enough,” I say, trying to scoop as much mud off my legs as I can manage. “But for what it’s worth, I’m really glad you’re okay.”