Girl Last Seen Read online

  God help me. She simply didn’t understand the symbolic nuance of my version. I tried to be diplomatic, but she thought I was too clever for my own good. For our own good.

  Fortunately I won that battle, though last night Kadence had sung the line as she’d originally wanted to write it. She didn’t make eye contact with me, but she had to know that I noticed. You can’t just rewrite a song. Not once it’s published and out there in the world. I mean, imagine if Dickens retroactively changed the beginning of A Tale of Two Cities to: “It was the best of times, it was the French Revolution times.” Come on. Really? But then, it wasn’t like I had any control over our music anymore. Maybe I never really had. Maybe I’d been part of the audience all along. Singing harmony to the Kadence Show.

  For a long time, I was drawn to the Kadence Show like everybody else. I was so close to her—to that energy that made you feel like your life was amped a few shades brighter than everybody else’s. I got so close that I couldn’t see what it was doing to me. Like Icarus flying too close to the sun.

  There’s nothing like a couple of months of enforced silence and losing every-freaking-thing you care about to stimulate a little introspection. Question: Who was I without Kadence Mulligan? And how could the friend who was more like a sister drop me so easily?

  “Yeah, two weeks. Two weeks is great, Mark,” Charlie says over the phone, sounding relieved. “Thanks. Thanks so much.” He hangs up and turns to me. “Last night was great.”

  “Yeah, it was.” He doesn’t notice that my smile is the fake kind you plaster on just to be polite. The kind that covers secrets.

  Two

  Jude

  Riverview Trailer Park

  Saturday, March 31

  8:17 a.m.

  I slept the sleep of the dead last night. I wake up to the birds chirping. Goddamn birds. I flip onto my back and reach for my iPod. It’s an old one, three versions back. Bought it off eBay for twenty bucks. I turn on some System of a Down. “Chop Suey!” blares through my docking speakers. Oh yeah. I nod my head to the hard beat. Screaming lyrics instead of happy birds chirping. Much better.

  I sink back into the cheap mattress, a particularly annoying spring digging into my back. Dad’s at the other end of the double-wide, no doubt sleeping one off from last night. Nothing will wake him up.

  The memory of Mom’s voice from last summer echoes in my head. “Why do you want to go back to live with your dad again?”

  “Miss my old school.”

  “I thought you hated that place.” She looked away and took a slow drag on her cigarette. Her hand still shook even though she’d been clean for eighteen months.

  I turned my back to her and looked out the kitchen window at the little patch of grass that made up her front lawn. It wasn’t that it was hard to lie to my mom or that I was bad at it. I just preferred not doing it to her face. “I grew up there, Mom. I want to go back for senior year.”

  She sighed, a long breath that wheezed through her teeth along with a cloud of smoke. She padded over in her old house slippers and put a hand on my back. “Fine, honey. I’m just going to miss having you here. You’ve gotten so handsome,” she said with a laugh. “All the girls in town will riot now that you’re leaving.”

  Handsome. I scoff at the memory and get out of bed, the springs creaking in protest as I walk to the mirror. This is the same room I spent my childhood in, back when Mom and Dad were still together. The same room of all those angsty, crap-ass junior high years alone and miserable, cursing my stupid face and skin. My dresser is one of those antique kinds, with the mirror attached. I trace my fingers over the spiderweb fractures fanning out from the spot where I’d planted my fist in eighth grade after Lauren DeSanto screwed me over, helped along by her bitch of a new best friend, Kadence Mulligan. All because of my face. No one called me handsome back then.

  I had acne. And not “Oh poor kid, he’s got some zits” acne. It was the volcanic, painful kind where you have dime-sized lesions that last for a month and leave lifetime scars. Not just on my face either, but on my arms and back too. Christ, even my legs.

  And Lauren, who had been my best friend until seventh grade, dropped me like the proverbial hot potato as soon as Kadence Mulligan came to town. Lauren even started calling me freak. Monster. Creep. And then later, stalker. That was the one that stuck. At the time, I couldn’t believe Lauren could treat me so badly. I thought it had to be because of Kadence. Kadence, so shiny—that was the word for her—but mean to the core. Who knew so much darkness could hide behind a pretty face?

  Oh, wait, I thought, smirking. I do. I know exactly how much a handsome face can hide.

  I look at the image reflected back at me in the fractured mirror. There’s a particularly powerful drug for the worst cases of acne. My dad, in a random bout of giving a shit, didn’t want me to go on it because he did when he was a teenager and it made him depressed. Wanted to kill himself. Almost did. Besides, we couldn’t afford it anyway. But then Mom got a job with health insurance. First thing I asked for was the drug. I promised I’d be extra careful about my moods and let her know if I ever felt off.

  I felt off. I never told anyone. The medication started working, and for the first time since seventh grade, I could see my face again. I was being reborn.

  That was when I first came up with the plan.

  Lauren had never known how right she was when she called me a monster. But I was only what she and Kadence had made me. Whenever my moods went dark, I didn’t think about harming myself. No, not myself.

  I get my video camera—another eBay purchase—from my dresser drawer where I keep it beneath my T-shirts and socks. I tug on some jeans, a sweatshirt, my boots, and then I’m out the door. I leave System of a Down playing on the off chance it will wake up Dad and piss him off. I’m not usually such a dick. Most of the time, I just don’t care enough. But if there’s a passive way to stick it to him…well, hell, why not?

  I grab my coat and jog down the stairs of our rickety trailer. It’s sunny and in the mid-fifties. Warm for Minnesota in late March. I only feel like I can breathe once I’m out in the woods beyond the trailer park. I take the path that only I know and inhale the sharp scent of the towering evergreens. There are the subtler smells of spring too—fresh growth out of last year’s rot. It feels clean out here. It’s good to clear my head, especially on a day like today when my thoughts are so twisted.

  I flip open the viewer on the video camera to watch the footage from last night. I’m suddenly nervous that I forgot to click Record or something else happened to mess up the image, but then my muscles relax as the music comes out of the crappy little speakers.

  I hate hearing Kadence’s voice. She’s so tinny and pop sounding. She’s been total crap without Lauren. Everyone knows Lauren is the actual musician in the group. I might hate her too, but I’m not one to deny talent. Kadence, on the other hand, is more for “show” than anything else. Such a goddamn diva, up there playing her guitar, her burgundy hair catching the lights.

  She’s grinning seductively out at the crowd, making eye contact with every guy there, and probably all the girls too. That’s her specialty after all. Making people want her. Publicity whore.

  There’s a tightness in my stomach and my hands ball into fists, just like they did last night. Just like they did last year when I first saw Lauren and Kadence’s YouTube views start to skyrocket and I knew I had to come back.

  The camera view suddenly swings from Kadence to Lauren, who’s watching Kadence perform from behind the counter. She’s smiling, but I can see past it. She’s miserable not being up there onstage. My gut twists, but not with rage. I click the camera shut and put it back in my coat pocket. I put my palms against my eyes. Damn it, I hate Lauren. Hate her. I’m supposed to be glad she’s suffering. That’s why I did all this. Came back here with my new face.

  For revenge.

  I look aro
und. The woods are lovely, dark, and deep. The line from the Robert Frost poem suddenly pops in my head. It fits perfectly with the scene around me and my mood. Even though it’s early morning, the woods are full of shadows.

  I feel small standing here under so many tall, tall trees, but in a good way. Small like insignificant. Small like I’m just a tiny part of this big world full of growing things. The woods are lovely, dark, and deep. Small like I could get lost out here and no one would ever notice.

  These woods already hold so many memories. Secrets too. It’s lucky the thaw was early this year and the earth soft enough to dig into, I think absentmindedly. I pick at the dirt I wasn’t able to wash completely out from underneath my fingernails. It’s cold, but I don’t pull out my gloves. Instead, I perch on a fallen tree and take out the notebook I keep in a zipped pocket in my coat.

  Lauren was always better at words than me, but I dabble. Poetry mostly. Sometimes it’s the only way to get the storms tearing up my head to calm the hell down. I start to write, and this morning the words are flowing:

  Buried In the Wood

  All the pretty, fragile things,

  are buried in the wood.

  Worms will nestle in your bones

  beneath the earth for good.

  Maybe God will be forgiving,

  though for me, I never could,

  and so in mimicked memory

  I walk upon

  what’s buried in the wood.

  Three

  Lauren

  Cuppa Cuppa

  Saturday, March 31

  Noon

  Cuppa Cuppa’s morning rush is over by noon. We go from every seat full to a half-empty room. Charlie is in the back running receipts while I restock the refrigerator. When my phone rings, I almost don’t hear it in time. I dig it out of my pocket and am surprised to see the words Kady’s Mom on the screen. For a second I consider not answering it. It’s probably a pocket dial. But then I change my mind. It might look strange if I don’t answer. To outsiders, Kady and I are still best friends.

  “Lauren?” She sounds relieved. “It’s Mrs. Mulligan. The Major and I are up in Duluth for the weekend, and we can’t get hold of Kadence. Do you know where she is?”

  I roll my eyes. Her parents can be really overprotective, but it only kicks in at weird times. Like, half the time they have no idea where Kady is and don’t care, then all of a sudden they want to know her every move. Maybe it’s because they had her late in life. Her dad was gone for most of her growing-up years anyway, and her mom is just, well…old and kind of tired all the time. They never expected to have kids, then it was like, oh hey, a baby. Okay, let’s feed and clothe it, and occasionally pay attention to it. If Kady was the way she was…well, no one ever turned out the way they did by accident.

  Though I have to say, her dad has been much more tuned in since our music thing took off. It was like he finally knew what to do with her once he could put her in some kind of category. She was a Talented Kid. He had the TV footage to prove it. And he could be a Proud Dad, talking to all his military buddies at the diner in the mornings about his little girl. Kadence was always going on and on about that, about how much her dad bragged about her.

  Whatever.

  “I don’t know,” I say, as I stock the bakery case with prewrapped sandwiches. “Maybe still sleeping?” It comes out as a rasp, so I clear my throat and say the words again, but they barely come out any clearer.

  “Would you mind stopping by the house and checking on her?” Mrs. Mulligan asks.

  I have to say yes, even though I don’t want to. Sometimes I wonder if I am physically incapable of saying “no” to people. I wonder, because I’ve never actually tested the theory.

  I hate to be mean, but being nice isn’t so great either. It can make you feel like a doormat, you know? My grip on the phone tightens. Was that what I was to Kady all those years? Yes-girl Lauren—does whatever she’s asked, writes the songs, plays the instruments, sings the harmonies like a good little marionette?

  Not anymore. Never again.

  But I don’t say no to her mom. It’s not like she’ll understand the current state of my relationship with Kady, like how we haven’t talked much at all in the last six months. I can’t stop and explain all that to her mom, like how it would be completely awkward and painful for me to show up at their house after the huge fight Kady and I had last week. Or even after last night.

  “Thanks,” Mrs. Mulligan says with a relieved sigh.

  I close my eyes and exhale through my nose. “I get off work at two o’clock. I’ll stop over then.”

  “Oh, that late? Well, I guess that’s fine.” Though she doesn’t sound like she means it. “I’ll keep trying to reach her too.”

  I hang up as one of our regulars steps up to the counter. I give him my best Cuppa Cuppa smile and it feels almost genuine. “Double skim latte?” I ask because it’s his usual, “or can I get you to try some rejuvenating green tea?”

  He makes a scoffing noise. “Tried it. I’d rather lick the carpet.”

  “It’s good for you,” I urge, but I’m already frothing the milk.

  Charlie passes behind me and sticks his nose into the conversation. “You’re…what? Seventeen? Eighteen? What do you care about what’s good for you?”

  “Eighteen. And I’m all about what’s good for me these days, Charlie. It’s my new thing. I don’t even swear anymore. And I’m telling you, too much caffeine is going to kill you. First it’ll be migraine headaches, then brittle bones, and by the time you realize what’s happening, they’ll be carving your tombstone.”

  “Well, that’s cheery.” Charlie drops his ass down on a stool behind the counter and picks at his teeth. “If you don’t like coffee, why are you working in my house of poison?”

  His question catches me off guard. Maybe it’s because I’ve been thinking so much about Kadence, but the question could so easily be turned: Why do you hang out with that girl if she’s poison? Did. Why did you hang out with that girl?

  “Call me a missionary. I’m here to convert. Give me a couple years and this place will be called Lauren’s Tea House and Music Café. Where everyone plays great and stays late.” I was teasing but—hey—I kinda liked the sound of that. Lauren’s Tea House. That would be cool.

  After I hand off the latte, I take the opportunity to slip into the back room and call Kadence. I’m going through the motions here, but I did promise Mrs. Mulligan. My call goes straight to voice mail. Good enough. I did my duty. But then, on impulse, I call Mason. I don’t know why I do it because I’m kicking myself the whole time it’s ringing. An hour ago this would have been like the last thing I wanted to do. Right before losing my fingers so I can’t sing or play anymore.

  Chalk it up to due diligence and all that because I haven’t talked to Mason in over a week. Not since things got weird between us. Weirder than they already were, I mean. Still, he could swing by Kady’s house and check things out for her mom.

  In my nervousness, I knock over a stack of paper cups while waiting for Mason to pick up. Charlie yells, “Keep your mind on your work, girl,” which is ironic because he’s getting high in his office.

  The phone is still ringing. I’m about to hang up when I hear Mason’s voice on the other end. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  And then. Silence.

  Neither one of us wants to hear each other’s voice. I’m embarrassed. Scratch that. Mortified. He’s obviously still punishing himself for what we did. I cut to the chase. “Have you heard from Kady yet today?”

  More silence. Then: “Listen, Lauren, I don’t think—”

  “No, I get it.” I feel my face heat. This is so awkward. “I’m calling because her mom’s worried about her. I thought maybe you’d heard from her. Forget I—”

  “Why is her mom worried?”

  “Becau
se she’s not answering her phone.”

  “It’s only noon.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I wish I hadn’t called. I feel like an idiot. I don’t need to feel like more of an idiot with my sort-of best friend’s boyfriend. I’d checked that off my never-to-do list a week ago.

  “I was going to stop by her house after practice tonight,” Mason says. “I wanted to clear some things up between us.” Pause. He doesn’t have to say anything more. I know what “some things” means. The memory of my first-ever kiss—godforsaken, horrible mistake that it was—has been relegated to just some thing.

  Mason chews his lip. I only know this because I know him so well. That’s what comes from watching someone, studying them really, for so long. It wasn’t a coincidence that when Kadence insisted we write a song about Mason, I was the one who wrote all the best lines.

  “Listen, Lauren. I’m sorry about what happened, but I wish you hadn’t told her.”

  “I didn’t say anything to Kadence. I swear.” Is that what Mason thought? I mean, I don’t think I could bear it if he thought I’d been actively trying to cause a fight.

  “Yeah. Well.” He doesn’t sound like he believes me. “I gotta go.” He hangs up. I stare at my phone a few long moments after the screen has gone blank, then grind the palms of my hands into my tired eyes. The whole situation with Mason had gotten so messed up.

  I mean, yes, I was still trying to figure out who I was. Like, who I was without Kadence. But I never wanted to be that girl. But I had been that girl.

  Not anymore. Never again.

  I claimed I felt sick, and all it took was the threat of throwing up in front of Charlie for him to send me home early. Instead, I make my way over to the Mulligans’ house. When I get there, I sit in my car for a full minute, just staring at their driveway and picking at my nails. Kadence’s car is there. Parked on the far left where it always is.

  But the driver’s door of her car is hanging wide open. It’s as if she gave it a push but was too tired to give it the strength it required to latch. I bet her battery’s dead now. She never did take care of all the nice things she had.