“Rory? Where’re you going?” Aaron asked.
“Home,” I said, staring at the sidewalk as I turned right and started down the hill. “I don’t feel well.” Major understatement. I felt nauseous. And tired. And nervous. And confused.
He jogged to catch up with me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Let me walk you.”
I sidestepped away. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine,” I told him tightly.
“Okay,” he said, gripping the strap of his bag with both hands. He stood in the center of the sidewalk as he watched me walk away, a confused and slightly hurt look on his face. “Hey! I was going to ask if you wanted to go to the fireworks together later!”
“Sure!” I shouted back, mostly to get him off my case.
“I’ll come by and get you at eight!”
“Okay!” I yelled, quickening my pace.
All I wanted was to get off the street. Get back to my room. Sit down and think. Nothing made sense right now. Not Darcy deleting Olive’s existence from her memory. Not Tristan and his friends’ constant staring. Not the cops’ complete disregard of my fears. Not Joaquin showing up at the boardinghouse or Mrs. Chen’s explanation that Olive was better off wherever she was now. And what was with that storage room in Tristan’s house? Why did Fisher have that guy’s hat? And what did all those Steven Nell mementos have to do with all this?
As I stepped up to the gate in front of our house, a curtain moved in a window across the street. Instantly, all my confusion and terror formed itself into one giant ball of anger, and all of it was directed at Tristan. He knew something. I was certain of it. And I was going to make him tell me.
I stormed across the street, up to the front door, and banged on it as hard as I could. Pain radiated up my arm and into my shoulder, but that only made me knock harder. I was starting to wonder if his nanna really lived there. If anyone really lived there. Or if he was just squatting in the house so he could keep an eye on me. Or on Olive. Or on everyone.
Suddenly, the door flew open, and there stood Tristan in all his tanned, blond, chiseled perfection. His white T-shirt brought out his bronze glow, and when he pushed his golden hair away from his face, it fell right back where it had been, grazing his incredible cheekbones. He looked me up and down with a sort of resigned sorrow on his face. It was clear that he was not at all surprised to see me.
“Hello, Rory,” he said.
“Visiting Nanna?” I said sarcastically.
He simply stared, like such behavior was beneath me. And he was right. I gulped back my humiliation. I was here for a reason.
“What do you know?” I demanded.
“What do I know about what?” he asked calmly.
“Olive!” I said, irritated. “Where did she go after the party at your house? Where did you take her?”
His blue eyes darkened. “What makes you think I took her somewhere?” He started past me, but I stopped him with my hand to his chest.
“I saw you leave the party with her.”
He paused and stared down at my fingers. I couldn’t help but notice how solid his chest was. Slowly, shakily, I removed my hand.
He narrowed his eyes and blinked up at the sun. “We didn’t leave. We went outside to hang out with some friends on the bluff.”
“In that fog?” I demanded.
“Visitors always want to check out the fog,” he said, sounding mildly amused, like we vacationers were some kind of lesser, ignorant subset of humanity.
“And then?” I asked.
Staring into my eyes, he shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “It was a party. There were dozens of people there. I can’t keep track of everyone.”
“Yeah, well, she’s missing.” I said. “And as far as I know, you were the last person to see her.”
Tristan shook his head, looking at some point over my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
“Great!” I said, tears suddenly springing to my eyes. He looked down at me, alarmed. “Just like everyone else in this messed-up town. What is wrong with all of you? How come no one cares that people keep disappearing?”
I brought my hand to my head and turned away, kicking at an empty wooden-plank planter near the edge of the front step. I expected Tristan to walk away to avoid my meltdown, especially since it was so clear he’d wanted to escape even before I started crying, but instead he reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. His fingers were so warm I could feel their heat through the fabric of my thin hoodie. He tugged, forcing me to face him.