Vanished (Private 12)

to throw yourself into something new. You know, as a distraction from your misery,” Constance said in an acerbic tone.

I cleared my throat. The fact that I’d made her sound like that made me feel like ralphing. “Is London helping too?”

“Yeah. She’s all into it,” Constance replied. “We’ve been hanging out a lot since you decided to ostracize us.”

She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and I felt her itching to leave. My pulse raced. I felt like the parents in one of those kidnap movies, when the FBI agent tells them to say anything to keep the kidnapper on the phone so they can trace the call. I was so stunned and excited that she’d talked to me for this long, I just wanted to keep her talking.

“Is Missy doing it too?” I asked, deciding not to acknowledge all the accusations.

“Missy? Please. Like she’d get involved in anything that might bring people joy,” Constance said with a laugh. I laughed too. And for a moment, just a moment, things were the way they used to be.

Then something in her eyes changed, as if she realized she was speaking to the devil. She stood up straight and the scowl was back on. “I gotta go.”

“Constance—”

But she was already down the aisle and I suddenly felt a hulking presence behind me.

“Miss Brennan?”

Mr. Barber’s voice sent an unpleasant sizzle of warmth across my shoulders and down my back. I turned to face him. His dark eyes traveled over the half-empty test page on my desk, and his lips pursed ever so slightly.

“Ida M. Tarbell is not our favorite subject, I see,” he said, his bow tie bobbing up and down over his Adam’s apple as he spoke. He lifted the test sheet and looked down at it over the top of his new, gold-framed glasses.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I just … I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“Or perhaps you’ve been spending too much time texting and Twittering and whatever else it is your sad generation does on those contraptions all day long,” he said, glancing derisively at my phone, which I still clutched in my hand.

My face burning, I shoved the phone back into my bag and yanked the strap off the back of the chair. It got snagged three times and finally I pulled so hard I almost knocked the chair over. Mr. Barber calmly reached out to steady the furniture, closing his eyes and taking a long, slow breath. I could practically hear his silent prayer for patience.

“Maybe I could … uh … do an extra-credit assignment?” I said.

“See me after class tomorrow,” he replied, turning around and tossing my paper onto his desk.

“Okay. I will. Thanks.”

I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I slid past him for the door, shoving my arms into my coat as I went, and found Lorna Gross hovering outside, waiting for me. Her long, dark hair was back in a messy bun and she wore a rhinestone headband just behind her ears. Her gray cashmere sweater was adorned with glittery snowflakes and she wore about four strands of pearls. Lorna used to copy her style right out of her BFF Missy Thurber’s closet, but lately she had started to take on a look all her own, and even though it was something I could never pull off, it worked for her.

“What was that all about?” Lorna asked as she tugged on her heather gray coat and donned a pair of furry earmuffs.

“I didn’t exactly finish my test,” I replied, starting down the hall.

Lorna rolled her eyes and scoffed as she sidestepped a couple of senior guys who were barreling down the center of the hallway, oblivious to the world. “Who did? Ten essay questions in less than an hour? Maybe if he let us use our laptops.”

“Really?” I asked as I pushed open the door. I felt a slight surge of hope. Perhaps I wasn’t in such bad shape. But how many questions had I managed to answer before I started to nod off? Four? Five? I swallowed back a sour taste in the back of my throat as I realized it was probably more like three.

“Yeah. Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll get an A,” Lorna said, pushing open the front door of the class building with both hands. “You’re Reed Brennan.”

The comment actually brought tears to my eyes. Was I mourning over the straight-A student I used to be, or feeling guilty because I wasn’t living up to her image of me? I had no idea. Either way, I clearly needed some sleep.

“So … everyone’s wondering. Are we going to have another meeting of the literary society any time soon?” Lorna asked as we descended the steps. They were covered with salt to keep the ice at bay, and our shoes made crunching sounds as we walked. Part of me wanted to shush her. It was a secret society after all. But that was the beauty of calling it a literary society. We could talk about it in public with no fear of spoiling our secret.

But the very thought of the society brought a heavy weight down on my shoulders—the weight of yet another responsibility. I wished I could just put it off until I’d found Noelle, but it had been days since we met—prank meeting notwithstanding—and since none of my Billings Literary Society sisters knew that anything was wrong, they were all still flush with the newness and excitement of our secret endeavor.

“Yeah, actually. I was going to call one for tonight,” I said, seeing my dream of crashing into my bed being pushed further and further away.

“Yeah?” Lorna said excitedly, giving a little jump from the bottom stair to the cobblestone walkway. Her enthusiasm brought a smile to my face, briefly anyway.

I nodded. “I’ll send out the e-mail after lunch.”