Mom stares at me, her back pressed against the kitchen counter, her jaw cemented open at an awkward angle. "I can't believe Emma's alive. Tell me again what her parents said."
We've gone over this half a dozen times. I suck in a breath and try not to sigh. "I couldn't get much out of her mom, but when Mr. Navarro pulled up, he was on the phone with the police. He said Emma was found in Kentucky near a national forest."
"A national forest—is that what he called it?" Mom whips out her phone and types into the search engine. "Does the Daniel Boone National Forest sound familiar? This website says it's federally-owned land within a 2.1 million acres proclamation bounty." She glances up from the screen. "Doesn't that mean it's owned by Native American Indians?"
I shrug.
"And that's where she's been all this time?" Her brows scrunch together. "Is it possible she got lost?"
"What would she be doing out there by herself? It's like an hour away from where her truck was found. Plus, he said she was barefoot. It doesn't make sense." I slide my elbows across the granite island and rest my chin in my hands. "Her parents are on their way to the hospital. They want to be there when the doctors run tests."
Mom stares over my shoulder, her eyes unfocused. "This is unbelievable. I honestly didn't think they'd find her —" She cuts the sentence short, her gaze meeting mine.
"Alive?" I finish for her. My stomach dips at the thought.
She makes a cringey face and shakes her head, the blunt ends of her hair grazing her shoulders. "It's just, when someone vanishes into thin air like that..."
A knot tightens in my chest.
When Emma disappeared last March, I read that 90-percent of missing people are runaways. That's a higher number than I expected. But there's no way Emma took off on her own, she has too much going for her here.
Our town isn't big, but it is well-to-do. From a sociological standpoint, Menteuse is considered upper middle class. It's manicured street after manicured street of haves, not have-nots. The biggest worry most residents have is which restaurant to order take-out from.
Not only that, but Emma was well-liked by teachers, had lots of friends, soccer ... and Smith.
"And she texted you?"
Mom's question pulls me out of my head, and I have to clear my throat. "Yeah. When I was at school. Which, by the way, I'll need a note for. I left without telling anyone."
"Given the circumstances, I'm sure they'll understand." Mom snorts and brushes back her glossy black bob. She's striking to look at, all blunt lines and sharp angles. Same as her architectural designs. "Does your father know yet? He's always had a soft spot for Emma. She's practically a member of our family."
"I'll call him in a few minutes." I stand up and stretch, arching my back until a series of tiny pops release the tension along my spine.
Mom shudders as she moves toward the fridge. "Would you please stop doing that? Your father used to crackle and pop like a bowl of cereal."
Whenever she mentions Dad now, it always comes out as "your father", the more reserved title she christened him with after their divorce. When he remarried just shy of a year later and my stepsister Rowan came along, Mom became increasingly formal. She doesn't pay Meredith, my stepmother, much attention, but she tolerates Rowan okay. Probably because I adore her.
We may only share our father's blood, but Rowan is the spitting image of me when I was seven. Blonde hair, and blue eyes the same shade as the summer sky. She's perfect.
"What do you want for dinner? I can make spaghetti," Mom suggests. Her head is tucked into the fridge, and a wave of cool air rushes over me.
"That sounds good."
She pulls out lettuce, cucumbers, and tomatoes and sets them on the island. "Will you start the salad?"
"Can it wait a few minutes?" I check my phone. "Smith said he'd call after student council, but that ended an hour ago."
"Sure." Her expression softens. "Does he know yet?"
I swallow and stare at the digital clock on the stove, avoiding her eyes. "Yes, but I want to fill him in on everything else I've learned."
Another lie. That makes three, and the day's not even over.
Between our phone call earlier and the texts I sent as more information rolled in, Smith knows as much about Emma's reappearance as I do. But there's an uneasiness in my stomach that's not letting up. I need to speak with him, to figure out how he feels. As easygoing as he is, he sucks at sharing his emotions, and I need him to be honest with me. Because if this changes things between us, I need to know before I fall even harder—if that's possible.
I bolt up the stairs and Cooper, my cat, squirrels his way inside my bedroom before the door closes. On the third ring, Smith picks up. "Sorry, the meeting ran late. I'm just now leaving. How are you?" A car door slams shut between his quickened breaths, like he just ran from the school and through the parking lot.
"I'm okay. How are you?"
"Still in shock. Everyone is." His breaths begin to slow. "Is there any more news?"
"Not since my last text."
"Did they say if they're bringing her home tonight or if she'll have to stay in the hospital?"
"They probably don't know yet themselves." I pause, and bite my lip. Gather my nerves. "Did Emma contact you?"
It's something I've been wondering all afternoon, but couldn't get myself to ask. I figured, if she did, he'd tell me. But now I'm not so sure. What if he doesn't want to hurt my feelings? Or what if he expects him and Emma to pick up their relationship where they left off?
His engine roars to life, and the air turns on full blast, the steady rush of humming in the background. "I haven't heard from her, but I'm not surprised. I imagine there's a lot going on."
"I'm sure you're right." I pace around my room before sinking onto the edge of my mattress. Cooper jumps onto my lap, his white tail flicking as he waits for me to pet him. "Would you tell me if you did speak to her?"
There's an awkward pause on the other end. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"
The knot in my stomach tightens. "I don't know. I guess I'm a little worried. Don't get me wrong—I'm beyond happy Emma's coming home. It's all I've wanted since she disappeared. I just don't know what this means. For us, I mean."
There. I said it. Laid it all out in the open. And now I want to disappear because I can't believe this is an issue. My best friend has come back from the dead. I should be thrilled. I am thrilled. So, why can't I stop thinking about Smith?
"Arbor ..." He sighs. "Let's concentrate on one thing at a time. But just so you know, this doesn't change how I feel about you. We'll figure it out. Okay?"
My face is on fire. I'm sure if I looked in the full-length mirror on my closet door, it'd be bright red.
Instead, I shift away from my reflection, knocking Copper from my lap.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ..." I can't finish, so I change the subject. "Do you want to come over later? I'll make chocolate chip cookies and we can watch reruns of Friends."
Smith lets out a groan. "I wish I could but I have an environmental science quiz to study for. Maybe this weekend?"
"Sure. No big deal." Even to my own ears I sound defeated, and I force my tone into something more upbeat. "I'll see you in the morning, then."
"Bright and early. And Arbor?" Smith pauses just long enough to irritate the jitters in my stomach. "Sleep well."
Even though he can't see, I find myself nodding. "You, too." When my phone goes black, all I can do is stare at the screen, and try to prepare myself to do something I don't want to do.
When Emma comes home, I'll have to let Smith go.