Above the tree-line, the stadium lights illuminate the sky, and the harmonized thuds from the marching band echo through the car before the parking lot comes into view.
I find an empty space and squeeze my SUV between two minivans, each one with colorful window decals displaying their school spirit.
Wherever students place on the complex rungs of social hierarchy, most can be found supporting the Menteuse Minks every Friday night, even if their percentage of wins isn't that impressive. We take pride in our school, and especially in our players. That includes Jordan Pacey.
I scan the crowd and wave my pass at the ticket stand, before making my way to the bleachers. I'm not sure where she sits, but her bouncy auburn waves shouldn't be hard to spot.
The stands are packed as I probe the perimeter, with more spectators lining the fence around the field. Suddenly, the crowd goes wild. Their arms flail in the air as if they're driving away swarms of mosquitoes, their mouths chanting "touchdown" as we score against South Liberty High. I stand on my tiptoes and crane my neck, but there's too much commotion to make sense of faces.
"Arbor Hayes, Arbor Hayes, wherefore art thou, Arbor Hayes?" Mey's hands circle her mouth like a megaphone, her voice rising above the crowd.
Shit. I don't have time for this. I'm not here on a social call.
Reluctantly, I step onto the bleachers and swallow my irritation. "There you are. What's the score?"
"Thirteen to thirty-seven. It's the end of last quarter and we're winning. Can you believe it?" She grins, her dark eyes twinkling in the glow of overhead lights. "And guess whose boyfriend is the star of the show?" She points to herself with both thumbs before I can answer.
I barely keep the sarcasm from my voice. "When isn't Kobe the star?"
"Oh my God, right? If they could figure out a way to clone him, we'd win every game. Oh, wait. Then there'd be all sorts of girls going after my men. Never mind, bad idea." Mey inches over and I press myself in between her and a pimple-faced sophomore I recognize from lunch. "I thought you weren't coming tonight?"
"Guess I changed my mind. Is Smith still here?"
Mey points toward the mob of boys huddled along the sidelines. "He's down there with Lance and a bunch of their macho cronies. I swear, testosterone surges like a tsunami when boys congregate for sports." She gives me a goofy grin and rolls her eyes. "Does he know you're here?"
"I wanted to surprise him." It's a lie, but just a little one. "Have you seen Jordan Pacey around?"
Mey's perfect eyebrows scrunch in my direction. "That's random. Why are you looking for her?"
I shrug, and turn away. "No reason. Are we going to Porkie Pies later?" I ask, referring to the popular diner that attracts half the student body after every home game.
"Don't we always?" Mey flips her dark hair over her shoulder and studies me, her scrutiny intensifying. "Do you think if we invited Emma, she'd come?"
I let out a loud snort. "I seriously doubt it."
Mey opens her mouth, shakes her head, an invitation for me to go on.
And there's so much I want to say, but it's not the time. I need to hold onto my suspicions and see what else I can find I out. So, I settle on the truth for a change. "I told her about me and Smith."
Just as expected, Mey freaks. Her eyebrows disappear beneath her bangs and her jaw drops. "Was she upset?"
"You can say that. I don't think she's talking to me."
"Oh no." Her face blanches. "Maybe I don't want details. I'm not sure my heart can take it," she says, grasping her chest.
She stares off into the field but I doubt she's watching the game. Her wheels are spinning, trying to process what this means. How the situation will impact our otherwise tight-nit group of friends. Besides Emma's disappearance, nothing's ever jarred us before.
"You're not still worried about Smith, are you?" she finally asks.
I shake my head. "It's not that." There's something much bigger going on inside my head.
"Because I can talk to him if you want me to."
My eyes about jump out of my head. "Absolutely not! I was overreacting the other day. Stupid PMS. I'm good—cross my heart. Let's just forget about it, okay?" I draw an invisible cross over my chest, hoping to drive my point home.
Mey doesn't look convinced, but she drops the subject.
The crowd grows restless as they count down the seconds with the scoreboard. When the buzzer alarms, its roar thundering through the stadium, a collective cheer rises from our side of the field.
"We won!" Mey's arms fly around my neck as she screeches in my ear, our conversation temporarily forgotten. She pulls away and gestures toward the field. "And would you look at the ass on number 33? I love you, Kobe Newman!" she screams, as though he can hear her.
I continue to scour the throng of football fans as we overrun the field, Mey's arm hooked around my own, pulling me along, but I don't see Jordan anywhere.
"You made it!" When Smith sees me, he grins and holds his arms wide open. I slump into them, and press my head to his chest. "I'm glad you're here," he whispers into my ear. Even with everyone around, the caress of his breath across the sensitive stretch of skin sends a current of electricity along my limbs. They tingle and twitch, and I'm grateful he's holding me up so I don't have to.
"Good game, my man." Lance gives Kobe an enthusiastic fist bump, while Mey throws herself into his arms.
"You had the cutest butt on the whole field!"
"Thank you for noticing my contributions to the game." Kobe clutches his helmet between his arm and his side. "But if you're that impressed by my backside, you should get a load of my guns."
When he strikes a pose, Mey lets out an obnoxious giggle. "Don't worry, I have!" She nuzzles her face into his neck.
Lance's lips fold into a frown. "Can you guys be disgusting later? I haven't eaten since lunch."
"I'm gonna grab a quick shower first," Kobe says, releasing his hold on Mey.
"We'll grab a table and you guys can meet us there," Smith suggests. He hooks his arm around my shoulders as we trail behind the crowd toward the parking lot. "Do you want to leave your cars here?"
"Sounds good to me." Lance stuffs his keys into his jacket pocket.
As he and Smith carry on about the game, I'm still searching for signs of Jordan, but I don't see her or her friends anywhere.
By the time we're settled in at the diner, a square table with five chairs crammed in the center of the congestion, it's not any better. Jordan's nowhere in sight, and the chances of seeing her now are growing slimmer by the minute.
Smith hands over a menu but between the clinking of plates and rambunctious conversations, I can't concentrate on the words. Not that I'm hungry. The aroma of hamburgers and coffee is enough to turn my stomach. Even Kobe and Mey's arrival doesn't snap me out of my funk. My gaze continues to dart around the restaurant with no luck.
"Who the hell are you looking for?" Mey finally asks. When I turn to her, every eye at our table is on me.
I press my lips together, try to shrug it off. "No one. I'm just reading the menu."
Lance reaches over, flips the menu in my hands right side up. "That might help."
My heart plummets to my stomach. "I guess I am distracted."
"Ya think?" Mey raises a sculpted brow and sips her water through the straw.
"Hey." Smith grabs my hand, and holds it between his. It's soft and warm, with the subtle scratch of calluses from lifting weights. "You alright?"
I need to come up with something fast. Not let them know what I'm thinking. "I had an argument with my mom before I left."
His forehead creases with concern. "Is that why you came to the game?"
I nod, grateful he made that assumption on his own. "We rarely fight."
I hate throwing Mom under the bus like that. It's a shitty thing to do, but it's for the greater good. Everything I'm doing is. I need to keep telling myself that.
"Please. I fight with my mom all the time. She can be such a drama queen." Mey rolls her eyes and tucks one leg underneath her. "At least your mom is cool. I'll bet everything will be back to normal by tomorrow morning."
"Thanks." I force myself to study the menu, when something out of the corner of my eye snags my attention. The door swings open and Jordan walks in with a couple of friends. They scan the crowd and wave, joining a group of girls scrunched in at a table not too far from ours. Laughing, she plops onto another girl's lap, oblivious to my staring.
I lean back, rub my hand against my jeans. It's sweating.
"You kids know what ya want?" A middle-aged waitress with an Appalachian twang pauses at our table. She has a writing pad in one hand and a pencil in the other. A wad of gum snaps between her teeth.
As my friends place their orders, I can't turn away from Jordan's face. There's an air of nonchalance about it, as if all is right in the world. When in fact, the entire world is fucking falling down around our feet.
"Do you want anything?" Smith nudges me with his knee.
Shit. "I'll just take some fries." I slap the menu shut and hand it to the waitress.
Smith gives me a funny look. "What about your usual milkshake?"
Something twists in the pit of my stomach. "I'm not in the mood." A lump of frozen cream pooling at the bottom of my gut doesn't sound appetizing at all. To be fair, neither do fries. I only ordered them to blend in. A normal person doing normal things, and not someone who's up to no good.
"Speaking of moods, you've been in a weird one lately." Mey gives me a sideways glance and innocently chews on her straw. When her gaze connects with Kobe's, he shakes his head and turns away.
There's something about their interaction that makes my heart skip a beat. I swear to God, if Mey told Kobe what I said about Smith, especially after I told her to forget it, I'm going to kill her.
But I can't get distracted. Right now, I need to deal with Jordan. I just have to find a casual way to get her to spill her guts.
And then the spark of an idea catches in my head, and the more it ignites, the more I'm convinced it will work.
I bite my bottom lip, and thread my fingers through my hair. "I'm not in a weird mood, but I have been thinking. Wouldn't it be fun to go on a triple date?"
They all turn to stare at me. Again.
Mey scans the table before speaking. "What do you mean?"
"A triple date. As in three couples going out and having fun together?"
"Uh, Arbs, I'm no math genius, but I think you've miscalculated," Lance says in an amused tone. "One of us does not have a significant other. And by one of us, I mean me."
I can't even look at him. "Maybe we could set you up?"
Kobe's face brightens. "That's not a bad idea. What about that foreign exchange student from France? She's hot." Mey's elbow jabs into his side. "I mean, she's okay. I think. I've barely noticed."
"Colette?" A grin slides across Lance's face. "She's in my American Lit class. Hell yeah, I'd be down for that."
Everyone laughs except for me. "What about Jordan Pacey?"
They stop laughing.
An uncomfortable silence settles over the table. Finally, Smith shrugs. "I mean, it's not a terrible idea. She is cute." He gives me an awkward nod yet I get the impression he's only agreeing to save me from a cross examination.
Mey's face scrunches in confusion. "Is that why you've been looking for her?"
My heart races. "Maybe?"
"Jordan Pacey?" Kobe lets out a sudden laugh. "You can't be serious. She's never going to say yes."
"Bruh." Lance gives his shoulder a shove. "I'm sitting right here."
"Nothing against you, pretty boy. Don't get your panties in a bunch," Kobe says, ruffling Lance's dark blond hair.
My shoulders deflate, and for some reason, a wave of defensiveness crashes into me. "What's the problem then? Smith just admitted she's cute."
"It's not that." Kobe continues to laugh. "It's because she's a vagitarian."
Seriously? He did not just say that. I shake my head, pushing past his ridiculous explanation. "Who cares if she's a vegetarian! What does that have to do with anything?"
"Not a vegetarian," he corrects. "A vagitarian. Get it?" His incessant laughter grows louder, and the table next to us turns to stare before diving back into their mountain of nachos.
My face is on fire. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Do I really need to spell it out for you?" Kobe leans across the table, his voice an exaggerated whisper. "Jordan isn't into dudes. She likes girls." He enunciates each syllable to make sure I understand.
Surprise unfurls in my stomach. "How do you know that?"
He sits back, drapes an arm across the back of Mey's chair. Shrugs. "I thought it was common knowledge. Think about it. Have you ever seen her with a guy?"
I don't know Jordan well, but I consider his question. And he's right. Not one time do I recall hearing her name associated with a guy's.
But so what? Plenty of kids at school don't date. Not being linked to a member of the opposite sex doesn't define someone's sexuality. And even if Jordan does like girls, who cares? It's her business.
But there's a nagging sensation in my gut that won't let go. My memory stalls at Emma and Jordan's fight in the locker room. And how later, when I questioned Emma, she lied and blew me off.
And what about the strange things Jordan's been saying?
Before Emma disappeared, there were things she didn't want me to know. Things she must not have trusted me with. Or maybe, she was too ashamed to admit.
But I can't make sense of why. What have I ever done to make her feel like she couldn't be honest? We've been best friends forever. If you can't trust your best friend, who's left?
There was only one thing I ever kept from her. One thing. But it wasn't because I didn't trust her. It was because I didn't want to hurt her.
My gaze travels across the diner, my brain muddled with too many questions, only half-seeing, half-hearing, what's going on around me. Until Jordan Pacey comes into view. She's watching me, her green eyes narrowed, mouth fixed in a rigid line.
It shouldn't scare me, but it does.