“Let’s go back home and call Emma,” Pao said, her alternating worries about her two best friends making tears spring to her eyes. She folded the blanket to give her nervous hands something to do. “Maybe her parents wouldn’t let her go out and she couldn’t get ahold of us to say.”
“I bet that’s it,” Dante said. He didn’t tease her about overthinking it, and he picked up the cracker wrappers without Pao having to lecture him about the river’s delicate ecosystem, so she knew he was worried, too.
It almost made her feel better.
They were just turning their backs on the river when Pao saw it: a shadow on the opposite bank. Only a silhouette against the sunset from here, but definitely a person lurking behind some reeds. Is it Emma? Pao wondered, squinting. Maybe she just hadn’t spotted them. But Pao stayed quiet as she pondered, some instinct stopping her from calling out.
It didn’t take long for her to realize that the shape was larger than Emma, and it wasn’t a girl, either. What was the guy doing? She would have assumed he was fishing if the pesticides in the river hadn’t given all the fish three heads. (Not literally, of course. The toxins in runoff hurt fish by depleting oxygen in the water, but genetic manipulation was, as far as Pao knew, a fantasy.)
If this were one of her graphic novels, Pao and Dante would go up to the guy and follow him into some surreal situation that would end up with them magically finding their missing friend.
But this wasn’t a book, and Pao had to admit she was a little freaked by the prospect of talking to a random stranger, even though Dante was with her. “Should we…go find out if he’s seen Emma?” she asked him, wanting to appear braver than she felt.
“Yeah, right,” Dante said, taking her arm and pulling her away as quietly as possible. “Are you nuts? We’re going home to call her.”
“Fine,” Pao said, pretending to be irritated. But deep down she was glad he’d given her an excuse to walk away.
Just before they were out of sight, Pao turned back to look. The sunset was fading, the reeds were still, and the figure was nowhere to be seen.
Emma’s smartphone went straight to voice mail, but when Pao called her home number, Mrs. Lockwood picked up right away.
“Emma? Is that you?” her mother demanded. “I’ve been calling your cell for half an hour!”
Pao’s heart sank as she wrapped the kitchen phone cord around her pinkie, cutting off the circulation. “Mrs. Lockwood?” she said, her voice thin and high. “It’s Pao…Paola. Santiago.”
Emma’s mom hesitated, and Pao thought she could feel her heart sinking across the line. “What’s wrong, Pao? Is Emma all right?”
“She…never showed up tonight,” Pao said. “We were calling to see if she was there. We hung around our meeting spot for a while, but…”
“Oh my God.” There was a muffled “Arthur!”
Pao waited, her heart racing, as she listened to the sounds of Emma’s parents’ frantic conversation.
“You never saw her at all?” Mrs. Lockwood asked Pao, her voice suddenly clear.
“Not since last night,” Pao said.
“Where was she meeting you? She said you were going to be looking at the stars from your balcony.”
Pao almost laughed. Only the Lockwoods would believe that Pao’s apartment had a balcony. “We…” She hesitated. They had a pact never to tell their parents about their frequent visits to the river. But Emma was missing. All bets were off, right? Pao exhaled. “We were supposed to meet at the river at six.”
Dante’s glowing watch face read 7:28, and Pao quickly did the math. If Emma had left her house on time—say, fifteen minutes before the meeting time—she would already have been missing for almost two hours.
The pause on the other end of the line was louder than any words Emma’s mother had spoken so far. “We’re going to the police station,” Mrs. Lockwood said at last. “Can you join us there?”
Pao and Dante lived half a mile from the town’s only police station, but neither had ever been inside. There was an unspoken rule in their families: Never involve the cops. Emma’s parents, Pao realized, wouldn’t have to abide by the same rule. They didn’t have to worry about things like authorities doubting their citizenship.
The two friends tried to look casual as they entered the lobby to wait for the Lockwoods, but they were soon approached by an officer in uniform, his chest puffed out, demanding to know their reason for loitering.
“We’re meeting someone here,” Pao said, with all the authority she could muster.
“Uh-huh,” said the mustachioed man, scanning them with watery blue eyes set too close together. “Let me guess. Your deadbeat dad? Or is it your gangster brother?”
“No, sir,” Pao said as calmly as she could. When Pao and Dante turned ten, her mom had talked to both of them about never, under any circumstances, escalating interactions with the police. Pao was more scared than she’d been at the riverbank, but she stood up straight. “We’re just waiting for our friend’s parents.”
“Listen to me,” said the officer, pushing closer, backing Pao against the wall. He stared down at them like they were hardened criminals and not a couple of almost seventh graders. “We’ve seen your kind in here before. Trouble, all of you. Now, if you don’t have business with us, you need to get out.”
“Don’t talk to her like that!” said Dante, stepping forward. “She’s telling the truth!”
The look in the officer’s eyes went from suspicious to furious, and Pao put up her hands instinctively, drawing his attention back to her. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “It’s just…our friend—she’s missing, and her parents asked us to meet them at the station to help file the report or something. We don’t want to cause trouble.”
Miraculously, the officer took a step back, still scowling but no longer so aggressive.
Pao’s breathing slowed.
“Where did your friend go missing?” he asked, his eyes darting to Dante more often than necessary.
“We’re not sure,” Pao said. “We were supposed to meet her by the river tonight, and she never showed up.” She couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t taking any notes.
“Tonight?” His tone made it clear he was dismissing her already. “It’s too soon to file a report. Why don’t you try her boyfriend’s house?” He sneered.
“We’re twelve!” Pao said, wondering whether he would have said the same thing if he knew who Emma was, what she looked like. “She doesn’t have a boyfriend! We were supposed to use her telescope to look at the stars! And we saw someone out there…someone kind of suspicious—”
“Oh, yeah, yeah,” said the officer. “I know—a weird crying lady on the riverbank, right? Or maybe it was the bogeyman. Or one of those chupacabra things people are always calling in. ¡Dios mío!” He said this last part in an exaggerated Mexican accent, putting his hands on his cheeks in fake dismay. “I’d like to report a ghost estealing my chili peppers.”