Hope wiggles its way into my mind. Maybe Brandon doesn’t have my notebook. Maybe I dropped it somewhere in the house, and Asher picked it up.
I knock, my thoughts jumbled as he opens the door. He wears a smile, but it wavers as I stand in the doorway like a mannequin. “Everything okay?” he asks.
“Uh, yeah. Hi.” I scan the items scattered on the desk. The crumpled plastic bag is weighed down by a pack of gel pens, some stationery, and a printer ink cartridge. No spiral notebook. “Looks like you got lucky,” I say, putting on my best casual voice.
He nods. “Who would’ve guessed Carver’s actually carries something real people use?”
“Hey.” I lean against his door frame for support. “I use the cat jewelry, every time I dress up like an eccentric cat lady for Halloween.”
He grins, but it fades quickly. “Actually, Cass, I have to print up these documents by three. Did you need something?”
“Oh. I—yeah, sorry. I was just wondering if you’d seen Melody when you were in town. Or on your way back here. I’m going to lose my spot on the team if I don’t get some extra help with my hitting.”
Asher’s eyes widen. “You want Melody to help you? She calls you a cousin killer every time she sees you.”
Okay, maybe I could’ve come up with a better reason. “I really want to keep my spot, and she’s still the best outside hitter in town. You didn’t see her?”
“No, sorry.”
“It’s fine.” But a tiny fragment of hope tears away, leaving an ache in my chest. “Also,” I add, trying to act casual, “I was wondering if you’d seen my notebook. The little silver one? I think I dropped it somewhere in the house.”
Asher looks up in thought, then shakes his head. “Nope, haven’t seen your diary,” he says with a smirk. “But I’ll let you know if it turns up. We wouldn’t want the world finding out about your crush on you know who.” He winks, and I can’t even manage a sisterly quip. “I’m sure it’s in your locker at school or something, Cass. It’ll turn up. Remember, classic horror will wash away all of your troubles tonight.”
I sigh through my fake smile and back into the hallway. “I’ll let you get back to work.” I shut the door, standing there for a long beat.
Back in the kitchen, I find Gideon exactly where I left him, his foot tapping on the tile. “Well?”
“He hasn’t seen her. Let’s go.” I rush out the back door again, stooping to pick up my bike. If Melody’s not home, I have to get to the sawmill before it’s too late.
Gideon looks worried that whatever happened in the gym today isn’t over. That Fire Girl is having an episode.
Maybe he’s right. I can’t deny seeing the school gym burning down one minute, and blinking to find it perfectly fine the next. But if this isn’t an episode—if I really heard Melody scream for help until she couldn’t scream anymore, this is time I can’t afford to waste. I clench my teeth and start pedaling.
We went to Melody’s house once for a party at the end of sophomore year, when all of the volleyball players, even junior varsity girls, were invited. She asked me to go down to the basement to grab more beer, and when I obeyed, she locked me inside and turned up the music. It was an hour before anyone heard me pounding on the door.
The houses in her neighborhood aren’t quite as spread out as they are in mine. Large trees drape over the narrow road, creating a tunnel of false serenity for us. It feels like we could ride through and end up on the other side of all this.
When we reach the quaint white-paneled home with mocha trim, I slow down and drop my bike onto the lawn. Gideon trails me up the porch steps and I ring the doorbell.
A flash of blond emerges in the doorway, and my heart soars. But it sinks again when I realize it isn’t Melody. It’s her younger sister, Gracie, who’s a year behind Gideon and me at school. She’s on the tennis team. I went to a match last year. When Gracie returned the ball straight into her opponent’s face, knocking her to the ground, Gracie nearly burst into tears. Before the girl knew what had happened, Gracie was over the net, helping her up.
“Hey, Gracie,” Gideon says.
Gracie blushes and her mouth quirks to one side. The Gideon Hollander Effect. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”
My hands are numb. I rub my fingers together to get some feeling back.
“Is Melody home?” Gideon asks, pushing the hair off his forehead.
Gracie shakes her head softly. “She was supposed to be working, but the diner just called looking for her. Apparently, she didn’t show up for her shift.” My heart sinks to the cement porch, but Gracie flashes a cherubic smile. “My sister’s not exactly a star employee, though. What’d you need her for?”
“Just some help with my hitting,” I say, using the lie that didn’t work on Asher.
Gracie lifts a brow. She doesn’t share her sister’s hatred of me, but she knows Melody and I don’t exactly hang out. “I can pass on a message, if you’d like.”
I’m suddenly mute, my foot tapping on the porch.
“That’s okay,” Gideon cuts in. He sounds cheery, but I feel him deflate at my side. “We’ll catch her later. Thanks, Gracie.” He musters a half smile, and Gracie’s cheeks flush crimson as she closes the door.
“Let’s go back to your place and call around,” Gideon says to me, descending the steps. “Someone must’ve seen her.”
I follow him to the curb, but my legs slow. This can’t be happening. I reach the bike and pick it up with Jell-O hands. I slip a flaccid leg over the seat, but I can’t lift my feet to place them on the pedals. Everything—the sounds Melody made, the muffled voice in the woods—is swirling around in my head. My bike is too heavy resting against my legs. It’s okay now repeats in my mind, gluing my feet to the asphalt.
Those words never mean anything is okay. Those were the words a paramedic cooed to me while wheeling me away on a stretcher. The firefighters still worked, their heavy yellow coats fading into the distance as my world crumbled. Those were the words my mom whispered to me after I woke up from a particularly gruesome fire dream a few years back. Only Asher was finally able to help by pulling Fox in Socks, my favorite childhood book, from the shelf and reading until his voice became croaky.
The ashes may have sunk into the soil years before, the smoke long since dispersed, but I’d never escape that fire.
Now Melody may be beyond saving too.
I blink again to see Gideon take off down the street. I get my bike moving, but the pedals are leaden. I’ll never catch up to him. I huff and wheeze and drip sweat until finally, I give up. I can’t catch my breath. I can’t call out to Gideon. The words, the notebook, wisps of my giggling conversation with Brandon have landed on my chest and filled my throat, suffocating me.