Ten runaways. That’s what the police are calling them.
Ten teenagers have disappeared from our town this year, and it’s only June.
I gaze out the window of the aging café, the chipped, pale, magnolia paint making it look borderline derelict, but the food is good. It’s summer, but the weather hasn’t gotten the memo. Dark gray clouds swirl in the sky, threatening rain again. It’s been like that all day, short smatterings of drizzle. Rain that fizzles out as quickly as it appears. We have a long, school-free summer stretching out in front of us before our senior year. But we won’t be able to have any fun if the weather doesn’t get with the program.
“Piper, another one bites the dust,” Hazel says, waving a news article on her phone at me from across the table. She pushes her shoulder-length, dark curly hair behind her ear. “Look.”
ELEVENTH TEEN RUNAWAY.
Eleven gone.
“Who is it this time?”
“Lucie Bean, sixteen years old. Same age as us again. She lives about thirty minutes away. Last seen two days ago outside Huck’s Café with friends. It says she left on her own but never made it home.”
We live in Mauveton, population 5,839. It’s a densely populated but small town with nothing to do, and the biggest city near us is more than an hour away, which makes it one of the most boring places on earth.
But still, eleven runaways in seven months seems high.
They’ve all completely vanished without a trace.
“Where did Lucie go to school, Hazel?”
“St. Drake’s.”
“Wow. Isn’t that, like, the third person from that school?” I chew on my lip as I reach for her phone, so I can read the whole article.
“What are you thinking?” she asks, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“I’m thinking it’s only a matter of time before someone we’ve shared a classroom with disappears.” There’s always been a high percentage of people taking off from this dead-end town, but over the last year or so, it has gotten worse. Much worse.
Hazel puts her phone down and drops her hands to the table on either side of her plate of fries—fries that she ordered for breakfast. Gross. “You seriously think they’re missing, like someone has taken them, and they haven’t just run away?”
“If people are going to take off from here, they tend to do it when they’re eighteen. The number of younger runaways is multiplying. Don’t you think something is very wrong with that?”
She chews another fry and swallows. “Maybe. The cops don’t seem to share your concerns.”
I shrug at her comment. “Well, they probably know better than me.”
“I don’t know… What if you’re right? What if they don’t think anything strange is going on?” She’s playing devil’s advocate here.
But what are we supposed to do about it? Just because I love watching mystery movies and TV shows doesn’t mean I’m qualified to find actual, real-life missing people.
Potentially missing people.
“What do you recommend we do, Hazel?”
“Duh. We can try to find them.”
Oh, simple as that. “How?”
“By acting like average teenagers.” Lifting her eyebrows, she looks at me in triumph. “We’re going to go to parties and hang out with them…wherever they hang out.”
“I’m not following you here.”
She rolls her dark brown eyes. “To find teens, we need to live like teens. Stereotypical ones, I mean. I don’t think we count.”
Hazel has a good point. Neither of us are extroverts. We spend most of our time hanging out at my house or hers, watching rom-coms after creepy mystery and thriller movies.
“We definitely don’t count,” I confirm.
“We’re going to change that.”
“Why? I mean, why are you deciding to try and figure this thing out, Haze?”
Tilting her head to the side, she replies, “What else are we going to do all summer?”
Well, nothing. Maybe we won’t find anything, or maybe we’ll discover where these people have run away to.
But either way, it seems like a maybe we’ll end up having a decent summer instead of spending the whole time indoors.
The call of even a smidge of social life is too loud to ignore. It might actually be nice to get out. We might be missing something by staying inside and by ourselves all the time. “All right, I’m in.”
“Yes,” Hazel cheers. “Ooh, do you think we’ll uncover some sick serial killer’s lair?”
“No, I think we’ll find nothing, but we’ll end the summer with the knowledge that we have soaked in some vital vitamin D and aren’t total losers. So that’s a plus, right?”
Hazel’s shoulders sag. “Is your glass half empty today, Pipes?”
“No. I do believe something more is going on than teens skipping town, but I don’t think we’re going to find ourselves in the middle of some crime drama. We don’t know what we’re doing, and if the police can’t find anything, there’s nothing to suggest we’ll be able to.”
“I’m going to need full commitment from you here. We go into this with nothing but positivity.”
“Fine. Whatever. Let’s go catch a killer,” I say to appease her.
“Yay!” She picks up another fry. I have two pastries and a coffee. Hazel has fries and a cup of tea. “Where do we start?”
“The lake?” I offer.
Her eyes widen like she’s suddenly realized what this whole social life thing will entail. “Can we go there?”
“It’s not private property. Why couldn’t we go?”
“We’ve never been there. We’ve never been asked to go there.”
“It’s a public lake, Hazel. You don’t need an invitation.”
But I know what she means. Lake-related conversations echo down the halls at school. Everyone who is anyone goes there most weekends. Most weeknights, too, in the summer.
But no one has ever suggested Hazel and I should go. We haven’t even suggested it to each other. We really do need a life.
“Okay,” I say, taking a hair elastic out of my pocket and tying my long, dark hair on top of my head. “Let’s do it! Let’s meet at the lake tonight. And please act normal.”
She scrunches up her face. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. You know you can’t hold back from telling people exactly what you think, and not everyone appreciates that. I’m not always going to be there to back you up.”
“Ah, but you will be there tonight.”
“Best. Behavior.” I raise my eyebrows in warning.
The last thing we need on our very first outing is to be ostracized. I’m not really sure what kind of reception we’re going to get anyway.
The café bell dings obnoxiously from the force of the door being shoved open.
Hazel and I look over at the same time to see two handsome college guys walk into the café, dressed in clothes that probably cost more than my parents’ car.
I think their names are Caleb and Owen. I know of them because their superrich parents are part of an organization that donates a lot to local charities.
They live a few miles out in a development with the other wealthy people, and only come to this part of town when they’re dropping off donations.
But are they donating to the café? Not that it couldn’t use an injection of cash, but it’s hardly a charity.
Hazel cranes her neck to get a better look at them. In fact, everyone in here is doing the same thing. I glance over my shoulder as they head to the counter. I can’t figure out what they’re saying, even though the room is so dead quiet, you could hear a mouse sneeze.
After a minute, they’re handed two takeout cups of coffee. As they turn to leave, I swing my head back, biting my lips together.
Oh crap. I hope they didn’t catch me staring.
My face heats up like an inferno, and Hazel’s eyes widen at me. I don’t know if she’s trying to tell me that I’m busted? Or is she marveling at their chiseled beauty and matching, sleek haircuts?
What products do they even use to get their hair that shiny?
They pass by us, and out of the corner of my eye, I see one of them turn his head to look at me. What do I do?
Against my better judgment, I look. Crystal-blue eyes peer at me, unashamed and unapologetic. I’m very sure my eyes do not convey the same thing. I think the guy looking at me is Caleb. Both have blond hair, short and styled in a swept-to-the-side fashion. Both wear crisp, navy pants and button-up shirts with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. It’s like the rich-guy uniform.
Caleb dips his head in my direction, his blond hair falling just a fraction out of place. And then he’s gone.
The bell dings again as the door opens and closes.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, my head spinning from the lack of oxygen.
“Did you see that? He looked at you!” Hazel gushes. “Like, he looked at you! And you know I love you, babe, but your hair is a total mess right now.”
“Thank you,” I mutter sarcastically. I push the rest of my pastry away. After that, I suddenly don’t feel much like eating. Caleb couldn’t have been looking at me really, though, could he? Not that it matters. I’m too young for him. “Let’s get our bikes. I need to go home and figure out my makeup before tonight.”
Hazel stands. “Don’t forget to do something with your hair, too.”