CHAPTER ELEVEN
“BRIGHT . . . WHY . . . BRIGHT.”
I awoke to the dulcet tones of Aveda Jupiter’s voice spitting out these indignant words as she shuffled over to our dorm room window and batted at the flimsy pull-down shade, attempting to block out the bits of sun that were filtering in around the edges. “Arrrghhhh,” she growled, her voice crackly. It sounded like she’d just smoked an entire pack of cigarettes. “I’ve defeated demons of every kind imaginable, but this window shade may end up being my ultimate nemesis.”
“So that was our first college rager,” I said, taking extra care as I pulled myself into a sitting position in bed. In the distance, the bell tower let out a bong—but instead of being comforting, it felt like the giant bell was slamming itself directly against my head. Ugh, was that morning sickness or was I actually hung over—
Wait, why would I be hung over? From non-alcoholic punch?
Oh, no.
Oh, fuck.
Before I could ponder that further, my stomach heaved—that familiar, queasy sensation that meant I was about to—
I managed to grab the wastebasket next to my nightstand and vomited semi-digested Taco Bell into it.
“Ughhh,” I groaned, flopping back on my pillow, the events from the night before whirling through my brain.
I’d drunk the non-alcoholic punch, but then I’d started to feel . . . weird . . . and I’d wondered about that, but I’d kept losing the thread . . . because I felt weird . . .
Had the non-alcoholic punch actually been jam-packed with alcohol and I’d just gotten accidentally wasted at a college dorm party, thereby proving I was definitely not responsible enough to have a baby?
The baby.
My hand went instinctually to my belly, panic shooting through me.
“Annie,” I said, sitting up fully. “I . . . I think I got accidentally drunk last night.” Anxiety coalesced in my gut, forming a tight knot, and I suddenly felt like there was a weight on my chest, like I couldn’t breathe . . .
“What did I do?” I managed to wheeze out. “What if my baby’s all fucked up now?!”
“Evie—breathe!” Aveda ordered, shuffling over to my bed and plunking herself down next to me. “Your baby is fine,” she said firmly, putting an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you—both of you.”
She gazed into my eyes with such intensity, I had no choice but to believe her. I breathed slow and deep, and felt the same surge of warmth that had come over me last night when we were doing karaoke. And then again when we were singing our way through the Taco Bell drive-thru and bonding with Shelby, Pippa, and Tess. Tears welled in my eyes—and suddenly, all the words I’d been bottling up these past few weeks came spilling out.
“Annie,” I whispered. “I don’t know if I can do this. Be a mom. Be everything else. Be all of it, all at once. Whenever I try to picture it, I just see . . .” I gestured vaguely. “Nothing. Like, a big, blank space. Because I can’t even conceive of how it would look. And then I feel like I can’t tell anyone this, or even let on that I’m thinking that way, because, you know . . . my life is so perfect right now. Except I’m freaking out all the time and my husband doesn’t want to have sex with me anymore and I’m pretty sure I’m going to be a terrible mother—”
“Evie.” Aveda cut me off, and squeezed my shoulder. “Stop. Keep breathing. You’re doing fine. No one has all this shit figured out—trust me. No one on the planet actually knows how to ‘have it all,’ that’s some bullshit concept corporations use to sell us kombucha and self-help books. And one freaking drink won’t ‘fuck up’ your baby, I’m pretty sure. You are not going to be a bad mother. But . . .” She gave me another squeeze, her gaze turning thoughtful. “I’m glad you told me all that. Lately, you’ve been giving me a lot of pasted-on smiles, but your eyes look kind of dead inside. I thought you were worried about losing your superheroine mojo, but now I see that there was a lot more going on, wasn’t there?”
I looked down at my hands, twisting them together. “I . . . I am freaking out. And I don’t want anyone to see that, because I don’t want people to worry about me any more than they already are.”
“I remember you having a bit of a meltdown when we were dealing with Bea and her Mom-Demon,” Aveda said, nodding. “And you expressing some things along these lines, but I just thought you’d dealt with it. You seemed like you were feeling so much better. You’re a little too good at hiding how you actually feel, Evelyn.”
“Then here’s another confession: I also feel . . . selfish.”
Aveda cocked her head at me inquisitively.
“For freaking out,” I explained, my words coming in a rush. “For not just being happy about this or about the fact that my life is, well . . . you said it. Perfect.”
Aveda shook her head. “That’s not selfish. That’s human. You’re about to embark on a major life change—and there’s a lot of unknown there. It’d be a little weird if you weren’t freaking out.”
I looked down. “Do you think Nate can tell, too? ’Cause he seems to think I’m the one who’s been pulling away, not him.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Didn’t you call him last night, though?”
“No.” I frowned. “Why would I do that?”
“Because . . . you did?” She gave me an incredulous look. “I wasn’t exactly totally with it last night either, but I do remember you calling him and leaving a semi-incoherent message before passing out with a pillow over your head.”
“Oh god.” I scrabbled around on my nightstand and found my phone. It looked like I had double-digit missed calls, all from Nate. I wondered what I’d said in my drunken message.
I sent Nate a hasty text, letting him know I was okay, that some shit related to the mission had gone down the night before, and that I’d call him later.
“Now, if you’re really worried, let’s call Doctor Goo,” Aveda said. “But first . . .” She studied my face. “Why do you think you were drunk? What were you feeling? Because you didn’t look that red—whereas I know my face morphed into a tomato.”
“I . . . hmm.” I tried to calm myself, breathed evenly, and called up the memories from last night. “I felt . . . looser. More open. More like I wanted to share things, if that makes sense? Like, when they asked us to reveal a secret, our actual secret was right on the tip of my tongue, dying to get out.”
“Wait a minute.” Aveda shook her head, her face twisting thoughtfully. “That’s how I felt, too—I think that’s why I blurted out the thing about Nate, which . . .” Her brow furrowed. “I’m so sorry, Evie, that was a clear boundary violation, and I don’t know why I . . .”
As she trailed off, images from the previous night cascaded through my mind.
Shelby confiding in me about her ghost adventure, wondering why she was telling me something she’d never told anyone. Pippa suddenly deciding she had to go tell Natalie David about the feelings she’d kept inside for years. Tess blurting out things about their accidental green bread and the ghost society, then clamming up.
Pippa blabbing Shelby’s secrets . . . all the crying and confessing at the dorm party . . . me calling Nate and spewing something totally incoherent . . .
“Annie,” I said slowly, “I think there was something else affecting people last night. Possibly something supernatural. I don’t know if it was in the air somehow or . . .” I frowned into space. “But I think it was like . . . some kind of truth serum? Or filter inhibitor? Remember how you said I usually have a filter? Something that makes people be extremely honest about their feelings or whatever’s on their mind. Something that makes people want to confess.”
“That makes sense,” Aveda said, nodding. “I did suddenly feel like I just had to say everything. Out loud. But in that case, we definitely need to get you tested to make sure nothing’s wrong.”
“I’ll call Doctor Goo,” I said, still trying to put it all together.
There was something else from last night that was niggling at the back of my brain . . . what was it . . .
“Julie!” I blurted out, leaping to my feet. Oof. That . . . that did not feel good. I abruptly sat back down.
“What?” Aveda said, tilting her head at me.
“Tess mentioned Julie Vũ, remember?” I said, poking her in the arm. “They said they hadn’t been able to get ahold of her, either. And both Tess and Pippa said Julie doesn’t have any family besides her sister—why is Provost Glennon being all shady about that? And why was Tess so secretive about everything?” I frowned, gnawing at my lower lip. “Remember, they said they’re in the underground ghost-hunting society—”
“And they downplayed their own ghostly encounter,” Aveda said. “Even with the possible truth serum thing going on. How should we proceed? Should we try to go talk to Tess?”
“Showing up on their doorstep unannounced—especially this early in the morning—might be a little invasive,” I mused. “Why don’t we text them to check in, see how they’re feeling today? It looks like . . .” I glanced down at my phone. “We all exchanged numbers last night and started a group thread. I’ll also call Doctor Goo to see if she can come out here or if I can come in or . . . whatever I need to do to make sure the baby’s okay.” I touched my stomach. “And maybe we can get Bea to call all the hospitals in the area to see if she can track down Julie Vũ—because if Julie’s not ‘home with family,’ then where is she?”
“Is that something we should be asking Bea to do? She doesn’t really work for us anymore,” Aveda said. “Boundaries and all that.”
“Agreed, but this is the kind of thing she loves,” I said. “Bothering people.”
“True—bothering people is her not-so-secret superpower.” Aveda’s hangover seemed to be wearing off, and now her face looked like it usually did—determined. “We have a plan, let’s get to it!” she declared, leaping to her feet.
For a moment, she stayed suspended in her action superheroine pose: determined face on, fist pumped in the air. Then the light poking its way through the window shade passed over her face and she went pale and abruptly slumped back onto the bed.
“Um. Let’s get to it in like fifteen minutes,” she amended. “First I need Advil and a giant vat of caffeine.”
“Spoken like a true carefree college girl,” I said.
She responded by throwing a pillow at me.
I swatted it away and grinned at her as she shuffled back to her own bed and lay down. Then I focused on my phone, composing a text to Tess.
I didn’t get very far. My phone buzzed with an incoming call—it was so unexpected, I nearly dropped it. I checked the screen. Shelby.
“Hey, Shelby,” I said, hitting answer. “What’s up? Are you feeling—”
“Eliza,” she said, her voice choked with sobs. “Please . . . please come help me. I . . . I can’t . . . I’m so scared . . .”
“Shelby—breathe, honey,” I said, echoing Aveda’s words to me from just a moment ago. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Pippa,” she managed. “She’s missing.”
“She didn’t say anything else?” Aveda pressed, as we clattered down the creaky stairs to the Mara Dash dorm room Shelby and Pippa shared.
“No,” I said, as we landed in the hallway. “She was crying too hard. I’m not sure what’s happened.”
“Maybe Pippa found her way back to Natalie David’s room—you know, for more truth serum-enhanced confessions,” Aveda said.
“Let’s find out.” I knocked on the door. “Shelby!” I called out. “It’s Eliza and Angelica!”
Shelby and Pippa’s room was one floor below Aveda’s and mine, a kind of secret space tucked into one of Mara Dash’s seemingly endless shadowy corners. I could see the appeal—it was built into such an odd spot that it wasn’t directly above or below any other rooms, meaning they could probably make a lot of noise without disturbing anyone. And on the flipside, they wouldn’t be bothered if a dorm party raged into the night and Shelby was trying to wake up early for crew practice.
I heard some shuffling from inside the room, presumably Shelby getting herself together.
“They really are the best of friends, huh?” Aveda said, scrutinizing the bulletin board next to the girls’ room while we waited for Shelby to answer the door. It was festooned with Shelby’s crew pennants and a collage of photos featuring Shelby and Pippa doing all kinds of fun college things—Pippa cheering Shelby on at a crew meet, the girls clinking glasses at what looked like a celebration, a candid of them studying together, heads bent over their books.
“They’re an interesting pair,” I said, tapping a finger against the photo of the girls studying. “Pippa has the bigger, louder personality and Shelby does a lot of damage control when it’s maybe a little too big, but you can tell they really love each other. And Shelby just transferred in, but they’ve obviously become so close, so fast. It seems like it was meant to be.”
“Aww, like us,” Aveda cooed, patting me on the shoulder. “May their bond be as deep and everlasting as ours.”
“Yes, but without the codependency, identity crises, and major fights that have led us here,” I said.
“Nonsense,” Aveda sniffed. “Without those, we wouldn’t be who we are. And I like us very much.”
“Sweet or egotistical?” I said with a laugh. “I’m not sure which way to go.”
“I’ve earned the right to be egotistical,” Aveda said. “And anyway, on a white man, that would just be called confidence. Hmm, what’s taking her so long?”
Aveda raised a very ego—sorry, confident hand and knocked on the door.
“Shelby?” she called out. “Answer the door—we’re worried!”
We heard more rustling and muttering on the other side of the door. Then a loud bang, punctuated by a string of very colorful curses.
“Shelby?” I called through the door. “Are you all right in there?”
We heard another string of curses. Then Shelby was flinging the door open, her shaggy hair falling over her eyes.
“Hey,” I said, stepping forward and holding my arms out. “Come here. Tell us what’s—”
I didn’t get any farther before Shelby collapsed into my arms, sobbing inconsolably.
“It’s okay,” I murmured, stroking her hair. “It’s okay, honey, just . . . tell us what happened.”
“We had a fight,” Shelby said, pulling back from the hug and mopping her runny nose with the sleeve of her ratty flannel shirt. “I started feeling gross from all that drinking and Taco Bell and she told me I was being no fun, and . . .” She trailed off, her face crumpling. “She left our room. And she didn’t come back. I fell asleep eventually, but her bed . . . it hasn’t been slept in.”
Shelby gestured to the bed on the left side of the room, which was perfectly made. Actually, Pippa’s side of the room was neat as a pin—books in precise stacks on her nightstand, beauty products arranged in neat little lines. Not so much as a wrinkle present on her bedspread. In contrast, Shelby’s side of the room looked like it had been hit by a tornado, papers and books and candy wrappers strewn everywhere. Bedspread thrown to the side in a rumpled pile. Carpet Ball was sitting amongst the mess, a stalwart green blob. The room looked like the set for an all-new version of The Odd Couple.
“Have you tried texting her this morning?” Aveda said, all business. I kept rubbing Shelby’s back, trying to soothe her. “How do you know she didn’t just spend the night with someone else? Like her new make-out partner, Natalie?”
“I did text her,” Shelby said, pulling her damp flannel sleeves over her hands. “And when she didn’t answer, I actually went to Natalie’s room—but Pips wasn’t there. I’ve texted her other friends, too, and . . . nothing.” Shelby’s face crumpled again and she pressed her sleeves to her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said through sobs. “I just . . . I should have gone after her. And I already tried reporting this to campus security, but they won’t take it seriously until she’s been missing for forty-eight hours.” She lowered her hands and looked at us with wide, beseeching eyes. “What do I do?”
“First of all, don’t fret,” Aveda said, drawing herself up tall. “Eliza and I have tons of experience dealing with missing persons and bizarre happenings.”
“Y-you do?” Shelby said, cocking her head at us. “Like, other students? At your previous TA gigs?”
“Something like that,” I said, shooting Aveda a warning look. “In any case, that does sound strange and we of course want to make sure Pippa isn’t in danger—it’s part of our TA duty.”
Now it was Aveda’s turn to shoot me a look.
“Is it possible she went back to the party? It was still going when we finished our Taco Bell. Maybe she passed out in the rec room?” I continued. “Did you look down there?”
“Actually, I didn’t,” Shelby said, perking up. “Ohmygod. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that, Pippa will sometimes just fall asleep in random places. Like class. Or the dining hall. Or after one of my crew meets, we found her passed out in the boat, snoring away. I still don’t know how she got there.”
Shelby was already out the door, marching down the hall, pulling her flannel tightly around her. She nodded firmly, as if trying to convince herself this was definitely the solution. I kind of hoped it was, too, but I couldn’t stop that feeling of deep-down dread that was percolating in my gut. When you’re used to battling weird-ass occurrences on the regular, you get used to the idea that whatever seems like the simplest, most mundane solution to something is almost never the actual solution.
I also couldn’t stop guilt from flooding through me—maybe if I’d been more observant last night, maybe if I hadn’t gotten swept into the party antics, maybe if I’d stayed with them a little longer . . . well, maybe I’d have a better clue as to where Pippa was. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the last time I’d gone to a dorm party, coming home and finding Bea with that blazing fever.
I needed to remember that we were here on a mission. I couldn’t lose sight of that.
I was determined to protect these students from ghosts and lying administrators and whatever else might be lurking in all the shadowy corners of Morgan.
“Come on!” Shelby yelled at Aveda and me. She was already halfway down the hall. “Let’s go—it’s part of your TA duty, right?!”
“I guess that’s our new catchphrase,” Aveda muttered.
Shelby didn’t talk much as she led us down the maze of winding staircases to the rec room, pushing open the big double doors with gusto.
“Oh . . . my,” Aveda said, blinking at our surroundings as we entered.
The rec room was . . . well, “totally fucked up” would be putting it kindly.
The long tables that had formed the makeshift bar were toppled over on their sides, the floral sheet “tablecloth” shredded and dotting the old carpet like sad confetti. The actual witches’ hat confetti was scattered everywhere as well. Empty plastic cups were littered across the room, stained fluorescent pink from last night’s punch. One of the couches had a big hole ripped in its upholstery, its stuffing spilling out in a way that made it look like it was barfing.
Solidarity, couch, I thought. I know that feel.
“Um,” Aveda said, “is this how it usually looks after a dorm party? Who’s responsible for cleaning all of this up?”
“Pippa!” Shelby cried out, peering frantically behind one of the overturned couches. “Pips, where are you?!”
Aveda and I exchanged a look. Pippa clearly wasn’t here.
“Goddammit!” Shelby tried to flop onto the knocked-over couch, then seemed to remember it wasn’t really positioned so you could sit on it. She settled for flopping onto the floor next to the couch, looking utterly lost.
“Shelby . . .” I crouched down next to her. Then just sat all the way down, because my not-college-aged knees could only take so much bending. “Keep breathing. Why don’t we try to remember some stuff from last night, hmm? Maybe that will help us figure out where Pippa might be.”
“Wait . . .” Shelby’s eyes widened, and she reached for something behind the couch—a sparkly bit of jewelry glittering amidst the discarded cups. “It’s her bracelet,” Shelby said, clutching the bauble to her chest. “One of her special bangles. She’d never just leave this behind.” Shelby gazed out at the party wreckage, her voice plaintive and far away. “She’s just . . . lost. I don’t know what to do.”
“Think back to the party,” Aveda said. She moved to sit down next to us, then made a face at the stained carpet—which, it must be said, was alarmingly sticky. She settled for grabbing one of the loose couch cushions and sitting on that. “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Especially about Pippa.”
“No,” Shelby said, frowning into space and playing with the ends of her shaggy hair.
“You actually did notice something kinda odd in the moment, though,” I said, giving Aveda a meaningful look. I had a hunch—because oddities that occur in the same place and time are often connected. And perhaps this was no different. Perhaps Pippa’s disappearance had something to do with the weirdness we’d talked about earlier. “You said it was strange that she was suddenly all about confessing her love for Natalie—that that was the only secret she’d successfully kept for a long period of time.”
“Yeah,” Shelby said, meeting my eyes. “That was weird. She’s always talking about how she wanted the moment to be exactly right for that revelation and getting drunk on crappy punch and blurting it out in this gross basement didn’t seem very special to me. That’s one reason I tried to stop her.”
“And did it seem to you like other people were acting weird last night as well?” Aveda said, picking up the thread. “Because Eliza and I, well . . . we found the whole party to be very high drama, but we weren’t sure if that’s just because we’re new here and hadn’t experienced a Mara Dash rager before.”
“There was a lot of drama,” Shelby said. Her gaze seemed to be focusing more as she answered our questions, her mind forced to think about something other than her missing friend. “It did seem like everyone was extra stressed last night. Or maybe just extra, period. Our Taco Bell run was so nice—even though it was kinda late for me—because it was just a few of us. Talking.” She gave me a little smile. “But then, like I said, I started feeling gross . . .”
“Right,” I said, that hunch still tickling the back of my mind. “When did you notice that?”
“It was after all that Taco Bell. Well, really, it was after my fourth cup of punch,” Shelby said. “I remember because I downed a whole cup right before we went back to our room. I didn’t want to waste it. I . . .” She frowned. “You know, come to think of it, I felt weirder and weirder every time I had more punch. Do you think there was something strange in the punch?”
“I’m starting to think that might be the case,” I said, connections fizzing through my brain. My eye went to the plastic cups littering the ground, those bright pink punch stains. It sounded like the punch had been magically spiked in some way—that’s where our hypothetical truth serum must have come from. “Do you know who made it? Maybe we can talk to them.”
Shelby shook her head. “What does this have to do with Pippa?”
“I just have a thought,” I said. “About weird things being connected.”
Shelby frowned at the punch stains, toying with the ends of her hair. “I don’t know who made it.”
“Was it the bartender?” Aveda speculated. “She seemed very enthusiastic about the punch. When she wasn’t being completely unhelpful and asking for tips.”
“Who?” Shelby said, looking utterly confused.
“The bartender,” I said. “You know, the girl who was standing back there for the whole party. Cute blue dress, flippy hairdo?”
“And asked for tips,” Aveda repeated, unwilling to let that particular offense go.
“I don’t know what you guys are talking about,” Shelby said, her confused look deepening. “There was no bartender.”