23

An hour later, I was googling Nico Rudolph Brighton College to no avail when May finally FaceTimed me.

“Where have you been?” I barked as soon as her face appeared on my laptop screen. Then I snatched my phone from the bed and held it up. “I sent you that SOS message twenty-two minutes ago!”

May looked slightly stunned. “I was asleep.”

“What if I was dying? Or if I’d been arrested and you were my one phone call?”

“Arrested for what?” She snorted. “Not returning your library books on time?”

“May Elizabeth Petrakis! This isn’t funny. I’m having a crisis here!”

“First of all, calm down.” She stopped to take a gulp from her Princess Peach mug. “Second of all, it’s nine forty-eight on a Sunday morning. How are you having a crisis already? Where’s Michelle?”

“She’s gone for a run with Erin.”

“What?” She looked disgusted. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” I was equally disgusted. “It’s like I don’t even know them.” I threw my phone on the bed, and when I looked at May again, I saw myself frown. “Why are you on your laptop, by the way?”

“I can’t find my phone, so I logged into WhatsApp on here to see if I missed anything. And I did!”

“Your phone’s right there,” I told her, pointing to it tucked between the folds of her duvet.

“Oh yeah.” She chuckled to herself, then held it up to show me the screen.

Two missed calls from me and four texts, the last one concluding with SOS and a string of alarm emojis.

It wasn’t my finest moment, so I probably shouldn’t admit that.

Still, it was proof that I really was spiraling.

“So what happened that requires”—her lips moved as she counted them—“eight alarm emojis?”

I filled May in on what she’d missed—seeing Nico, the conversation with her mother the evening before, then the one Nico and I had that morning—although not all of it as I got to what prompted the eight alarm emojis.

“May, I need you to be honest with me,” I told her.

She didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

“Did you know that Nico went to Brighton College?”

Again, she didn’t hesitate. “Nico doesn’t go to Brighton College.”

“She just told me that she does. Or she did before all of this happened.”

May was adamant, though. “There’s no way she goes to Brighton College. Chesca would have told me.”

She was so convinced, but I still asked if she was sure.

“Yes! I’ll text Chesca now, if it’ll put your mind at rest.”

“Can’t you call her?” I asked when she reached for her phone.

I could hear the squeak of panic in my voice so I’m surprised May didn’t tell me to calm down again.

But she just said, “I can’t. She’s at a study group in the library.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Right?” May muttered. “Her parents are no joke. If she doesn’t get into Oxford or Cambridge, they’re going to disown her. They told her that they’re not paying thirty-five grand a year for her to go anywhere else.”

Thirty-five thousand pounds?”

“Thirty-five thousand just in school fees. So the University of Sussex isn’t an option.”

What’s wrong with the University of Sussex? I asked myself.

But then May’s phone buzzed and she held it up to show me Chesca’s reply.

No, I don’t. I would have told you.

“Is she sure?” I could see myself frowning on the screen again. “Maybe they were in different classes?”

“Mara, come on.” May snorted. “Even if they were in different classes, everyone would have been talking about it. Remember in the new year when no one would leave you alone when they found out you knew Nico? Don’t you think that if she went to Brighton College everyone would have been talking about it there?”

That was true.

“Are you sure that Nico said that she went to Brighton College?” May asked.

“Definitely. Because I remember thinking, Why didn’t Chesca tell me?”

“She would have,” May said again. “You’ve met her loads of times. We’ve talked about Nico, so why wouldn’t she tell you?”

“I thought maybe Michelle told you not to,” I admitted, sheepishly.

May cackled. “When have I ever listened to Michelle Chen?”

That was also true.

“Hang on.” May held up her hands. “You’re sure Nico said Brighton College? Not Brighton Girls?”

“No, she definitely said Brighton College.”

May pulled a face. “That’s so weird.”

“It is weird, right? They even sent her flowers.”

“Who did?”

“One of her teachers. She read me the card over the phone.”

“What did it say?”

I couldn’t remember exactly, so I paraphrased. “That they hope she feels better soon and they can’t wait to have her back.” I remembered this part, though. “With love, Ms. Fisher and all your friends in Year Eleven.”

May pointed at me. “Oh, like Ms. Fisher at Queens Park Primary!”

“Yes!”

“I wonder if it’s the same one.”

“I thought the same thing, so I checked and that’s when I found this.”

I sent May the link to the Brighton College blog about the South East Regional Indoor Hockey Finals.

“There’s my girl!” She grinned when she opened it and saw the photo of Chesca.

Exactly. And that person, on the sidelines, cheering her on, is Ms. Fisher.”

“Definitely not our Ms. Fisher, then.” May shrugged. “Fisher’s a pretty common name, though.” She thought about it for a second, then said, “Maybe there’s a Ms. Fisher at Brighton Girls? I mean, Nico’s memory isn’t great, is it?”

“True. It’s an easy mistake to make, I suppose. Brighton College. Brighton Girls…” I searched for Ms. Fisher Brighton Girls. But there was nothing. “No Ms. Fisher at Brighton Girls … Wait … Hang on…” I hesitated as I scrolled down further. “There is an Alan Fisher who”—I sat back and rolled my eyes when I read his job title—“is the head of the senior school.”

May gestured at me as if to say, There you go.

“I’m guessing the card Nico got with the flowers was handwritten. So, it’s easy to read Mr. Fisher as Ms. Fisher,” I realized with a long sigh of relief as my shoulders fell and I sat back against my pillows.

But then I cursed myself because Michelle was right: I needed to get out of my head.

She was probably back from her run by now and in the shower.

And there I was, recovering from an hour-long panic spiral when there was nothing to panic about.

May clapped her hands and I jumped.

“Well, now that crisis has been averted, can we talk about the dress I want to wear to Chesca’s sixteenth?”

“Yes!” I said, desperate for a distraction from feeling like something in my head was fraying.

“I DMed you a link on Insta.”

I snatched my phone off the bed, but when I opened my inbox, I didn’t just have a message from May.

I had another one as well.

“I knew it was too short,” she grumbled when I gasped. “I can’t wear that, can I? Her mum will be there.”

“No.” I blinked at the screen of my phone. “That girl DMed me.”

“Which girl?”

“Nico’s friend from London. The one we stalked on Insta.”

“Nya Kalogeropoulos?”

I stared at her, stunned that she remembered that but couldn’t find her phone on her own bed.

“What did she say?” May asked as she took another sip from her Princess Peach mug.

Is Nico OK?” I read aloud.

“That it?”

I nodded.

She sucked in a breath and shook her head. “Definitely an ex.”

“You don’t know that.” I bristled at the thought. “She’s probably a school friend, or something.”

May didn’t look convinced. “How did she find you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve Nico tagged, haven’t I? Maybe she did a search for her and found me.”

“Yeah, but Nico deleted her Insta, so she, or you, wouldn’t show up. Unless”—she raised a finger—“Nya searched for Nico before she deleted her account, which means that she’s known about you since then.” She sucked in another breath and shook her head again. “I am telling you, Mara. That is ex energy!”

I looked down at the message, then back at May. “What do I say?”

“Nothing!”

“So I just ignore it?”

“Do you really want to get into it with one of Nico’s exes?”

I really didn’t.

But if anyone understood what it was like to be desperate to hear from Nico, it was me.

“Ex or not, she must be worried about her, right?”

“Fine. Just keep it simple. I know what you’re like, Mara. Don’t write an essay.”

“I do not write essays!”

“Mara, you’re the only person I know who uses semicolons in texts.”

“Proper punctuation is sexy.”

“Just say something like She’s doing much better.”

I said exactly that, but I barely had time to look up from my phone before Nya replied.

“What did she say?” May asked, and I turned my phone so she could read it.

When you next speak to Nico, can you please give her my number and ask her to get in touch?

“Don’t,” I warned when May sucked in a breath and shook her head again.

I reread the message, then pressed my hand to my forehead.

“You’re right, May. I shouldn’t have replied. Now what do I do?”

“Well, you can’t give Nico her number,” she told me, and my first reaction was relief because what if she—this Nya—was the love of Nico’s life and I was about to guide them back together?

Then I felt awful because if Nya was the love of Nico’s life, then I shouldn’t intervene, right?

But then May made an excellent—and convenient—point. “Her mum told you yesterday not to tell her about before and Nya is before before. Before you, even. So, who knows what hearing from her will trigger?” She pretended to shudder. “Besides, assuming this Nya person is an ex, how do you know that Nico wants to hear from her? If she’s anything like me, she has a scorched-earth policy when it comes to exes.”

“That’s true,” I muttered, slightly concerned that May was just telling me what I wanted to hear.

But then she said, “I mean, we have no idea who this Nya is aside from whatever’s on her TikTok. She seems normal enough, but what if she’s some sort of psycho stalker who Nico blocked so Nya’s trying to get to her through you? Nope.” May pulled a face and shook her head. “I’d leave well enough alone until Nico remembers.”

“OK.” That made sense. “So what do I do about this message, then? Ignore it?”

“Just heart it. That way you’re acknowledging it, but you’re not promising anything, either.”

“You’re so good at this,” I told her as I did what she suggested.

May winked and raised her Princess Peach mug. “Not my first rodeo, babe.”