For once in her life, Isobel was grateful for the excuse of being grounded. She couldn’t stand the thought of being barraged by questions she didn’t have answers for. Or to be reminded again of how she had failed Varen. Of how she had left him there, waiting in vain for her to return because she had promised to come back for him. She had promised.
At Trenton, rumors connected to Varen’s disappearance began to build and circulate through the hallways in hisses and whispers. While most people thought that he had simply run away, others buzzed about how he’d been murdered by his weird one-eyed boss, his body boarded up beneath the floor of Nobit’s Nook or buried somewhere in the park. There had, after all, been neighborhood reports of strange lights and sounds coming from the attic of the bookstore the night he disappeared, as well as one account of a cloaked figure seen exiting through the rear entrance, a limp body held in his arms.
At the end of the week, Swanson handed back their project papers. He went through the aisles, dropping them off at every other desk. When he placed her and Varen’s paper in front of her, Isobel thought that he might have lingered for an extra moment or two before moving on. She stared through the clear glossy report cover at the B- they had managed to pull off.
“Good job,” he’d written on the title page in red. “Next time, though, ask about parent participation instead of stereos, okay? Also, I’ve attached an Internet article from the Baltimore Sun that the two of you might find interesting. By the way, nice bird.”
Below that, Swanson had added something else. This note appeared in blue ink, and in a tighter, more compact version of his loopy cursive. “P.S.” it read, “if you need to talk, I’m here.”
This tiny gesture, so very unobtrusive and kind, struck a chord deep within her, inducing a surprise moment of lucidity. It brought a sad smile to her lips, because it didn’t matter that she could never accept the invitation. She just liked knowing that Swanson had added it because he liked Varen. And that, in turn, made Isobel like her English teacher more than he would ever know.
She slid the paper off of her desk and shoved it into her backpack, putting Varen’s name out of sight so that the world could go mute again. Mute and void, colorless except for that one empty chair in the corner.
That afternoon Isobel made the mistake of going to her locker.
She had just finished shoving her binder, notepad, and English book inside when Gwen sprang up behind her, sending the door to her locker slamming shut.“You,” she said, jabbing Isobel right in the shoulder, “are a terrible friend.”
Isobel scowled and kicked the corner of the metal door so that it popped open again. Her notebook slipped out and fell to the floor, loose papers scattering. “Thanks,” she muttered. “I needed that.”
She stooped to gather the spilled papers, but stopped when Gwen stepped forward, pinning them to the floor with one foot. “No,” she barked. She sent Isobel’s locker slamming shut again, this time with a decided bang. “What you need is a reality check. You’ve been wandering around in this little bubble of solitude and sulk long enough. Now, I don’t know what happened that night, but I know that you do. I know it was weird. I was there, remember? I saw that fight with my own eyes, but unlike everybody else, I knew it was real. I also know that you disappeared on one side of town only to reappear on another. You might be fooling everyone else, but you’re not fooling me, Isobel Lanley. If he’s dead—”
“He’s not dead!” Isobel shouted suddenly, her voice piping with panic. She grabbed Gwen tightly by the arm, shaking her. “Don’t say that.”
Gwen pulled her arm roughly away. She took a step back, and, for a long moment, the two of them stood there and stared at each other.
“I’m tired of chasing after you,” Gwen said at last. “And if you’re not going to do something, then I’m not going to cover for you. Those two detectives came to school yesterday. If they come back, if they ask me what happened, I’m telling them what I saw.”
Isobel gaped at her friend. “Do something?” she repeated. She shook her head, uncomprehending. “Do—do you have any idea—”
“No!” Gwen snapped. “No! I don’t. I have no idea! In fact, the only thing I do know is that it looks like you’re giving up.”
Isobel blinked, suddenly speechless, stung to the core by the accusation of those words.
Gwen glared at her, unrelenting, her eyes lit with intensity. “Don’t look at me like that. I saw you there with him that night. And I know you know where he is.”