The Lance Temptation Part 8

"She doesn't want to be found. What about a boyfriend?"

I thought of Pete. Was he officially her boyfriend? Would Farah say so? I didn't actually know. "Not that I know of. Like I said, she's popular with all the guys."

"Her poor mother..." Mom clucked her tongue. "I'm sure we'll hear something soon. Yes, I feel it. We'll hear from her soon, so let's try not to worry."

We sat there, together on the couch, for a long while. Mom didn't let go of my shoulder. We waited and waited some more. Sarah came home and found us sitting there. Finally, Mom got up to go fix dinner.

Hours pa.s.sed. I'd never felt so helpless in my whole life. I texted Farah every five minutes. Nothing, nothing, and more nothing.

Where was she?

Chapter Seven.

My thoughts raced all night so I hardly slept. I couldn't block Farah from my mind. Where could she possibly have gone? Did her mom call the police? I remembered Farah talking about an aunt in California. Would she have gone to see her? But how would she have gotten there? Mrs. Menins said there were no relatives so maybe it wasn't an aunt after all. Did Pete know where she was? And if he did, why wasn't he saying anything? Would anyone be so mean?

Stupidly, my mind circled back to Lance. I couldn't figure him out. I tried to forget how indifferent he'd been, but I couldn't shake it. Him acting like he hated me one minute, then claiming to be my steady the next - it was bizarre. Maybe his being upset about Farah could explain his meanness. I knew they were friends, or were they more? A sharp ache p.r.i.c.ked my stomach.

No, I wouldn't go there.

Farah had spoken about doing something. What was it? Did it have something to do with me? With Lance? Pete? Why was I churning on and on?

Me being miserable didn't help anybody. Farah was the important one.

Yet my thoughts swirled all night. By morning, I felt like I'd been dragged through a field behind a tractor. Mom was making toast in the kitchen when I went in.

"Any word?" I asked.

"Nothing. I'm sorry, honey."

"Don't you think Mrs. Menins would've called if she heard anything?"

Mom shrugged and pressed her hand to her forehead. "I'd think so, but I don't know the woman. Let's a.s.sume Farah's safe and sound at home, shall we? I bet she'll be at school today like normal."

I walked over to Mom and leaned into her. She put her arms around me, and I laid my head on her shoulder like I used to when I was little. Even at sixteen, it made me feel better.

"Thanks, Mom. But I can't stop thinking about her." I gave Mom a hard squeeze, and she released me. I grabbed my backpack. "I'm gonna go to school early. I can't sit around here waiting for another thirty minutes. I don't understand why Farah hasn't texted me. She would've, you know."

"Go on to school, then," Mom said. "I suppose you can't call me when you find something out."

"Not supposed to, but I could sneak and call you."

"I don't want you getting into trouble. You could call from the office, though, if you needed to."

Translation: If you find out Farah's been murdered, please let me know.

"I will."

Sarah wandered into the kitchen and picked up a piece of toast. "Heard from Farah?"

"No, none of us have." I grabbed my jacket off the rack and headed for the door.

"You going already?" she asked, taking a big bite, and smearing jelly on her cheek.

"Yeah, I can't sit around another minute."

"Sorry," Sarah said, wiping at her face with a wadded up napkin. "I hope she's okay."

I turned back to her. "I know you do, Sarah. Thanks."

The cold air jolted through me. I flipped up the collar of my jacket to try to block the wind. Goose b.u.mps formed on my bare legs. Why was I still wearing this skirt to school? I should've changed to my uniform pants a month ago. I shoved my hands in my pockets. Gloves would have been a good idea, too.

The school courtyard was deserted. Teachers were trickling in, and I could see the surprise on their faces when they saw me there so early.

"What are you doing here?" Mrs. Binder asked, in her grating baby-bird chirp.

I hesitated, not sure how much the teachers knew about Farah's situation, if anything. "I had some homework to catch up on."

"You're going to get mighty cold waiting outside for the bell," she continued. "Students can't come in for another fifteen minutes."

"It's okay, I'm not cold," I lied.

"I suppose I could sneak you in. I'm a bit of a pushover for frozen students. And you do look frozen, Emili. Do you want to come in and help me with some ch.o.r.es? Perhaps correct a paper or two?"

"No thanks. I'm waiting for someone. I'll be fine."

"All righty then. At least I offered." She waved and went inside.

I hoisted myself onto the brick railing above the steps. The scratchy cold zapped through my legs, making me suck in my breath. At least I was next to the wall so the wind couldn't get me as easily. From my perch, I could get a good look at anyone arriving.

I kept vigil as the crowd increased. We didn't have any busses at Bates, so everyone drove, walked, or was dropped off. The traffic was getting busy, but still no sign of Farah. I watched students I hardly knew pa.s.s me. I saw eleventh grader Callie Something-or-other walk by. She barely ate enough to stay alive. Everyone talked about her all the time. Her cheeks were sunken in and even with a coat on, she could be mistaken for a stick. She appeared to be a walking ice sculpture. I watched her climb the steps and felt unbearably sad. I thought about my own issues and realized hers were literally life and death. Our eyes met for a brief second. Glancing at me, her gaze became hard and brittle.

"Hey, Callie," I said. She didn't answer.

Then I heard all the noise and there was Farah getting out of her mom's SUV, surrounded by five - yes, five - guys.

She was smiling and tossing her fiery hair behind her shoulders. "I was sick," I heard her say. Then she cracked up laughing.

I slipped down from the wall, careful not to scratch my skin off. There she was, guffawing and joking as if nothing had happened. And what had happened?

She smoothed her hand down her waist and hips then, and her eye caught mine.

"Well, Emili Jones, how are you?" she asked, starting up the stairs. Her face was unusually animated. She glided forward, looking healthy, rested.

I couldn't answer her. Part of me wanted to slump to the concrete in relief. The other part of me wanted to shake her silly.

"Guys, guys." She laughed again, fluttering her hand behind at her following. "I'll see you all later." She wasn't looking at them, and they wandered ahead of her toward the door.

"Where've you been?" The words shot out of my mouth.

"It's nice to see you, too," she answered smoothly.

"Seriously, Farah, where were you?"

"Around."

"Around? Around? I thought you agreed to text me if you went disappearing again."

"I don't know what all the fuss is about. I'm back aren't I? Safe and sound. You sound like my mother." She started toward the door then called over her shoulder, "Coming?"

I was so stunned I couldn't move. The anger started small, right inside the center of my chest. Then it blossomed and grew until it closed my throat. All the fuss? Was she flipping kidding?

"Suit yourself," she said, continuing inside.

The warning bell rang. I put one foot in front of the other while I tried to swallow the rage in my throat. School was starting. Who in the world cared about stupid stupid Farah?

Lance caught me between second and third period. He pulled me to a stop and seemed almost giddy. "Farah's back," he said. "You never told me."

I frowned.

"Why didn't you?" he asked.

"It would've been hard to tell you since I didn't know it myself until this morning. I don't know any more about it than you."

"Whoa - chill. No worries, right?"

"Right." I shook my arm loose and headed toward the girls' bathroom.

"You okay, Cecily?" he called after me.

"Peachy." I ducked into the bathroom. I was in no mood to stand there, chatting happily about Farah.

I rounded the corner and wouldn't you know it, there she was standing at the sink. I breezed past her and headed toward a stall.

"So, you're going to pretend you don't see me," she said.

"I see you."

"Look, Emili, I know you're mad. But the whole world doesn't revolve around you."

Was she saying it to me again?

"Uh, I kind of know it doesn't, Farah." I realized I was ready to burst into tears right there in front of her. I swallowed and widened my eyes.

"I thought we were friends," I said.

"We are friends. But friends don't have to tell each other everything. Sometimes, they don't." She paused, staring at her feet, then back up at me. After a deep breath, she continued, "We are friends, Emili."

"Well, I always thought friends told each other everything. I tell you everything." I realized I hadn't told her about breaking up with Marc by text, but mentioning it now wasn't going to help my case. "Why can't you tell me? Were you with Pete? Where were you? We were all worried sick. Did you know your mom came to my house?"

Farah's expression changed then, a blank curtain closed over her face. "I know. She told me repeatedly in her fit of wrath last night. Like it was my fault. I don't control where she goes. And if you can't be happy I'm back, then I'm sorry." She turned toward the mirror and fussed with her hair. The conversation was over - I was dismissed.

"Fine. Welcome back." I almost didn't recognize my own voice. I'd no idea I could sound so cold. I pivoted on my heel and banged into the stall, locking it tight behind me.

Late for third period again. Great. At this rate, I'd be written up and get a detention. Mom would be all over me. Farah was in my third period cla.s.s. We had a.s.signed seats, though, so we never sat together. Besides, sitting by her was the last - and I meant the absolute last - thing I wanted to do anyway. I sat in my usual seat and kept my eyes glued to the whiteboard while Mr. Anthony droned on about the lack of women's rights in Afghanistan.

Marcella, a bigger gossip than Jeannie, kept watching me. A couple times I stared back, mustering up my best mean glare. No good. She stretched her eyes like an innocent doe and kept staring.

Farah was little Miss Talkative all through cla.s.s - giving answers, waving her hand in the air, calling out when Mr. Anthony hadn't asked anything. Finally, he'd had enough. "Miss Menins," he said, in his standard nasally tone, "would you kindly refrain from calling out every three seconds? What's gotten into you today? Whatever it is, give it a rest."

Farah sank back in her chair, as if she were suddenly exhausted. "Sure thing, Mr. Anthony. You're the boss."

I averted my eyes. I couldn't believe I'd ever considered her a friend. My stomach smoldered. People who don't care a fig about other people shouldn't be allowed to be anyone's friend.

Time dragged by and I wasn't sure I could sit there another minute. Thank goodness, the bell rang. I s.n.a.t.c.hed my books and headed for the door.

Marcella cut me off. "Hmm, could it be trouble in paradise?" she asked, eyebrows raised to her curly brown hairline.

I tried to push past her.

"Seems your BFF doesn't want much to do with you anymore. Feels delightful, doesn't it?" she continued.

I tilted my head. "What are you getting at, Marcella?"

Her eyes bore into me, obviously waiting for me to speak. My mind went blank. I couldn't guess one thing she wanted me to say.

"You never even think about it, do you?" she asked, her voice dropping off into a whisper.

I didn't have time for this. I shrugged, confused, and walked out. Then it rushed over me. Was she referring to the incident nearly a year ago when I first got thick with Farah? I remembered it clearly. We'd been in the cafeteria. Marcella had motioned me to join her, but I'd seen my chance. I'd been waiting to find an in with Farah for weeks, so I pretended not to see Marcella. Instead, I walked over to the empty bench across from Farah and sat down. Farah had watched the whole thing and chortled with her usual glee. I was in! It was the beginning of our friends.h.i.+p. From then on, Farah welcomed me tagging along.

I didn't think ignoring Marcella had been so awful. But to cover my bases, I'd tried to make it up to her by being especially nice later in the week. She wouldn't have it. Ever since, Marcella hasn't spoken more than a few words to me. Wow, the girl could carry a grudge. Astonis.h.i.+ng. To be honest, I felt a little guilty, and probably should've handled it differently. But it was a long time ago, and we all do dumb things sometimes. Surely, she could understand.

Obviously, she couldn't.

I continued on my way to the stairs, adjusting my stack of books and my pencil case, keeping my eyes on the floor. I was done with people for the day. Halfway up the steps, I felt like I was being watched and there was Marc bearing down on me. I quickly jumped out of his way and recovered my balance with a mumbled, "Sorry."

He stepped closer, so close I could hear him breathe. His voice was gentle and familiar. "It's okay. I saw you coming."

My eyes met his. "I, uh, I wasn't paying attention."