Chapter Twelve
The spaghetti on my plate might as well be cardboard for all the attention I’m paying to it. I move the food around with my fork, creating abstract patterns in the marinara sauce while my phone sits face-up beside my water glass. The screen stays stubbornly dark.
“You’re not eating,” Mom says, her own fork paused halfway to her mouth.
“I’m eating.” I take a deliberately large bite to prove my point, though it tastes like nothing.
Robert glances between us, sensing the undercurrent of tension. “How was the rest of school after we talked about Catalina?”
“Fine. Maya’s excited about the cabin arrangements. We find out roommates tomorrow.” Another bite, another glance at my phone. “Emma and I are supposed to video chat tonight.”
She’s been trying to be supportive about the Emma situation, but I can see the worry lines around her eyes, the way she keeps glancing at my phone too.
“That should be nice,” Robert says. “Getting to see her face, hear her voice.”
“If she responds to my messages.” The admission slips out before I can stop it. “I confirmed the time this afternoon, but she hasn’t replied yet.”
Mom sets down her fork entirely. “Maybe she’s busy. Different time zone, school activities.”
“Maybe.” But Michigan is only two hours ahead, and Emma had seemed so eager to talk when we were messaging yesterday. The silence feels deliberate rather than accidental.
My phone finally lights up, and I grab it so quickly I almost knock over my water glass. But it’s just Derek texting about tomorrow’s early departure for Catalina.
DEREK
All packed for the marine biology adventure?
Me
Almost. Still waiting to hear from Emma about our video chat.
DEREK
I’m sure she’ll message soon. Try not to stress.
Easy for him to say. He’s never spent eighteen years wondering about a family member, only to make contact and then have them go silent.
“Who was that?” Mom asks, though her voice sounds more relieved than curious.
“Derek. About the trip tomorrow.”
I push back from the table, my appetite completely gone. “I’m going to finish packing and wait for Emma to get back to me.”
“Olivia,” Mom starts, but I’m already heading for the stairs.
“Let me know when she calls,” Robert says gently. “I’d like to hear how it goes.”
In my room, I settle at my desk with my laptop open, webcam positioned at what I hope is a flattering angle. My phone sits beside the keyboard, volume turned up so I won’t miss any notifications. I’ve changed my shirt twice, settling on a casual blue sweater that brings out my eyes.
Seven thirty a.m. comes and goes. Then eight a.m. At eight-fifteen, I send another message.
Me: Hey Emma, still good for tonight? I’m all set up for video chat whenever you’re ready.
The message shows as delivered but not read. I refresh Instagram, checking to see if she’s been active. Her last story was posted four hours ago; a photo of her lunch with the caption “School cafeteria pizza strikes again.” She’s clearly had her phone today.
By eight forty-five, I’m spiraling. I’ve reorganized my desk, checked my camera settings three times, and started a draft email to Jeremy I immediately deleted.
What if Emma told him about our conversation and he forbade her from contacting me again?
What if they decided as a family that reconnecting with me would be too complicated?
I grab my Catalina packing list from my nightstand, determined to focus on something concrete and controllable.
Swimsuit, check. Sunscreen, check. Marine biology field notebook, check.
The routine of going through my belongings is oddly soothing, each item a reminder that my life exists beyond family drama and unanswered messages.
My phone buzzes and my heart jumps, but it’s Maya.
Maya
How’s the video chat going??? Tell me everything!
I stare at the message, my chest tight with disappointment. How do I explain that there is no video chat, that Emma seems to have disappeared as suddenly as she appeared?
Me
Raincheck on the chat, she hasn’t responded to my messages today.
Maya
That’s weird. Maybe family dinner ran long? Or homework crisis?
Me
Maybe.
Maya
Don’t spiral about it. There could be a million innocent reasons.
But as the evening wears on and my phone remains silent, innocent reasons feel less likely.
I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, running through every word of our Instagram conversation, trying to figure out what I might have said wrong.
Was I too eager? Too pushy about meeting?
Did I reveal something that made her uncomfortable?
The next morning arrives gray and foggy, matching my mood perfectly. I drag myself through my usual routine, checking my phone compulsively between brushing my teeth and getting dressed. Still nothing.
Downstairs, Mom has made pancakes, her go-to comfort food offering. She studies my face as I pour orange juice, clearly noting the dark circles under my eyes.
“No word from Emma last night?” she asks.
“Nothing.”
Robert looks up from his newspaper. “Sometimes people get busy, kiddo. Doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
“I know that.” I say with a frown. But knowing it intellectually doesn’t stop the anxious spiral in my stomach.
The drive to school passes in a blur of gray marine layer and morning traffic. Derek’s waiting by my locker, looking annoyingly well-rested and cheerful.
“Morning, sunshine,” he says, then takes in my expression. “Rough night?”
“Emma never messaged me back. We were supposed to video chat and she just… disappeared.”
“Did you try messaging her again?”
“Once. I don’t want to seem desperate.” Though I’m definitely feeling desperate.
He leans against the locker next to mine while I grab my books for first period. “Look, I know this is eating at you, but maybe the Catalina trip is perfect timing. Three days away from your phone, focusing on something completely different.”
“Or three days of wondering what happened while I’m stuck on an island with no cell service.”
“When you put it like that, it sounds terrible.”
“Your optimism is noted and appreciated.”
The morning passes in a haze of distracted note-taking and constant phone-checking.
In English, Mrs. Henderson discusses the symbolism of the green light in Gatsby, and I find myself thinking about Emma’s silence as another kind of unreachable beacon.
Something that seemed so close yesterday now feels impossibly distant.
During lunch, Maya tries to distract me with excited chatter about Catalina preparations, but I can tell she’s worried too. She keeps glancing at my phone, which sits screen-up on the lunch table like a judgment.
“Maybe her phone broke,” she suggests. “Or her parents took it away. Or she got grounded.”
“All possible,” I agree, though none of those explanations feel right. Emma had seemed so mature and responsible in our conversations. Not the type to lose phone privileges.
Sophie joins our discussion about cabin assignments and planned activities, and I try to participate, but my heart isn’t in it. The thought of spending three days pretending to be excited about marine biology while Emma’s silence echoes in my head feels exhausting.
“You know what?” Maya says suddenly. “I’m glad this is happening before Catalina instead of during. Better to process it on solid ground than while you’re supposed to be tide pooling.”
She has a point. Sitting in a biology classroom obsessing over unanswered messages is better than sitting in a research station on an island obsessing over unanswered messages.
My stomach feels fuzzy as Mr. Henderson reviews safety protocols, going over the departure schedule, and reminding everyone to check their email for cabin assignments. Maya pulls out her phone immediately.
“Checking roommates now,” she says, fingers flying over her screen. “Please let us be together, please let us be together…”
I refresh my email, scanning through the usual school announcements until I find the message from Mrs. Henderson with the subject line “Catalina Island - Cabin Assignments.”
“Yes!” Maya practically shouts, then catches herself and whispers, “We’re in Cabin 7 with Sophie and Jessica from chemistry class.”
Relief washes over me. At least I’ll have my best friend there to distract me from Emma’s continued silence.
“Derek, what cabin are you in?” Maya calls across the classroom.
He looks up from his phone. “Cabin 4 with Tyler, Jake, and Marcus. Should be sufficiently chaotic.”
“Breakfast starts at six-thirty, the bus leaves at seven fifteen sharp,” Mrs. Henderson announces. “If you’re not on that bus, you’re not going to Catalina. No exceptions, no second chances.”
“Yes ma’am!
“See you bright and early tomorrow,” Derek says as we reach our cars. “Try to get some sleep.”
The drive home passes quickly, my mind occupied with mental packing lists and trip logistics instead of Emma’s silence. By the time I pull into our driveway, I’ve almost convinced myself that three days away is exactly what I need.
Inside, Mom’s making dinner while Robert reads the newspaper at the kitchen counter. The scene is so perfectly normal it makes me appreciate the stability they’ve provided all these years.
“How were the final trip preparations?” Mom asks, glancing up from the stove.
“Good. I’m rooming with Maya, Sophie, and Jessica. Should be fun.”
“That’s wonderful. And you have everything you need?”
“Just need to finish packing tonight.”
After dinner, I head upstairs with a sense of purpose. My duffel bag sits open on my bed, half-filled with the basics I’d packed earlier. I add the remaining items methodically: extra sunscreen, my underwater camera, the marine biology field guide Mr. Henderson recommended.
As I fold my last swimsuit, I catch myself glancing at my phone. The screen shows no new notifications. For a moment, doubt creeps in; maybe I should send one more message to Emma, just to see if something’s wrong. But I resist the urge. If she wanted to talk, she would have responded by now.
I zip up my bag and set it by the door, ready for tomorrow’s early departure. Three days from now, I’ll return with stories about marine life and memories of time with friends.
I set my alarm for five-thirty a.m. Catalina Island, here I come.