TWELVE
A t breakfast I think about that conversation with Jay this morning. Yeah, I’d totally realized that I’d caught feelings for my unconventional new roommate—I mean, how could I not? This is Jay Hoque . But the stuff he said to me this morning makes me wonder if he’s feeling something real for me too. It’s completely preposterous, but he literally said he wanted to ask me out.
After everything people have said about him, and even what he’s said about himself, how can I possibly take him seriously? Maybe this morning’s flirting was Jay being Jay—a player. But what would be the point of him angling for a no-commitment fling? We don’t even have a way to actually, you know, see each other in person.
Maybe we’re both feeling things we wouldn’t normally feel because we’re going through hard things right now. I mean, I’m super lonely and had an epic friend-breakup, and Jay, well, Jay just learned that he’s about to disappear off the face of the earth. We’re both vulnerable. If Jay and I met in normal circumstances, when both of our lives were going well, none of this would have happened.
I search Jay’s other three hookups on Instagram. One is white, one is South Asian, and one is East Asian. All are conventionally attractive. And all seem to have active social lives. None of them have octopuses on their grid. My self-esteem is fine, most of the time, but I know that I’m a little strange. Compared to these girls, I’m a lot strange.
But also ... these three girls aren’t really like Emma Coffey either. I can’t put my finger on it, but they seem more down to earth. Emma is clearly a social climber, and her Instagram is all designer clothes and gorgeous selfies, while these others have food and city pics, and more casual shots. I don’t know if I should bother reaching out to them. Something tells me they haven’t commented on Birdwatcher.
Instead, I check out Jay’s cousin Manal’s Instagram. Pictures of her watercolor art dominate her whole feed. She is very talented. She has gorgeous realistic paintings of animals, but also some very cool, almost abstract pieces. Like you have to squint to recognize the thing you’re looking at, but when you do, it’s all you can see. She mostly works in warm colors—reds, yellows, and oranges—which gives her work a fiery quality. There’s also something vaguely familiar about it. I open her DMs and write a message, saying that I’m a friend of Jay’s and would love to speak to her for a podcast I’m doing about his disappearance. She doesn’t respond.
Later, in politics, I check my Instagram while the professor is taking a break. But I can’t see Manal’s account this time.
“She blocked me!” I say, shocked.
Gracie, who is sitting next to me, raises a brow. “Who?”
I show her my screen. “Jay’s cousin. I wanted to interview her for the podcast, but she blocked me after I DMed her.”
Gracie pulls out her own phone and brings up the account. “Oh wow, she’s talented. She’s probably had a lot of people contacting her for interviews. I don’t blame her for setting boundaries.”
Yeah, but this is different. Jay told her to trust me. But I can’t tell Gracie that.
“Yeah, I guess ... but I ...” I sigh. “I need to talk to someone from his family, don’t I?”
“Lemme try,” Gracie says. “I’m pretty sure I met her once when she was visiting Jay. Maybe she’ll agree to see me.”
Gracie sends her a DM. By the end of politics, she doesn’t have an answer either. But at least she’s not blocked.
The rest of the week is pretty uneventful, at least with regard to our investigation. Professor Sarah goes over my first draft of episode one and gives me great feedback. I record the episode with Gracie’s help in one of the soundproof booths in the library. Gracie doesn’t hear back from Manal. When I tell Jay that his cousin doesn’t seem to want to talk to me, he says to give her space, and that Manal can be a private person. He’s convinced we shouldn’t bother his family—they’re probably having a hard enough time. Since Bailey Cressman and Jack Gormley are our only suspects at this point, there isn’t much we can do until Jack’s party.
Jay and I watch all three Back to the Future movies on Wednesday and Thursday nights, and the movies are way better than I remember. Or maybe they seem better because watching movies with Jay is a ton of fun. His commentary is hilarious, and my eyes stay glued to our chat log more than the actual movie. We even break off into a tangent about food, and he tells me about all the best sandwiches in the city. Apparently, his all-time favorite is the beef shawarma from a place called Shawarma Delight near his house that he and his mother are both obsessed with. I make a note of the restaurant. I tell him about my favorite sandwich from this fancy teahouse in Alderville that makes everything from scratch.
The more time I spend with Jay, the more I think this connection we have, this easy friendship, isn’t happening randomly. And it’s not only so I can save him. He’s sort of saving me too. Just when I lose my closest friend, someone else comes along, and I don’t feel so alone anymore.
On Saturday, Aster and I get ready for Jack’s party in Gracie’s room. I finally agreed to let them pick out my clothes, because when I suggested I wear my red-and-green pleated skirt with my fuzzy white sweater, Gracie said there was no way anyone at the party would talk to me dressed like a Hallmark Christmas movie. Apparently, I need to look like one of the trust-fund kids. Or look like I want to be one of them.
The dress Aster loans me isn’t my normal style. It’s fancier than my prom dress. It’s definitely tighter. I yank on the hem of the dark-mauve, sleeveless minidress, eyeing the deep halter neckline in Gracie’s mirror. How am I supposed to sit in this without showing everyone my underwear? I’m not even wearing normal underwear, just this tight girdle thing to hold in my stomach and a halter push-up bra. They’re incredibly uncomfortable.
“Your boobs look phenomenal in that,” Gracie says, looking at me in the mirror. I frown. I don’t think my boobs have ever been this high. And my hair—I used a YouTube tutorial to make my curls defined and voluminous instead of frizzy, and Aster made me wear a lipstick the exact color of my dress. Gracie is wearing an outfit that’s a cross between a blazer and a dress with sequined lapels. She says it’s her sister’s, who works at Saks Fifth Avenue. She’s also slicked her bangs back into a tight ponytail, which accentuates her cheekbones, and has on nude lipstick and dark eyeliner. She looks stunning, but she doesn’t look like Gracie.
Aster’s yellow dress is even shorter and tighter than mine, and her hair falls loose in soft waves. She’s wearing contacts instead of her oversize Gucci glasses, and makeup covers her freckles. Since I’ve only seen Aster in jeans before, she also looks strange. And gorgeous. I frown at the three of us, reflected in the mirror on Gracie’s closet door. Two journalism nerds and a girl-jock dressed like Kardashians. This is going to be an interesting night.
I throw a sweatshirt over my dress before my coat in case it’s cold. The weather’s still being so weird. Like it didn’t get the memo that spring should be here by now.
We split an Uber to the party. It’s late, past ten o’clock, but Aster says these parties don’t pick up until this hour or later. The Gormleys live in the posh Forest Hill neighborhood—a part of the city I’ve never been to. The car drops us off in front of an enormous gray brick house with black window frames and doors. It looks to be about eight times the size of my parents’ house in Alderville.
“Holy shit,” I say as we get out of the car. “This house looks bigger than East House.” I tighten my coat around my shoulders.
Aster nods. “It probably is. Jack says his parents are in Prague right now. The house is fucking nuts—careful you don’t get lost. Stay in Jack’s wing and you’ll be fine. I’ll tell Nat we’re here.” She pulls out her phone and texts someone.
Gracie glances at Aster, irritated.
We don’t knock on the double doors—but someone opens them anyway. It’s a tiny girl a bit younger than us with a short blonde pixie haircut. She’s dressed in wide-legged light-blue jeans and a cropped purple crocheted tank. When she sees us, her face lights up, and she throws herself around Aster in a hug. Gracie blinks at them.
The entryway of the house is about the size of my living room at home. The floors and the curved staircase are dark wood, and a huge chandelier hangs from the high ceiling. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around, but a low beat drifts through the house.
Aster introduces the girl with the pixie as Nat and tells us she grew up with Jack. Nat nods and says he’s practically her little brother. My eyes widen at that. Nat isn’t a clone of Emma or Bailey, and she’s not dressed how Aster told me I’d have to dress for this party. She seems out of place. When I look at her closely, I wonder if she’s actually older than I thought. She clearly knows Aster really well.
I start to unzip my coat. Nat points to a formal-looking sitting room off the entrance hallway of the house. “You can throw your coats there, in that room. Don’t leave any valuables in it. Jack wanted to hire a coat-check girl, but he’s always a bit extra.”
After we drop our things in the pile of coats, Nat loops her arm through Aster’s. “I am so glad you came. You never hang out anymore.”
As she guides Aster past the stairwell, Gracie and I follow, and I can feel Gracie’s annoyance at this girl radiating off her. What exactly is going on here? At some point I have to get Gracie to explain the status of her “relationship” with Aster.
As we walk toward a huge kitchen, long hallways branch out on both sides. Nat takes us down the left hallway, and we pass several rooms—a gym, a library, and what looks like a locker room. The hallway ends with large double doors. This is where all the noise is coming from.
Nat opens the doors with a flourish. “We need to keep the doors closed so the housekeeper doesn’t complain.”
I do a bit of a double take once I see the actual party room. It doesn’t look like it belongs in this formal house—it actually looks more like a quirky nightclub or an industrial loft. The lighting in the space is dim, but pale twinkle lights glow everywhere—around the windows, lining a bar area, even hanging from the ceiling. The flooring is gray tile, but there are several plush white area rugs scattered around.
An enormous screen covering one wall shows an old cartoon—something I don’t recognize. The furniture in the room is modern—steel and leather—and mostly clustered on one side of the room. There are about fifty people or more here, which is fewer than I expected. Some lounge on couches, others sit on those cushy white rugs, and many stand near the bar. Everyone is in club clothes—we’re not overdressed at all.
My eyes are drawn to a guy wearing a three-piece white suit with a pink scarf around his neck lying in the middle of the floor, not even on a rug, with his eyes closed.
“I’m not in Alderville anymore,” I say softly.
Gracie takes my forearm and squeezes.
“Natasha, tell me the sushi is here,” the guy lying on the floor says, his eyes still closed. He’s a stereotype of a rich white boy—impeccable features, shiny blond hair, bored voice. I assume this is Jack.
“Get off the floor, Jack,” Nat says, kicking his leg. “Aster and her friends are here.” She’s still holding on to Aster’s arm.
He snorts. “I thought Aster only cared about plebeians now.”
“Hi, Jack, great to see you too,” Aster deadpans. “Get up and meet my friends.”
He groans with annoyance. “I cannot possibly be introduced to new people right now. My brain is full of people. Any more and they will drown out the much-needed voices.” Suddenly, he rolls himself onto his side, crossing his legs and propping himself on his elbow. He squints at us. “Oh, it’s you. I liked you better in a suit.”
I frown. Who is he talking to?
Nat shakes her head. “Don’t mind him. He’s already wasted. Let’s get you some drinks.”
She steps over Jack’s legs and heads to the bar area. I step around him. As we walk away, he mumbles something about glorious backsides.
We’re introduced to several people at the bar area, which is really more of a small kitchen with a huge stone countertop and silvery gray cabinets. I don’t recognize any of the people, and none of them are Bailey. The girls are all dressed like we are—in short, tight dresses. Some are shiny or glittery. The guys are more varied—some in jeans and T-shirts. A few in polo shirts, and at least one guy in sweatpants. There is a ton of untouched food on the counter—including a few trays of sushi. “I don’t know why Jack always orders so much food,” Nat says. “No one ever eats.” She waves her hand. “Wine? Or there’s beer, cider ... and I think Travis was mixing cocktails somewhere.” She turns around and walks away, yelling, “Travis, where’s the vodka?”
Gracie takes this opportunity to slide next to Aster. Staking her claim? Who even knows. They go through the stacks of bottles and cans in the fridge. Gracie chooses something called a Spritz for herself, gets a small can of sparkling pink wine for Aster, then asks me what I want.
Although I’ve had alcohol before, I’m a total lightweight, so I don’t drink very often. In fact, the last time I did was Halloween, and I way overdid it that night. I don’t even remember a huge chunk of that party. When I hesitate, Aster grins. “You should have a Lavender Mule to match that dress.” She opens a bottled cocktail in a deep-purple color and hands it to me.
I take a slow sip of the drink, doing my best not to make a face. It’s strong, but also floral and gingery. I should probably stick to one drink all night so I can keep my wits to gather clues. Gracie and Aster chat with some of the nearby girls while I look around the room.
It’s not hard to imagine Jay at a party like this. Even if he’s not as wealthy, he’s as attractive as they are. And he seems like the type who belongs anywhere. But one of these people could have hurt him. Maybe.
I’m not the only person of color here—of course I came with Gracie, and I can see at least one other Brown person and even a few Black and East Asian people. But it’s a mostly white crowd. I feel like a bunny at a dog show.
From the other side of the room, Nat scream-laughs, and I turn to see some big guy in shorts and a polo shirt holding her over his shoulder so her butt is next to his face. Another new group of people come in through the double doors and walk around the still-screaming Nat.
“Nat is not what I expected,” Gracie says.
Aster frowns. “Okay. What did you expect?”
Gracie shrugs. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s clear this is a continuation of a conversation they’ve had before.
“Let’s not forget why we’re here,” Gracie says. “Do you see Bailey?”
Aster shakes her head. “She might not be here yet. Should we ask around about Jay?”
I squeeze my drink. Maybe I should have listened to him. Something is telling me that coming to this party was a mistake. But that could just be my anxiety.
“There’s Tamara,” Aster says. “She’s tight with Bailey. She’ll know if she’s here.”
Tamara is with a group of girls and guys near the window. After Aster introduces us, a girl asks Gracie and me if we’re from Toronto. Which, weird question, but okay.
Gracie nods, but I shake my head. “I’m from Alderville,” I say. “It’s on the Bay of Quinte.”
“Oh!” she says, chuckling. “Good. Thought you were international students.”
Tamara rolls her eyes and asks me about Alderville. Apparently, her family has vacationed there several times. She’s pretty, with dark-brown skin and long curls.
After some small talk, and thankfully no more microaggressions, Aster asks Tamara if she knows if Bailey will be here.
Tamara looks around, frowning. “She was here. Where’d they all go?”
“A bunch of people went to the wine cellar in the basement,” one of the guys responds.
“Did you need Bailey for something?” Tamara asks. I like Tamara. She doesn’t seem as snobby as the others. But I’m not sure how we’ll answer that question. We can’t exactly say we want to ask her about the secret Instagram account that was stalking a now-missing student.
But Aster appears to be two steps ahead of us. “I think we switched cleats after indoor soccer today.” She smiles at the rest of us. “We do this all the time.”
That leads to a conversation about the indoor soccer dome that Aster plays in and what other sports are held there. Someone, hilariously, laments that it’s too bad they don’t play polo there. Like horse polo.
“No one cares about equestrian sports in this city,” a popped-collar-shirt-wearing guy says. “Now, water polo, on the other hand ... I’m still mourning the end of the last season. Sigh.”
“Dude, one of your players disappeared ,” another guy says. “Of course it affected the team morale. Have a heart.”
Jay. They’re talking about Jay. Gracie looks at me.
“I barely knew the guy, but it really sucks what happened to Jay,” Aster says, not skipping a beat. “So wild he hasn’t been found yet. You were tight with him, right, Alex?”
Popped Collar nods. “Yeah, from water polo. Jay was my bro . Wicked player. It’s no wonder we couldn’t make it through the semis without him.” He shakes his head. He does look genuinely sad for Jay. “Dude was kind of weird sometimes.” He snorts. “I kept telling him to cut the umbilical cord. But he was cool too. Like a mama’s boy, but also not a mama’s boy.”
“What about all the gossip about him?” I ask. “I heard he was a ... player with girls ...”
Alex high-fives one of the other guys. “You mean he was a baller !”
Tamara rolls her eyes. “I don’t believe that shit about Jay. He was in my program. He was one of the only engineering students who never talked down to me. He wasn’t nearly as sexist as most of the guys his age.” She side-eyes the guys she’s with.
“I lived next door to him,” Gracie adds. “And I’m with you. He was a chill, respectful dude. What do you think happened to him?”
Popped Collar shrugs. “Either someone wanted him gone or he wanted himself gone.” He shakes his head, and there is real compassion on his face. “I didn’t see it coming, though. Honestly, Jay was the most together guy on the team. Coach used to call him Yoda because he was, like, wise, you know?”
My stomach clenched. I know exactly what this guy means. I remember what Jay said when I told him about Mia.
“Looks like they hit the jackpot in the wine cellar!” one of the guys says. “How much you wanna bet they already drank a bottle downstairs?”
As the others continue talking, Gracie, Aster, and I move away from the group. Aster points to someone.
“That’s Bailey,” she says. “Over by the fireplace. The redhead.”
I look over in that direction. In a group of girls with long, straight hair parted in the center, there’s one whose vibrant red color doesn’t look natural.
“Do we just approach her?” Gracie asks.
Aster shakes her head. “Not after she blew me off yesterday. Is there someone else with her that any of us know? We need an in.”
I scan the largish crowd with Bailey. Several girls hold wine bottles and drink straight from them. And ... fuck. There is someone I know in the group. Someone I know very, very well.
“Shit. Mia.” I squeeze my bottle.
“Who’s Mia?” Aster asks.
I take a long gulp of my drink. I’m going to need it.