Chapter Two
Romy
D read coils in the pit of my belly as I pass by the coffee shop. The cute guy is indeed working, hence the longer than usual line of giggling girls, but Megan isn’t one of them.
As I enter Marks Hall and am met with an overwhelming stench of Fabulosa that makes my eyes water, I consider my words to Megan. If she’s fine and safe, I’m going to yell at her. If she’s not okay, then I’m going to yell at someone on behalf of her.
My gut tells me it’s the latter.
There’s something about Megan that makes me want to protect her at all costs. Maybe it’s because she’s a whole foot shorter than my five-foot-nine. Or maybe it’s how she can never really make eye contact or bring her voice above much more than a whisper. I feel a kinship to her—like we might have some of the same haunting past nightmares that haven’t had time to reveal themselves yet. We both escaped, but where I’m made of thicker skin, she’s fragile like a delicate teacup at risk of getting broken by someone who’s not careful.
I nearly crash into two girls when I round the corner to head down her hallway. They both grumble in irritation, but I pay no attention to their words.
I’m on a mission.
Find Megan and gripe her out.
When I reach her dorm room, I pound on the cheap wood with my fist. The difference in where we dorm here at USC is like night and day, a real testament to our dissimilar financial upbringings. Everything here smells weird and is aging, and yet, I still like her place better than the stuffy, prestigious building I live in.
No one answers, so I start banging on the door again. Finally, I hear the bolt disengage before the door swings open.
“You dropped! How could you do that without telling me?” I demand, already pointing a finger in her face.
Except it’s not her face.
A sleepy, freckle-faced girl with seven facial piercings stares at me without emotion. “What are you going on about, Barbie?”
I don’t bristle at the name because it’s not the first time Megan’s roommate, Drea, has called me that. Barbie may or may not have driven a cherry-red Audi like me, but I know for a fact she wasn’t batshit crazy.
“You’re not crazy.”
Maura flashes her disapproving frown whenever I call myself that.
“Where’s Megan?” I push against the door, but the girl standing behind it has at least sixty pounds over me, so it goes nowhere.
“Gone,” Drea says, scowling at me. “You woke me up. You can go now.”
This time, I put all my effort into muscling past her into the room. Drea curses at me but allows me to pass. I scan the small space, looking for my friend.
Her usually neatly made bed has been stripped. The pictures of her cat back home no longer pepper the paint-chipped walls. A once huge stack of YA dystopian and vampire novels is nowhere to be seen.
“What the hell?” I mutter under my breath. “Where is she?”
Drea huffs before crawling back into her bed. “Gone. Like I said.”
“Where? Why? How?”
“I’m not her keeper,” Drea grumbles. “All I know is she was all moved out when I got in late last night.” She shrugs one shoulder. “It’s not like she left a note or anything.”
I sit down on Megan’s bed and survey the empty side of her room. “This is all so weird.”
“I had three different roommates freshman year,” Drea says. “Not that strange. Some people can’t cut it.”
But she can cut it.
Megan is smart and hardworking.
Things just aren’t adding up.
“I need to talk to her,” I say to Drea, “but she’s not answering. I’m really worried.”
Drea sits up on one elbow. “Don’t look at me. I don’t have her number.”
They’ve been sharing a room all semester and they never exchanged numbers? It irritates me more than it should. Drea seems to be a strong, confident girl. Megan could have used someone like her in her court.
All she has is me.
The thought saddens me. Maybe she’ll call me later and tell me everything. We may be new friends, but I already feel a gaping hole in my chest. Nothing about this feels right.
I slide my backpack off to pull out a notebook. Quickly, I scribble down my number with Romy, not Barbie, at the top and then tear out the sheet of paper.
“Call me if you get word from her or if she comes back,” I instruct as I set the paper down on the end table. “I really need to speak to her.”
“If I promise, will you leave, Barbie?”
I have the urge to flip this girl off, but I refrain. “Yup.”
After I tuck my notebook into my bag, I throw it back on my shoulder and scan the room one last time for clues.
Nothing.
I head for the door to let myself out but stop when I see a blue and yellow crumpled pamphlet sitting on top of the trash in the tiny bin near the door. Drea doesn’t gripe at me for digging in her trash, but I also don’t stall any longer. I grab the pamphlet on my way out.
Once I’m in the Fabulosa hallway again, I hurry toward the building lobby. As soon as I find an armchair, I plop down and roll out the crumpled pamphlet.
Crowne Unity Project.
“Never heard of it,” I mutter as I start reading.
The Crowne Unity Project is a gift to the world. We make it our mission to uplift and transform individuals who have been left behind in modern society, providing them with the necessary resources and support they need to reach their full potential and contribute meaningfully to the world.
I get the odd sensation of someone watching me, but when I look up and scan the lobby, I discover I’m the only one here. This whole thing is creeping me out. I quickly check my texts, but Megan has left me on unread.
Through rehabilitation, empowerment, and community building, the Crowne Unity Project, or CUP, will not only teach others to be their best but to also soar above anything they could ever have imagined.
Then it goes on to list all the bulleted things they offer.
education
mentorship
employment opportunities
psychological counseling
leadership training
social reintegration
fostering community
providing support and friendship
It tells more about their facilities located all over the US and contact information for applicants.
Is this something she got involved in?
Before I go chasing this rabbit, I decide I need to speak with someone reputable. Drea is far from reputable. I stuff the pamphlet into my bag and then rise to my feet. The walk to the admin building of USC is a long one, but I need the fresh air.
As soon as I push through the door, I inhale the pumpkin cinnamon coffee scent ruminating from the shop nearby. I’m tempted to grab a drink to help clear the confusion in my head, but I’m feeling too anxious at the moment. Coffee might make things worse.
Fifteen minutes of walking and I’ve not come up with any answers about Megan. I did scour her Instagram, but the last thing she posted was weeks before we even spoke. Nothing since then. I shoot her a message there but don’t wait for an answer since she doesn’t seem keen on giving me one.
The admin building isn’t too busy since we’re well past the halfway mark of the semester. It was bustling with people the first few weeks after the fall period started, but it’s practically crickets now. Again, it makes no sense for Megan to drop out so randomly and without even mentioning it to me or her roommate.
I find a student aide manning the front desk, face buried in what looks to be a chemistry book.
“Hi,” I say, grabbing her attention. “I need to speak to one of the counselors. It’s an emergency.”
The girl stifles an annoyed sigh before slowly rising from her seat. Then she shuffles with no real hurry down the hall. Several agonizing minutes later, she returns.
“Mrs. Caplan will be with you in a minute.”
She plops down in her desk chair and gets back to studying. I pace the floor as I wait for the counselor to arrive. Another few minutes and a rail-thin woman with a bird beak nose gives me a warm smile.
“Come on back,” Mrs. Caplan says, gesturing at me to follow her.
I scurry after her, itching for information. Before we hardly make it into her office, I’m already bursting with the need to speak.
“My friend is missing,” I rush out. “Well, not missing. She, uh, wasn’t in class this morning. Then Professor Bolton said she’d dropped out. When I went to her dorm room, her roommate said she’d packed up and left. I’m really worried something bad has happened to her.”
The woman blinks at me, her smile still plastered on her face. “I’m afraid we can’t give out information on other students.”
I visibly tremble with a mixture of anger and defeat. Rather than lash out at her, I swallow down my emotion and meet her with an even stare. “Please,” I beg softly. “Tell me anything. She won’t return my texts. I think someone kidnapped her.”
Mrs. Caplan’s eyes crinkle as her features transform into one of concern. “Oh, hon. Have a seat. I’ll investigate just to give you some reassurance but without details. I can at least do that.”
Relieved, I sit down, ignoring the ache of my backpack weighing down my shoulders. I know it’s close for my next class to start, but it looks like I’ll be missing today. Luckily, I’m pretty ahead in most classes.
“All right,” Mrs. Caplan says as she also sits and then turns toward her keyboard. “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Megan Benson. She’s a freshman staying in Marks Hall.”
Mrs. Caplan taps away at the keys and then leans toward the screen, squinting. Her bird beak nearly touches the screen. “Hmm.”
My stomach twists. “What? What happened?”
“Nothing. It just says she withdrew from all of her classes online yesterday afternoon.”
“Does it say why?”
“I wouldn’t be able to tell you if it did. But no, there’s no reason. I’m sorry, but that’s all the information I have.”
I stare at her, dumfounded. “But why would she do this? It makes no sense. Could someone have taken her and withdrawn her?”
She chuckles. “That seems like a stretch. Let me guess, you’re knee-deep in Professor Bolton’s infamous conspiracy theory project.”
“Yes, but this has nothing to do with that. She just disappeared without telling anyone.” My frustration builds. “Do you have a contact number for her parents?”
Shaking her head, she mashes a button, and the screen minimizes. “I’m afraid I can’t give you that information, hon. I’m sorry.”
“What if she’s hurt?”
Mrs. Caplan frowns. “I’m sure she’s fine.” She lets out a soft sigh and then gives me a pitying stare. “Some students find that they’re way out of their depth when they come to college. I’ve seen them do lots of strange things. Ghosting their friends is more common than you think. She’s probably just embarrassed she quit. It’s not an easy thing to admit.”
This woman truly believes everything’s perfectly fine.
It’s not fine.
“I don’t know what to do,” I mutter. “What if you’re wrong and she’s been kidnapped?”
Her smile falters and I can see it in the twitch in her eye that she’s losing patience with me. “There’s nothing for you to do except go back to your room or class or wherever you’re supposed to be right now. I’m sure when the time is right, Miss Benson will reach out to you. If not, it’s something you’ll have to accept. I’m sorry I can’t help you any more than that.”
Gritting my teeth together, I stand and try not to hiss in frustration. “I guess I’ll just have to make a police report then,” I threaten. “I won’t let her disappearance get swept under the rug.”
Mrs. Caplan also stands. She reaches over and pulls open a drawer. I see a blue pamphlet in her hand. My stomach does a nervous flip.
“Is that CUP—”
“This service is totally free for students,” Mrs. Caplan interrupts. “At USC, we care deeply about our students’ mental health. I strongly encourage you to go have a chat with the folks over there. It’s just one building over.”
I pluck the pamphlet from her hand and stare at the picture of a woman with her face buried in her hands.
Depressed? Anxious? Overwhelmed? We can help.
Heat creeps up my cheeks. I quickly turn away from her so she doesn’t see my visible shame. Muttering out my thanks, I stalk out of her office, making sure to toss the pamphlet on chemistry girl’s desk on the way past.
I’m not crazy. I’m not.
Megan Benson is missing, and no one seems to care.
I care.
I’m going to find you, Megan.
That’s what friends do.
They don’t give up.
I won’t give up.