CLEO

Cleo

THIRTY MINUTES GONE

"Cleo!" Janine breaks into a huge grin when she opens her front door and sees me standing on her steps. "What are you doing here?"

In a cap-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, her thick dark hair up in a messy bun, she looks like a model. Janine is that mom—cool about everything. But not in an embarrassing way. She's nice, too, always. And so understanding. The one time Annie got in real trouble when she cut school in eighth grade, Janine felt bad for her. Back when we were still friends, I was always so jealous of Annie that she got to have Janine for her mom, while I was saddled with Cruella de Vil.

"Cleo, honey—what's wrong?" Janine asks, stepping closer. "You look—Are you okay?"

When I open my mouth, my throat clamps tight. I can't speak. I can barely breathe.

"Whoa, come in, come in." Janine ushers me inside and locks the door. "Are you hurt, Cleo? Did somebody hurt you?"

Annie appears on the stairs, freezes halfway down. Her eyes flash in my direction before she descends the rest of the way without looking at me. Annie and I lost touch when we started high school at Beacon, and she started running with a more, let's say, bookish crowd. And yeah, sure, I was partying a little bit with some of the cool kids. But it wasn't like I was that close with them. They were just fun to hang out with. Annie and I could have stayed friends if she hadn't judged me.

"What's going on?" Janine asks as she guides me to the living room couch. "What's that in your—Whose shoe is that?"

I look down. My mom's shoe is in my hand. I don't remember picking it back up.

Janine's expression is grave. "Cleo, why do you have a shoe?"

I quickly explain what happened back at the house—what I know of what happened—and that my dad is on his way. He was the one who told me to get out of the house, to go across the street to Annie's, where I would be safe. Janine's eyes are wide, her mouth open as I talk. But then she forces a smile. "It's good you came here. Everything is going to be okay." She turns to Annie. "Sweetheart, why don't you get Cleo a glass of water?"

Annie glares at me before heading into the kitchen. Okay, we drifted apart, but that was years ago. We haven't even seen each other for months. Why is she acting so pissed?

"I'm going to call your dad, so he knows you're safe." Janine grabs her phone from the coffee table, then confirms that the front door is locked. She goes to the front windows, too, jerking the curtains closed one by one. Meanwhile, there seems to be an excess of angry slamming from the kitchen.

"Oh, Aidan, I'm so glad I got you." A pause—Janine's hand goes to the back of her neck, her fingertips whitening as she squeezes. "Yes, she's here. And she's fine, just fine. Don't worry." She nods. "Okay. We'll be here. See you soon."

Annie reappears and shoves a glass of water into my hand before flopping down in the chair farthest from the couch.

"Your dad is on his way," Janine says. "And the police should be here any second." Janine's eyes are on the shoe in my hand. "Oh, honey, let me take that." She walks into the kitchen and returns with a plastic shopping bag. "Drop it in here." She averts her gaze from the bag as she knots the handles and places it in the front vestibule.

"I was asking Annie about you the other day, Cleo!" Almost cheerful. Like there's nothing going on here but old friends catching up. "But she said that you guys never see each other."

"It's a big school, Mom," Annie growls. "Anyway, I didn't say we never saw each other."

Janine rolls her big blue eyes good-naturedly. "Oh please, that is exactly what you said," she teases Annie.

"I said we weren't friends. " Annie stands. She's lost her self-conscious slouch, and she looks good with her blond hair pulled back, maybe even a little makeup on. Annie was always way more beautiful than she seemed to realize, but she kind of came into her own at NYU. She's even in one of the big sororities now. A real "popular girl," awash in a sea of mean, generic blondes—each one prettier than the last, but none of them beautiful. "I'm a biology major, and Cleo is English. There's not a lot of overlap, right, Cleo?" she asks, but the way she looks at me is weird, like she means something different entirely.

"What is taking the police so long?" Janine mutters. She's scared—it's obvious, even though she's trying to hide it. "This is an actual emergency."

Annie is still staring at me.

"So, what's up?" I ask casually. If I act normal, maybe she'll knock it off.

"You mean in the past six years?"

Jesus.

"Sure, in the past six years," I say flatly. Now I'm starting to get annoyed.

Technically what ended our friendship was Annie talking shit about me in high school. There were all these rumors sophomore year about my sleeping with people's boyfriends, none of which were true. And word was that Annie had started the rumors. She denied it, and I couldn't prove it, but I couldn't ever trust her again, either. I've had a hard time trusting any friends since.

The doorbell rings. "Oh, good. That must be your dad."

"Cleo!" My dad bursts in as soon as Janine opens the door. He rushes over, wrapping me in a bear hug. And for a second it feels so good, like everything is already okay. But as he hugs me, I can feel his back is damp with sweat.

Janine goes to stand at the window, tucked to the side, so she's not visible from the street. "I see lights. That had better be the police. Oh, good, it looks like they're coming here. Finally, for God's sake."

"Are you okay?" my dad asks. He looks stunned.

"Mm-hmm." If I try to speak, I am going to start bawling.

"It's going to be okay, Cleo," he says, kind of robotically. "It's going to be fine."

I point in the direction of the plastic bag. "Do you want to see Mom's shoe?" I ask. He needs to know this isn't an "Everything is going to be fine" kind of situation.

"Uh …" My dad rubs a hand across his forehead.

Janine intervenes. "No, no, no. No one needs to look at that shoe again except the police."

"But Mom's okay, right?"

"Of course she is." He sounds calm and confident now. And I really want to believe him.

"I was late, you know?" My voice breaks as the guilt fills my throat. I haven't talked to my mom in months. I've been so angry at her. For good reason, but right now that feels beside the point. "Maybe if I'd been there—"

"Cleo, no." Janine reaches forward to hug me. "Whatever happened doesn't have anything to do with your being late. Your mom would not want you blaming yourself. And the last thing she would want is for you to have been in harm's way, too. Not that we know that anything bad happened to her, either, obviously." She pulls back to look me in the eye, gripping my upper arms. "I'm sure she's just fine."

But we all know that's not true. There's blood—on my mom's shoe, in a puddle on the floor. Something has happened to her. Something terrible.