19. Vivian

19

VIVIAN

JANUARY 2, 11:45 A.M.

My last first day at Beaumont is even worse than I thought it would be. I was already dreading coming back to a class full of early-decision kids, all rocking their college merch just so everyone knows they got it all figured out by January, while I'm stuck with the slackers who have no idea where we'll be in the fall, or where we even want to be. Because maybe some of us aren't so ready to leave our best friends and everything we've ever known to ship off to a campus we've only seen once.

The only good thing was going to be that I wouldn't have to do it alone. Sav still has to audition for all the big theater schools, and now that Lily didn't get into Vanderbilt, we were all in the same boat. We were supposed to get through this as a team.

It wasn't supposed to be anything like this.

"It's official," Sav says, catching up with me on the way to lunch. "I'm pretending to be sick and wallowing at home for the rest of the day. Care to join?"

"But it's meat-pie day," I deadpan. "How could we miss that?"

Sav snorts. Beaumont is always bragging about how fancy our lunches are, and I guess they have a point. Our dining room has oak paneling, white tablecloths, and actual nonplastic silverware. But for all of Chef Bryan's greatest hits, like seafood gumbo or fried chicken, he has a few major duds that he won't retire out of an intense commitment to tradition. Like the meat pies, which Lily refuses to even touch, and which get Sav singing Sweeney Todd all lunch period.

"I'm not exactly feeling up to my fabulous rendition of ‘The Worst Pies in London' today," she teases, but her face falls. "It's been almost four days, Viv. That's—"

"I know," I say, because I can't let either of us say what it really means. We both know the statistics.

We go silent as we walk, and for a second, I can feel it all about to spill out: the Pierrot, the Jester, his threats. I've been keeping so much from Sav, and it would feel so good to let it out that I almost do.

But then we're almost at the dining room, and it's too crowded. Too late.

Anyway, it's not Sav's mess to clean up. It's mine—and Piper's and April's, even though neither of them has spoken to me since yesterday on the levee.

And deep down, I know there's another reason why I can't tell Sav everything: because then she'd know what I've really been hiding, what I'm afraid the Jester knows.

What I've really done.

When Sav and I make it to the dining-room entrance, Mr. Pierce is walking in, too. He holds the door open for us.

"Ladies first," he says with a polite smile, but it looks strained. Maybe the second missing student in two years is really taking its toll, I think, with a bitter taste in my mouth.

And then I remember Mr. Pierce up on the stage at the ball, trying his best to calm everyone down. Could he be in the Pierrot, too? I try to picture his eyes behind one of those masks, but Sav is already walking through the door. I snap out of it and follow her through.

"Meat-pie day," Mr. Pierce says cheerfully, as he steps inside behind us, the smell of fried dough and Cajun seasoning already thick in the air. "One of Beaumont's finest traditions, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I say with a weak smile. I don't have the heart to lie to him.

The rest of the day is pretty much torture. I slog through lunch and classes until finally, three thirty rolls around, and there's nothing between me and the only thing I have to look forward to: practice.

I practically sprint to the locker room and change even faster, already making my way back downstairs when the rest of the team is just starting to get ready. I can feel the energy squirming through my whole body, itching to get out. There's nothing I want more than to turn off my brain and lose myself to the field.

"Atkins."

I turn toward Coach, who's walking up with a clipboard tucked under his arm.

"You're early," he says.

I shrug, suddenly embarrassed to admit how badly I need to be here.

"Well, glad to have my best defender back." Coach adjusts his baseball cap, hesitating for a second. "How's everything been?"

It hits me that the last time I saw Coach was only two days ago, at Piper's party. It feels more like years. Lily had only been missing for forty-eight hours, and I'd never even heard of the Pierrot, but now… I don't even want to think about it. I could lie, tell Coach I'm fine, but he's one of the only adults at Beaumont who doesn't bullshit. So I don't bullshit him, either.

"Not great," I say. "But it's good to be here. Turn it off for a bit."

He nods, frowning a little. "Still, it's okay if you need to take a step back. I know you always like to give a hundred and ten—it's part of what makes you such a good player—but none of that's worth it if you're running yourself to the ground." He pauses, eyes crinkling. "I guess I'm just saying it's okay to not turn it off. You know, let yourself feel it. Talk to somebody if you need."

Suddenly, I feel like I could cry. It's exactly what I needed to hear and also the worst thing he could have told me, because this is what I always do: push things down, keep running, try to forget anything more messy or complicated than the game, than backing my team up. Of course Coach has seen it.

And maybe I should take his advice, but I can't. Not here. Because I'm worried if I start to really feel it, I won't ever stop.

And then I get an idea.

"Coach?"

"Yeah?"

I think about chickening out, but I can't. I should have asked him on New Year's, but I was too focused on the Dukes, on Wyatt and his blowup. And now I'm even more desperate.

"Did you see anything that night?" I ask. "At the ball?"

He runs a hand along his stubbled jaw.

"You know, I've been asking myself the same thing," he says. "Thinking it over, wondering if there was anything I might've missed, anything I could've done, but… no, I don't think I did."

The regret on his face is so real that it makes me feel awful. Coach is probably blaming himself, just like I am. She's his player, too. He's supposed to look out for her. But I'm the one who was supposed to know her inside and out, even though apparently I didn't, not the way I thought. And maybe I never will, if the worst happens. If we don't find her.

I force that thought down, too. "Thanks anyway."

But Coach must see the disappointment on my face, because he keeps talking.

"The last time I saw her…" He pauses again, and I get the feeling he's holding something back. Then he sighs. "I'd gone out to get Elle's shawl from the car, and LeBlanc was out near the front entrance. I checked in as I passed by, and she seemed fine. Made some joke about the blood on her dress and how that's what she gets for wearing white."

The back of my neck prickles. That's the exact same joke Lily made to Mrs. Johnson, isn't it? Like she had it prepared. Like she was performing even then.

"Then, as I was coming back in, I saw a car pull up, and she got in," Coach continues. "Wyatt, I figured."

He shrugs, like he's sorry he doesn't have anything better to tell me, but something nags at me. When I last saw Lily, she was standing with Wyatt on the path to the front entrance. He said he'd already pulled the car around to the front, didn't he? Why would he have to pull up again? But maybe I'm remembering wrong.

I try to keep my face neutral as I ask, "The silver Honda, right?"

A line deepens between Coach's eyebrows. "It was black. A Mercedes, I think?"

The little nagging feeling grows into something much worse.

"Do you remember anything else about it?" I ask. "The car?"

"No, I don't think so." He looks even more concerned. "Why?"

"No reason." It rushes out of me in a panic before I can think better of it. "I think… I think I might actually need to take the day off. I'm feeling kind of lightheaded."

Before Coach can respond, I turn and speed for the athletic building doors, mind racing.

Lily didn't leave the ball with Wyatt. She left with a stranger in a black Mercedes. Coach watched it happen.

And I wasn't there at all.