Page 34

HASTINGS AND MONICA Zoller, the mother of two teen girls herself, hurry across campus, hoping to find Emma.

She’s been skipping a lot of classes, but Hastings knows she never misses French, and he wants to catch her before the bell rings.

The fewer Ridgemont students who see her being escorted to a waiting ambulance, the better.

He’s asked Fiona to call Thomas Takeda, though. If Emma resists going to the hospital, Thomas might be able to help persuade her. Thomas is a good kid. A sane kid. He knows her better than anyone else at Ridgemont, and he definitely doesn’t want her to die.

On their way to Doyle Hall, the humanities building, Hastings and Monica pass clusters of twelfth graders dotting the verdant grass of the quad.

They all have independent study after lunch, which in the spring basically means free time.

Hastings resists his habit of asking them if they’re using their time wisely.

Their acceptance letters from Stanford and Yale and Notre Dame and Duke are probably on the way.

The sun is shining. Why on earth should they study?

Hastings and Monica have turned down a path beneath one of the dorms when something white catches Hastings’s eye. He looks up to the dorm’s second story. There’s a tattered bedsheet hanging down between two windows.

EMMA’S RIGHT, it says.

As he watches, another sheet unfurls, its letters scrawled in spray paint red as blood.

WE’RE BURNING ALREADY

“Oh dear,” Monica breathes.

Hastings’s speed increases to a jog. “Make them take those down!” he calls over his shoulder. “I’m going to find Emma.”

But when Hastings, breathless, arrives outside room 119, Emma isn’t there. Her friend Jade, who normally sits next to her in French class, hasn’t seen her since breakfast.

“I’ll text her again,” Jade says, eyes dark with concern. “I’ve been texting her all morning.”

“And she hasn’t gotten back to you?” Hastings tries to keep his tone even. Outside, he hears a group cheer from the seniors on the green. Someone must have unfurled another banner. Some of the French students go to the window, peering out.

“No,” Jade says. “She’s not answering. Are you … are you worried?”

Hastings takes a deep breath, puts his hands on her shoulders. He’s seen teenagers act like they can handle everything, but over the years he’s learned that when something serious happens, they still look to an adult. They’re still children, he thinks. Why can’t Byron Blake see that?

“Everything is going to be fine,” he tells Jade. “Please keep trying to reach her.”

In the hallway, Hastings runs into Thomas Takeda. “She’s not there?” Thomas asks, craning his neck toward room 119.

“No,” Hastings says, hating himself for thinking she would be. Why would a girl who intends to set herself on fire still go to French class?

“Maybe she’s in her room?”

“That’s where we’re going,” Hastings says. “See if you can find out when and where someone saw her last.”

Hastings hurries on ahead, with Thomas tapping at his phone behind him. He jogs down another path, through the lilac grove, and then they’re at Emma’s dorm. He’s pulling open the front door when he hears the ambulance siren.

Idiots! He specifically said no siren. He didn’t want to bring any extra attention to the situation.

As Hastings hustles down the hall, he’s surprised to find himself praying. Just be there, Emma, just be there.

He yanks open her door without knocking. Stumbles over the edge of her ugly pink rug and nearly falls into the room.

It’s empty.

His shoulders slump, his stomach drops.

Thomas comes in behind him, still looking down at his phone. “Spencer Jenkins says he saw Emma leaving campus, Mr. Hastings.”

“When?” The word can barely get out between his clenched teeth.

“Before first period.”

That was over three hours ago.

An ambulance can’t take away a girl it can’t find.

And he can’t protect a girl who doesn’t want to be found.