Jack raises a brow, then finally sighs. “Fine. What could it hurt? The day Jay disappeared, I really wish I knew that he was Stephen Everett’s son. I wish I’d texted him the picture from the yacht club so he could save himself.” He exhales. “Who knows, maybe even a fuckup like me can help someone.”
I shake my head. “You’re not a fuckup.” Jay said Jack was weirdly the most trustworthy person in that group. “I ... I don’t think Jay thought you were a fuckup either.”
He’s quiet for a while before smiling small. “What did he say to you that night? In the Cthulhu mask?”
I shrug. “He gave me some advice about stepping away from people who were holding me back. And he said ...” I pause, remembering how his words made me feel like I could break free of Mia’s influence one day. “He said when things don’t go as planned,friends never forget friends.”
Gracie frowns at me. “Jay said that?”
I nod. He said that. And now I know he was talking about him disappearing. Telling me he wasn’t going to forget me.
And here we are now, and things didn’t go as planned. He didn’t get back to the room at six on Sunday like he was supposed to. But he wouldn’t have forgotten me. In fact, he promised me once that if something went wrong, he would leave me a message somehow.
I may not have a way to talk to the past (other than a long shot with an inebriated trust-fund kid), but Jay isinthe past. Hehadto have left me a message.
I just have to find it.
After my last afternoon class on Tuesday, I rush back to my room to find any message Jay may have left me, but when I get there, I don’t know where to start.
I check the whole closet, especially the tiny space behind the shelf where he tried to leave me a message last time. Nothing. I check the beds and under the mattresses. I inspect every wall. Every drawer. Under every drawer. There is nothing. Anywhere.
This is ridiculous. Of course there’s nothing.
I sit on Jay’s bed. I’m making too many assumptions here. Assuming the timelines match up enough that the message would be here for me. Assuming the cleaners missed the message when they cleaned the room over the Christmas break. And most of all, assuming he would have had the ability to leave me a message at all.
If he made it back to this room, he wouldn’t have left it again of his own free will. He could have been drugged, knocked out, or whatever. Maybe he didn’t even come back from his mother’s. Maybe the cameras were wrong, and he wasn’t here. Maybe he took my advice and stayed away, hiding until he could claim the trust. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
I sigh. I’m all out of ideas. If he left me a message, I would have seen it five months ago, long before I knew what I was looking at.
I look at Ted, and Ted gives me nothing. Because he’s a stuffed animal, and I’m losing my mind.
I can’t sleep at all that night. I want to, because I’m exhausted, but my mind keeps replaying everything I learned this morning. I get out of bed at 2:00 a.m. and turn on my computer, looking for more confirmation that Stephen EverettisJay’s father, and Lance and Taylor’s uncle. After looking at Taylor’s and her mother’s socials going way, way back, I find old pictures of family events that include Stephen. I even find some pictures of their grandmother, the kick-ass lawyer Helen Grant, at a birthday party at her cottage. A huge crowd of beautiful white people, with young Lance and young Taylor in the middle.
Jay should have been in that picture.
I googleStephen EverettandSalma Hoquetogether and find no hits at all. I find that picture in the yacht club’s newsletter online, and Stephen’s name is in the caption, but Salma’s is not. It doesn’t make sense. Why was she there at the yacht club at all? Stephen apparently grew up in north Toronto and went to private schools, while Salma grew up in Scarborough in an immigrant community. They did not go to the same high school. Their paths should never have crossed.
I think back to the things Jay told me about his mother. She moved to Canada with her brother, sister-in-law, and parents when she was thirteen. She, like the rest of the family, had to work.Mom waited tables at some posh place near the lake. She still refuses to butter toast from all the brunches she served.
Could the place by the lake be the yacht club? If she worked there, I could see the club not bothering to label her in the picture, even if she had a relationship with the son of a member. She was just a waitress.
I couldn’t save my Jay, but getting justice for his mother, the smiling young girl who worked at a yacht club, is enough of a reason to keep going.
After breakfast, I’m on my way to class when someone taps my arm. When I turn to see who it is, it takes me a few moments to remember the face.
“Kegan!” I finally say. “You work at campus housing.”
He smiles. “That’s me. And you’re Aleeza from East House. I’ve been meaning to call you all week—I fixed the glitch in your room.”
I frown. “What glitch?”
“Remember you came into the housing office last month saying your ResConnect was glitching? Last week, I happened to see a duplicate record in the backend. Just like you said, the former resident wasn’t completely removed from the room. It’s all tech jargon, but I deleted the duplicate record. It’s backend systems, so it may take a few days to reflect in the app, but you shouldn’t see anyone else in your room anymore.”
All the air seems to leave my lungs at once. I have to lean on the nearby wall so I don’t fall over.
HedeletedJay from my room.
“Are you okay?” Kegan asks, concerned.
