Page 7 of Hilarina and the Ogre

For a moment, he forgot why he was standing there. “Did he send you?”

She seemed to regret opening the door. “Who?”

“Trenton.”

“Did you need him?”

With that, they were both confused.

“He’s still here?” Hilary asked.

“He’s helping us clean up.”

Hilary set that aside, his priorities reasserting themselves. “My mother’s necklace,” he said again.

He checked the women’s restroom first, sure it must have come off when Varda was changing costumes, but it wasn’t there. He checked every stall, every crack—even tried to rig up a contraption to snake the drain, though the hole was too small to let the necklace down it anyway. He was digging through the garbage when Trenton came.

“Hilary.”

The boy was out of breath and must have come running. It gave Hilary hope. “Did you find—?”

“Where have you looked so far?”

They checked the room where all the coats had been piled. Then the gymnasium, the parking lot, and were sifting through the many, many bags of garbage when Hilary started to cry. It wasn’t obvious. It was more a feeling in his chest, tight and burning, than a display of waterworks, though he knew if he spoke it would be dangerous. So when Trenton said, “It’s not here. Open the next one,” Hilary could only nod and follow.

“We’ll find it,” the boy said. “We just need to check everything carefully.”

But that relied on too many assumptions. The necklace might not be at the school anymore. That seemed more and more likely as the minutes went by. As Hilary’s thoughts grew more paranoid, he even wondered whether Varda herself might have taken it. She’d liked the necklace, hadn’t she? But that was stupid. Her family had enough money to buy her a dozen necklaces. In fact, why hadn’t they? And why had Varda demanded to borrow the necklace at all? When it meant nothing to her and everything to his mother.

“It stinks.” That was when Hilary realized about the crying. His eyes were blurry. “It fucking reeks.” And he wasn’t exaggerating. The smell was so awful it was making him dizzy. He didn’t know why it smelled so bad. The garbage was fresh after all, but the mix of everything together was repulsive. Watery fruit and congealing meat. When they ripped open the next bag to the sour smell of vomit, he began gagging himself. He’d ripped the bag open with too much force, and some had sprayed out onto his shoes and pants, and he wanted to scream. Wanted to take hold of the trash, bury Varda’s face in it, and scream.

“Did you try the old art room?”

The voice was Aspen again, back to check on them, the only one still remaining of the original cleanup committee. The others had already gone home, and with good reason. It was late—very late—but Aspen had said nothing about making them leave so she could lock up.

“The art room?” Hilary was grateful for the excuse to step away from the trash. He really was going to hurl. “Why would it be there?”

Aspen’s face was strangely tight. “I think you should check.”

Well, he needed the break anyway. Hilary stripped off the gloves he was wearing and tossed them onto the mess. Trenton was doing the same. And together, all three of them climbed the stairs to the fourth floor.

Chapter Three

Scattered

It was a cool space if you didn’t mind the clutter. There were models and bright colors and lots of art from past students that hadn’t been taken down from the walls. Hilary was looking at one of the posters, a cubist piece of what he thought might be an old arcade, when Aspen said, “Hilary.”

The necklace was broken. Not just the clasp, but entirely, the pearls scattered over the tarp, taking up part of the floor.

Hilary knew before he even asked his next question. It was something about how Varda’s face had been back at her house. It hadn’t just been the lack of surprise. There had been more there. Hilary turned to Aspen. “How did you know to come here?”

It was quiet, and he was forced to begin again. “How did you—”

“They always come here,” she blurted. “Since freshman year.”

Hilary had wondered a little about it. Why the most popular girl in school, so pretty and smart and well-off, was single. The answer was obvious now. She hadn’t been.

It was Trenton his anger went to. “Why didn’t you just tell me that? Instead of stupid cryptic shit.”