mind.”
I wanted to do something here, reach out and take her hand, something. But I didn’t know what. My cell phone buzzed. It was a text from Ema: where r u?
I showed it to Rachel. She shook her head. “Don’t answer it.”
I nodded, put my phone away. Rachel’s sprawling estate-it wasn’t a house, it was an estate-sat atop a hill. There was an electric gate at the end of the driveway. Rachel pressed a code into the number pad and it swung open. We started up the drive.
“Are your parents home?” I asked.
A smile crossed her lips. “No.”
The smile was saying something, but I wasn’t sure what.
“Is Ashley here?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“The guesthouse in the back.”
“How long has she been here?”
“Over a week.”
“So your parents know?”
“Let’s just say”-again she flashed the small smile, only this time I could see it was a sad one-“that my parents aren’t around very much.”
Everything about this place said big bucks. We walked around back, past the marble patio and clay tennis court. There was a small house next to the pool. I gestured toward it with my chin.
“Ashley’s in there?” I said.
“Yes.”
I swallowed and hurried my step. This was it. All my questions were about to be answered. We got to the door. Rachel had a key in her hand. She put it in the lock and turned the knob.
“Ashley?” she said.
There was no reply.
“Ashley?”
Still nothing. We stepped all the way in. The bed was made. The room was neat. But no one was there. I looked at Rachel. Her face was pale now, her eyes wide. I glanced around the room, and there, on the table next to the bed, was a note. I picked it up. Rachel was next to me, looking over my shoulder.
– ASHLEY
“I don’t understand,” Rachel said. “She was terrified.”
We were inside Rachel’s house now. We had quickly checked just to make sure that Ashley wasn’t here. She wasn’t. No one was. The big house was as silent as a mausoleum.
“Tell me what happened,” I said.
“A little more than a week ago, we had tryouts for the cheerleading squad. There was only room for three new girls this year, and maybe fifty girls showed up. One of them was Ashley.”
That surprised me. “She was trying out for cheerleading?”
Rachel nodded.
“So how did it go?”
“Not well. The new girls were being selected by three of us. Cathy, Brittany, and me. I thought that she was good, had real talent, but her audition was, well, it was weird.”
“In what way?”
“This place is old-school. We do classic cheerleading. It’s more gymnastic based. Most of the girls did familiar routines-acrobatics, tumbling, showing that they could help form a pyramid. That kind of thing. Ashley, on the other hand, danced. I thought she was pretty good, showed a lot of promise, but the other girls thought…”
“Thought what?”
“That her routine was a tad”-she stopped, either searching for the word or afraid to say it-“well, it was pretty racy. Not over the top. But it was enough to get the other girls going.”
I said nothing. I thought about the Plan B Go-Go Lounge and wanted to close my eyes.
“And so Ashley finishes this, and then, well, she’s waiting for applause. No one claps. Ashley is standing there, all nervous, waiting for feedback. And the girls just dig into her. First Cathy snickers and says, ‘Where’s your stripper pole?’ Then they start in on her clothes, her hair, the whole thing.”
“What’s wrong with her clothes and hair?”
“You’re a guy, so you wouldn’t notice. The clothes are secondhand.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “So what? You guys made fun of her for having old clothes? Are you really that snobby?”
Rachel looked hurt when I said that. “You guys?”
“I just meant-”
“I’m not a snob. I don’t care how much money someone has. That’s not the point.”
“What is then?”
“The clothes weren’t even secondhand, so much as thirdor fourth-hand. There was a pretense here. It’s like she went to a thrift shop and searched for Eighties Prep. I mean, a monogrammed sweater?”
“I still don’t get it.”
“It was like,” Rachel said, “she was trying to look like something she wasn’t. Like she was in disguise. Anyway, it got cruel. Everyone started laughing at her.”
“Did you laugh at her too?”
“No,” she said quickly. Then Rachel looked down at the floor and her voice got softer. “But I didn’t stop it either. I should have. I mean, she was just standing there, alone, in front of everybody. She didn’t know us. She looked so vulnerable and there we were, laughing in her face, until finally, she just ran off.”
Rachel stopped then. I tried to imagine the scene, how it must have wounded Ashley to hear those laughs.
“Nice,” I said, trying to sound sarcastic without crossing into bitter.
“Yeah, I know.”
“So what happened next?”
“I ran after her. You know, to apologize. She started down Collins Drive, so I headed that way. I looked down Mountainside Road, and there, about a hundred yards down, I spotted her walking toward Northfield Avenue. I called out, but Ashley didn’t stop. I don’t know if she didn’t hear me or was just ignoring me.” She stopped and swallowed. “And then something weird happened.”
“What?”
“A car screeched up to her, and this big guy jumped out of the passenger side before the car had even stopped. Ashley started to back up, but he was on her fast. I mean, it was a second, maybe two. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. She screamed. I screamed too. I ran as fast as I could toward them. I didn’t even think, you know? I just started running and screaming. The big guy ignored me. He started to throw her in the back, but Ashley resisted. She got her hands on the outside of the door, trying to pull herself back. The big guy started pushing, but she held on. The driver yelled, ‘Hurry!’ and then the big guy actually made a fist. He reared back to hit her, but I was closer now. I screamed again, kept trying to get his attention. I took out my cell phone and pointed it at him. I shouted, ‘I called nine-one-one and I’m recording everything. Let her go.’ ”
“Were you?” I asked.
“Was I what?”
“Recording it.”
