Page 99 of Before She Disappeared

Kyra lets us go. I can feel Marjolie shaking beneath my touch as I lead her down the first block. Then the second. We walk in total silence, tension building.

Lotham has his tricks, I have my mine.

Around the corner, to the unmarked car. I pop open the back door, just as Marjolie’s head snaps up.

“I didn’t mean it!” she exclaims wildly. “I swear I didn’t mean to hurt her! I had no idea!”

Then she bursts into tears.

“You’re welcome,” I tell Lotham, as Marjolie collapses in the back seat and the show officially begins.

—

It comes out in fits. Starting with a boy, because so many stories do. The basketball player. The one Marjolie followed to the rec center because she needed to protect her territory.

Lotham and I sit in the front seat of the car, Marjolie in the back. Forget driving to the station. Our target is already pouring out her sins. We don’t have time for traffic.

Lotham has his phone on, discreetly recording away. He’s looking at anything but the sobbing girl in his back seat, so I continue to do the honors:

“You convinced Angelique to sign up with you. Your wing man—or woman, in this case.”

“She wanted to work, earn extra money babysitting. But I begged and pleaded. That was the thing with Angel. She’d do anything for her friends, and we’d been best friends since fifth grade.”

“So you and her signed up for fashion camp. Except it was never about fashion camp.”

“DommyJ.” Marjolie sighs, sobs.

“Heartbreaker?” I ask.

“I thought he loved me. I thought... I should’ve known better.” Poor girl, I don’t think she could look any more miserable.

“How old’s DommyJ?” I ask.

“Seventeen.”

To Marjolie’s then fifteen. “Hot?”

Lotham gives me a look, but I stand by my question.

“Totally. All the girls wanted him. But he chose me. He said he liked my smile.”

I nod sympathetically. I already know where this story’s going, and I feel terrible for Marjolie. For all the vulnerable, self-conscious girls out there who dared to believe the cool guy wanted them, when really...

“What happened, Marjolie? You met DommyJ, convinced Angelique to sign up for fashion camp, and then...”

“Angel didn’t like him. She warned me. Worse”—Marjolie smiles bitterly—“she told me I could do better. But of course, who could do better than him? I didn’t want to hear it, I didn’t want to believe.”

Marjolie presses her lips together. More tears slide down her cheek. I whack Lotham till he belatedly produces a travel pack of tissues.

“Dommy’s older, you know. He’s not the type to be sitting around at home at night, plus he has all these college friends. Hoops players who know the hot spots.”

I nod.

“During the day, at camp, he was really sweet. He’d call me his girl, walk around with his arm around me. He made me feel special. I’m not gorgeous like Kyra, or smart like Angel. I’m just me.” Marjolie shrugs. “Except when Dommy was around. Then, I was the girl other girls stared at. I was the one everyone else wanted to be. So when he said he wanted to go club hopping and I should go with him, of course I’m gonna go. Him, out on the town with his buddies, in places like that? No way he’s going home alone.”

“But you were only fifteen...” I prod gently.

Marjolie’s chin comes up. “I can rock it. Little more makeup, right hair and clothes. I just need an ID to back it up. And that’s okay, cuz DommyJ knows this guy. Fifty bucks for a fake. Nights out with my man, priceless.” Her lips twist sardonically. She starts dabbing at her smeared mascara.

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