Page 99 of Faking It with the Forward

I stop fully listening after his first sentence and turn back down the hall. I get out my phone and shoot off a message.

OneFive: Where are you? Everything okay?

There’s no response before I get on the ice or after.

Quickly, I change and head off campus, over to the teal house. Banging on the door with my fist, I’m disappointed when it’s Nadia that answers.

“Is Twy here?” I ask, peering around her.

“She’s probably at the arena,” Nadia replies, grabbing her backpack. Then her eyes widen. “Hold on, isn’t today an early practice day?”

“Yeah, and she didn’t show. Yesterday either.” I look past her, for what? No clue. “Some substitute intern was there saying he was filling in for a while.”

A deep line creases Nadia’s forehead. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It sure as hell doesn’t. She’s not responding to my texts either.” Now I push past her, entering the house. Nothing looks out of place in the living room. I head to her bedroom. “Did she sleep here last night?”

“I don’t know. I stayed out.” She catches up to me and grabs my arm. “Reese, you can’t just barge in there.”

“She’ll get over it,” I say, eyes scanning the room. It looks just about the same as the last time I was here, but there’s one noticeable thing laying over the back of her desk chair: my hoodie. “What’s missing?”

She sighs and steps in and inspects the room. Opening the closet door, she points out, “Her duffle is usually on the floor.”

“She left?” I ask.

“You can’t jump to conclusions,” she counters, but a hint of concern colors her expression. This isn’t normal behavior for Twyler—skipping practice, bailing on her internship, packing a bag mid-week.

Something akin to fear builds in my chest. All the things she told me about spiraling after breaking up with Ethan. The depressive episodes in high school.

“Did you check her tracker?” She opens her phone. “Are you still connected?”

“Oh, genius!” Damn that tracker. It might actually be useful. My stomach sinks, however, when I realize the truth. “She turned it off or blocked me.”

“Me too,” she admits, “but not until yesterday afternoon.” She holds up the phone, revealing Twyler’s history. Her little dot blips an hour south, then vanishes.

“Where’s that?”

“It’s not where she’s been,” Nadia says, her fingers moving across the phone’s screen. “It’s where she’s heading.”

In an instant, everything clicks, and my decision is made.

I’m going to find her.

28

Twyler

It’s been two days since I went into Coach Green’s office with vague excuses about why I’d be absent for the rest of the week.

One day since I got in the car with a small bag of belongings and drove home, showing up on my mother’s doorstep without any warning. It was dark and I’d hoped that the lack of daylight would hide the fact I’d been crying. My mother’s no fool, but she also knows that pushing me will only send me on the retreat. Once I promised I wasn’t hurt or having some kind of breakdown she gave me some space.

Mom didn’t pretend to be happy to see me in the middle of a school week, but my cat Bertha hasn’t left my side since I got home. It’s as good an excuse as any to stay on the couch, curled up in my favorite blanket, watching a solid stream of true crime documentaries.

“I’m going to head to the store, do you need anything?”

“We could probably use some more chips,” I say, looking at the empty bag on the coffee table.

My mom stands in the doorway, keys clutched in her hands. “One bag or two?”

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