Nice Girls(8)

My stomach was growing queasy.

Dwayne suddenly looked away, a large dimple appearing on one cheek. I realized he was grinning.

“I guess we all have things we don’t want to talk about, Mary,” he said lightly. “And I need to learn to shut the hell up sometimes.”

“Maybe a little,” I said, but I felt a small smile growing on my face.

“Anyways, you’re free to go.”

“I’m not getting the job then?”

“Nah, you’re starting tomorrow,” said Dwayne, winking.



At home, I ate half of a Caesar salad for brunch. I even added some croutons as a treat.

I sat in the kitchen, facing the glass doors to the deck. Outside, a squirrel was gliding across the fence. Then it sprang onto the orange branch of an elm tree. The weather was mild, the sky a nice cool blue.

It was my first solitary meal without a phone. I kept it shut off in my purse. I had no one to talk to, no social media to peruse, no people to text. Even the angry messages had slowed. I was disconnected from everyone.

But it was bearable. No one was here to hate me. Dad was bitter, but he left me alone. And if Dwayne hadn’t recognized me at first, then maybe no one would. I could work in peace. I could pay off my loans. I could disappear.

Carly would have wanted me to suffer. But I would set things straight, day by day.

And her black eye would take weeks to heal.

As I washed the dishes, there was a low rumble outside—the garage door was opening. Dad was home early.

He barged in from the garage.

“I got a job,” I said loudly.

Dad stopped, his face stricken. He hadn’t heard me.

I shut off the water.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He looked from me to the TV on the kitchen counter. He seemed unsure of what to do.

“What is it?”

“Your friend Olivia’s gone missing.”





5




“We’re not friends,” I said quickly. “It’s been years.”

Dad shook his head, frowning.

“Why the hell does that matter?” he asked, snatching the remote off the table. “She’s missing.”

“How do you know?”

“Her dad told me. I was working on a house in their neighborhood, then Mr. Willand came by to talk to the homeowner.”

My head was spinning.

Olivia Willand.

I hadn’t seen her since high school. It was even longer since we’d spoken.

In college, I didn’t dwell on the people back home. They were specks meant to be forgotten. Why think of the past when the present was better?

Still, the temptation was there.

Last summer in L.A., Madison and I were drunk one night at a taco joint. The conversation drifted back to high school. How are they, we wondered, those people we ditched? We found out through Snapchat, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. To our delight, a few people had gained weight. Another two girls had gotten knocked up. One boy had dropped out of the army. Somebody else had a mug shot.

But to our dismay, Olivia Willand was thriving. Beautiful, popular, successful Olivia. She had gotten big on social media—twelve thousand Instagram followers and counting. None of the extra weight like we’d hoped. There were endless sorority photos, vacation photos, cabin photos.

That was when Madison and I called it a night.

“It’s supposed to be live,” Dad said, flipping through each TV channel.

Then he stopped.

On screen, there was a male news anchor. Next to him, an old photo of Olivia.

It was her high school senior year portrait. She would have been eighteen. Olivia had posed in front of a white hydrangea bush, her blond hair coiffed in an updo. She wore a lacy white dress that matched the flower in her hands. She was stunning, but it was the eyes that caught you—there was a glint to them, a sharpness, as if she were taunting you. Olivia knew she stood out.

“Authorities are seeking help in the search for a missing Liberty Lake resident, Olivia Willand,” said the news anchor. “The twenty-two-year-old college student was visiting her parents’ home Sunday when she disappeared.”

The screen cut to a pink-faced man with light blond hair. Olivia’s father, Martin Willand, was trying to rub the tears off his face. He had a giant Rolex on his wrist.

“It was supposed to be a weekend visit,” said Mr. Willand, his jowls quivering. “Everything was fine. Then yesterday afternoon she went biking to run some errands. Her mom and I were using the cars, so we thought nothing of it. But she never came back. She didn’t answer her phone. We couldn’t even track it.”

The news anchor returned.

“Ms. Willand is a graduate of Liberty Lake High School and currently a fourth-year marketing major at the University of Minnesota. But to many people online, Willand is a rising social media star, with an Instagram following of around fifty thousand users. Willand is also said to have received a few sponsorships from clothing and beauty brands.”

My jaw dropped.

Since last summer, Olivia had more than quadrupled her Instagram following. Fifty thousand was a modest number on the Internet—big celebrities had six-figure, seven-figure followings all the time. But for a girl living in the Midwest, fifty thousand was huge. She had gotten bigger than all of us.