Chapter Two

At the close of school, I stroll into detention and take my seat by the window. Just as I’m about to start doodling in my notebook to pass the time, a ball of paper hits my now-frizzy hair.

“Oi, Granger! Didn’t expect you here. Where’s your usual sidekick, Malfoy?” Jeff says, causing everyone in detention to turn to me.

“Oh, Jeff, don’t you know? I heard he ran from our dear Odette before her hair could strangle him,” someone else adds.

“If you’re all done making fun of Miss Falcone, I’d like some order in my detention room, please,” Mr. Perez says, making everyone fall silent. I count down the minutes to the end of detention, then dash out of the school building to my car after retrieving my phone from a very tired-looking Mr. Perez.

Once inside the comfort of my car, I dial Anton’s number, trying to reach him. “Sorry, the number you called does not exist. Please check that it is dialed correctly,” the answering machine replies. I redial a couple more times and am met with the same response. Just as I’m about to try again, I see a message from my dad reminding me not to be late.

“Shit,” I mutter. I had completely forgotten I had plans. I rush home, barely keeping to the speed limit, and hop into the shower. As I get out, I brush my mane of hair free and add some conditioner to prevent frizz. I get dressed in an emerald green Vera Wang dress that belonged to my mother, put on the simple diamond studs I got for Christmas last year, and spritz on my mother’s signature perfume.

Today is my parents’ anniversary, and I know my father likes to celebrate it with me to keep my mother’s spirit alive. I did my best to look as my mother would have loved: free waves of auburn hair flowing down my back, my face bare of makeup, and her favorite perfume—Shalimar by Guerlain—lingering on my skin. I tell myself it’s to keep my father happy, but the truth is, I do it to pretend she’s still here. I wear her perfume so I can still smell her, not the putrid smell that clung to her mangled body on the road as I tried to keep her heart beating, but the deep vanilla scent she left behind when she’d hug me after my recitals.

I shake myself out of my dark thoughts and wander down the steps to meet my father.

“Stunning, cara mia, just stunning,” my father says as he hugs me.

“Come on, old man, let’s go before the soloist finishes the first sonata,” I tease him as we stroll to the town car. He only ever orders a limousine on special occasions like this. He says he would have done it for my mother if she were here, so I never complain. Even though I know his business has been slowly going bankrupt since she passed—her death left him depressed, and his employees started embezzling funds. Now, he’s somewhat out of the worst of it, and the business is doing better—not great, but better. Things like expensive operas and rented limos seem unnecessary to me, but I keep quiet because these little luxuries are what keep my father sane.

The opera is lovely, followed by an even lovelier dinner at Novikov. As soon as I get home, I undress and get ready for bed. I try Anton again, and the reply is the same as before. I fire off a few worried emails to his account, but each one bounces back, saying the address does not exist. I try his social media, but it’s like none of his accounts ever existed. Growing increasingly worried, I consider going to his house, but it’s late, and I’ve never been there before. We always hung out at my place. I’d never even met his parents—any time I brought up coming over, he shut it down, saying his parents didn’t like visitors. The only reason I even have his address is because I copied it off the school register once when I wanted to plan a surprise party for him, an idea that was quickly shut down since we both clearly lacked friends.

I look out the window and make up my mind. I need to see him; maybe something terrible has happened. I know how much I needed support after my mom died. So, with a determined heart, I sneak out the window of our townhouse, hop on my bicycle, and pedal to the nearest bus stop.

When I finally reach the address I copied, I’m confused. There’s no house here; in fact, the area isn’t even residential. As I walk along the length of the abandoned amusement park, my confusion grows. Only then do I realize that I left the house in my pajamas without my phone. What if something happened to me here? How would I call for help?

Just as panic starts to set in, I feel a familiar presence behind me, or maybe it’s just hysteria. But before I can sort out my muddled thoughts, a voice cuts through with a sigh. “You never really did know when to stay away, did you, Swan?” Anton says sternly from behind me.

I turn to hug him, but I’m shocked when he pushes me away.

“I don’t understand. Are you okay? You left school, and I tried reaching you, but your line suddenly didn’t exist, and every mode of contact had just vanished, like you were wiped off the internet,” I say, trying to lighten the mood as I stare into his eyes that shine like metal discs under the moonlight.

“So I go ghost, and your brilliant idea is to come looking for me?” he asks.

“Of course it is. You’re my best friend, my only friend. I couldn’t just leave you,” I say. “Did anything happen? Are your parents okay?”

I see a flicker of something in his eyes, but it’s gone before I can decipher it. There’s a strange silence before he breaks into a bitter laugh.

“You’re here, standing in the middle of an amusement park you thought was my home, and the first question you have is if I’m okay?” he says, his voice tinged with barely concealed anger that leaves me confused. As his words sink in, it hits me that I’m standing in the middle of nowhere in my pajamas.

He notices my realization. “Remembered where you are, didn’t you?” he says with a dark edge.

“I don’t understand,” I breathe out. “What’s happening? What’s wrong with you?”

“You should go now, Swan, before your father realizes you’re gone,” he says, wrapping me in his jacket. “And next time, don’t leave the house barely clothed. I won’t always be here to keep you warm,” he adds, turning to walk away.

“Where are you going? What’s happening?” I ask, reaching to hold his hand.

“Don’t touch me,” he hisses, snatching his hand away with a sneer. I step back in shock, deadly confused.

“Do me a favor, Falcone. Forget I exist, because I’ve forgotten you do,” he says one last time, leaving me standing in the middle of nowhere.

That night, when I get home, I don’t even try to be silent as I walk in. As soon as I reach the kitchen, I slump and break into sobs. My papa’s warm hands come to hold me after a few minutes.

“What is it, cara mia?” he asks with concern. I look up at him and whisper, “He’s gone.”