This Was A Bad Idea

chapter 11 - the sharp edge of reality

That night, I knew that this momentary oblivion wouldn't last. Someone would find out. Sam's parents would tell someone. The police would question us.

I just didn't expect it to be so soon.

That morning, gliding into the sun drenched kitchen, it was easy to pretend that nothing happened. I ate my cereal, watched the slivers of sunlight that slanted in through the high windows. They illuminated the glass in a golden light that glossed over everything in a warm glow. It fell across my skin, across the kitchen table, the clock on the counter.

That day, it was easy to forget. I didn't even leave the house, gladly accepting a day of sitting inside and doing nothing. It was a welcoming balm to the hell of yesterday.

I did a page of math homework. Tried to study for a Spanish quiz. Watched the first few episodes of a new show that had just come out recently. My mom said nothing, my dad didn't ask why my knees weren't skinned after my supposed bike crash. I watched the day fade into afternoon, then evening. My friends were silent, surprisingly.

I think we were all trying to drench ourselves in normalcy while we still could, shielding ourselves under the lies we had told our parents about our late arrivals.

The hammer falls on monday.

I'm in the silent kitchen, my dad in the living room. He's watching the news, something he always does before he leaves for work. I sit at the counter, pouring milk into my off-brand cheerios.

".....a new development has led to the devastating news concerning a teenager here in Stoneridge. Samantha Evans has been reported missing as of late Saturday afternoon......"

My heart jackknifes in my chest, bursting out in an erratic rhythm. My hand gives a sharp spasm and the carton swerves. I put it down, milk sloshing out of the container. A weird gasp jerks out from my mouth. My throat goes dry, my entire body feeling like it's about to combust. They know. They found out.

"Orion?" I hear my dad call. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine...." I murmur. I cross over to the outer edges of the kitchen so I can see the television sitting in the living room. My feet touch the edges of the gray carpet that interrupts the swath of white tiles. I tilt my eyes at the screen.

A newscaster sits at a desk, a greenscreen background showing an aerial view of the small town.

There's a photo next to her. Sam. The picture looks like it came from her school ID. She's smiling, her choppy chin-length hair carving out her features. She's not wearing her practically trademarked green jacket, she's in a black button down shirt. There's a single gold chain with a heart charm in place of the layered necklaces she usually wears. I force myself to tear away from the picture. I crane my neck towards the newscaster and try to make out what the woman is saying.

"...Samantha was reported to have been last seen leaving her house on Saturday morning, to see a group of friends. She didn't return that evening, and there's been no sign of her since then. She has been missing for over twenty-four hours. Samantha was last seen wearing an oversized green jacket, black jeans, and gray converse."

I listen in horror as the newscaster rolls off the exact outfit Sam had been wearing when we were at the creek. The screen shifts, showing a panel of another woman next to the newscaster.

I see the same angular chin, the same dark skin, the curly hair. Sam's mom. She appears on video, lips drawn into an anxiety-driven smile. The newscaster looks back at the camera.

"Here with us is Samantha's mother, Cristine Evans. We asked her if she'd be willing to say a few words on behalf of the disappearance."

I see the newscaster gesture to the curly haired woman, allowing her to speak.