They pulled into the diner parking lot. After getting out of the car, Kaitlyn frowned at the exterior, already scratched and coated with dirt. “I don’t know why you went with a white car, Amanda. It’s already so grimy.”
“I can clean it.”
“But you won’t.” Kaitlyn went around the back of the car, continuing her inspection. “And you put a bumper sticker on it! You’ve ruined it.”
“It’s not ruined. And it’s a decal, not a bumper sticker, thank you very much.” Looking proud, Amanda touched the decal—which resembled the Roman numeral fortwo—on her back window. “It’s the Gemini symbol. It represents the twins, Castor and Pollux.”
“It looks cheap.” Kaitlyn doesn’t believe in Greek mythology, or astrology, or any of the woo-woo shit Amanda is into. She believes in logic and reason and accountability.
“Says you,” Amanda retorted, looking hurt.
The brunch had ended on a sour note—more bickering, more headbutting—and the two drove home in silence. Soon after, Kaitlyn blocked Amanda on Instagram; she was done with her sister’s salacious snapshots showing up on her feed. And at some point, Amanda decided she was done with her, too, because the only way Kaitlyn could get into her apartment today was by breaking and entering.
It creeps her out, just how deadly quiet Amanda’s studio feels. Kaitlyn sits on her sister’s bed, attempting to feel less like an intruder and more like a guest. It’s possible Amanda went through with her plan to spend the summer in Europe; it’s possible she left the apartment spotless for a subletter, who could be arriving any minute. But the longer she sits here, the more bothered she becomes by a lingering stench, something pungent yet sterile. Bleach, she realizes. But it doesn’t smellclean; it smells like something covered up. Unsure what else to do, Kaitlyn pulls out her phone and rereads her last three texts to Amanda, the most recent one sent less than a week ago.
Sun, Mar 17 at 11:57 AM:I’m sorry for the shitty things I said at brunch last month. I only said them because I care.
Sat, Apr 20 at 3:39 PM:You can’t still be pissed about brunch. You said mean things, too.
Thu, May 30 at 8:11 AM:Happy birthday, A. I love you, even if you are still mad at me.
Though Amanda had sent Kaitlyn a message for her own birthday back on March 3 (an obligatory “happy b-day” text, no exclamation points, no emojis), she hasn’t said a word to Kaitlyn since. Almost three months of silence—it just doesn’t feel right. And it’s not like she can reach out to friends or family to ask after Amanda’s whereabouts; Kaitlyn has no idea what sort of crowd her sister is hanging out with these days, and save for a weird aunt in Buffalo, they have no family aside from each other.
A thought occurs to her: Amanda may be ignoring her older sister, but surely she can’t be ignoring her followers.
Feeling shaky, Kaitlyn logs onto Instagram and unblocks Amanda’s account. Then she clicks on her latest post, which immediately makes her feel sick to her stomach. There isn’t anything wrong with the photo: It’s a shot of her sister taken from behind, her body illuminated by the giant picture window in the background and naked, save for a pair of men’s boxer shorts. It’s the date when it was posted that bothers her: March 6. For years, Kaitlyn has known her sister to reliably add photos to her Instagram grid at least twice a week. Now she hasn’t posted a photo in months—not even on her twenty-fifth birthday. Amanda loves her own birthday, more than anyone Kaitlyn knows.
For months, Kaitlyn has ignored her nagging suspicions, reassuring herself that Amanda is just ... being Amanda. But now she can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.
That her sister isn’t just absent, butmissing.
Panic setting in, Kaitlyn begins to tear through the apartment, looking first through the drawers in the kitchen and then moving on to the dresser. She doesn’t know what she hopes to find—a note explaining Amanda’s absence, maybe, or any sort of clue as to where she may be. But all she finds is silverware and cooking utensils and neatly folded clothes: nothing that would suggest her sister is across the ocean or, worse, in danger.
The only thing she finds that feels out of place: a thick gold ring engraved with a shield—a school crest, perhaps. Kaitlyn picks it up off the bedside table and slips it onto her thumb. It’s way too big, likely made to fit a man’s finger. A Latin phrase is written around the outside of the crest:Dominus regit me.According to Google, this roughly translates to “The Lord is my shepherd.” Unless Amanda developed bloated fingers and an interest in the Old Testament since Kaitlyn last saw her, this ring belongs to someone else.
In the car on the way to that ill-fated brunch, Amanda mentioned a new boyfriend: an old money, blue blood type who likely attended some fancy prep school. The news hadn’t sat well with Kaitlyn at the time, and shamefully, she figured she was jealous of her sister’s good fortune. But now she feels something new: suspicion. Her sister is beautiful, yes, but she’s not prim or polished. She’s not the kind of girl you would take to the country club to meet your parents. And yet, somehow, she landed a guy who could afford dinner at Jeffrey’s and possibly a heavy gold class ring. Someone who might have whisked her off to Europe, or at least have an explanation for why Amanda is MIA.
Kaitlyn pockets the ring—hoping she can later track down its owner and get some answers—and turns her attention back to Amanda’s most recent Instagram post. Though her photos often generate hundreds of comments, this one has generated thousands, most of whichhave been written in the last few weeks:Where is she? Why hasn’t she posted? Does anyone know what’s up?
The realization sets in—a whole virtual community noticed Kaitlyn’s sister was missing before she herself did. Shame settles over her skin, making her itchy to do something. To make up for lost time. Kaitlyn grabs her purse and exits the apartment, thanking the landlord on her way out and asking if it’s okay for her to hold onto the spare set of keys so she doesn’t have to bother him next time. As she steps out of the building, she thinks how disappointed their parents would be. It’s her job to look after her younger sister, to guide her, to protect her. But she failed.
Three weeks earlier, after a disastrous date at Latchkey on East Sixth, Kaitlyn almost went to see Amanda. It was rare that she found herself in East Austin, and Amanda’s apartment was only a block away. She could stop by, Kaitlyn thought. Her date (a chatty data science professor who kept blowing her nose and then inspecting the contents of her tissue) knew Amanda; they’d waitressed together at a sushi restaurant, and Amanda had been trying to set her and Kaitlyn up for months. Kaitlyn could tell Amanda that she’d finally reached out, despite having no desire to date at the moment. Maybe she’d even admit that she only went on the date to make Amanda happy. To get Amanda to talk to her again.
Kaitlyn even went so far as to walk right by Amanda’s building—but then she remembered: It was a Saturday night. There was no way Amanda was home, and even if she was, there was little chance of her wanting to hang out with her dorky older sister, whose texts she’d been ignoring for months.
Kaitlyn was just about to cross the street to the bus stop (unlike Amanda, she didn’t have the cash handy to buy herself a brand-new car) when it happened: A speeding silver convertible plowed past the stop sign, nearly swiping her in the process. In her surprise, Kaitlyn stumbled backward, tripping over the curb and landing hard on her ass. In all likelihood, the driver (some privileged asshole, she was sure, though shedidn’t get a good look) had simply been careless, but something about the near miss felt intentional. Like they had been trying to hit her.
In her head, she imagined what Amanda would say:Or they just didn’t see you, because you insist on wearing all black like a fucking emo kid.
Leaving Amanda’s apartment now, Kaitlyn looks both ways before crossing the street, half expecting the same silver sports car to come speeding toward her again. It doesn’t, of course, and she feels stupid, both for expecting to see that car again and for not stopping by her sister’s weeks earlier when she had the chance. What if Amanda had been home? What if that had been Kaitlyn’s chance to fix things and she missed it?
Kaitlyn hasn’t been able to keep Amanda from finding trouble, like her parents wanted. But she has a ring, and a description of a boyfriend, and a hunch.
It isn’t much, but it may be enough to help find Amanda.
Chapter Five
Townsend
