Fly Away (7 page)

“Cheer up,” Coach said. “At least you got it done, right? That shows a lot of spunk.”

“Any news about Arielle?” Jada asked, ignoring the coach's praise.

Coach shook her head. “Not yet. We had her parents email a photo to the police…”

“But?” I asked, knowing she was holding something back.

“Well, girls, Arielle is eighteen. The Toronto police, and our police back home too, consider her to be an adult. Unless there's evidence of foul play—and there isn't—they won't start searching until forty-eight hours have passed.”

“What?” Ashleigh exclaimed. “She's alone in a city she doesn't know.”

Coach nodded. “Her parents are frantic. They're on their way down. But Arielle's turned off her phone. And other details have come to light”—she hesitated for a moment—“that suggest she might not want to be found.”

No one spoke. A cold, heavy feeling settled into the pit of my stomach. “What other details?” I asked, quietly.

“Well, contrary to what she told her parents, Arielle never submitted her application for university residence. And she's not the type to miss deadlines. Her parents are worried that she's given up on going to U of T next fall.”

I thought back to the end of January and Arielle's vague answers to my questions about residence. Why hadn't I pressed her? I'd been so wrapped up in my struggles as a flyer, and my problems with Liam, that I'd missed the signs that something big was going on with Arielle.

I slumped to my knees on the sidelines. Would I have been able to stop her if I'd taken the time to ask some questions?

“You okay, Marnie?” Coach Saylor asked.

I nodded without looking up.

“You know,” said Ms. Wilkinson, “you girls didn't eat much at breakfast. What do they sell at the snack bar?”

Coach reached into her pocket for money. “Priya, Samara, Amy Jo, why don't you head up to the snack bar and see if you can get some pizzas? And some sports drinks.”

The girls took the money and headed off. The rest of us sat down on the sidelines. A few girls were whispering about Coach's news, but the majority stayed quiet, watching the remainder of the morning's competition groups without real interest. The Friday morning results were to be announced at 1:00 PM. After that, we'd be free to go back to our hotel. With the performance we'd given, we'd probably missed the cut anyway. We wouldn't be needed for Saturday's round. We could go straight back to Stratford today, if we wanted to.

With that thought to comfort me, I sat obediently and waited for my pizza. I tried not to think about Arielle on some crowded street—or bus—all alone.

Bus…What had Shona meant when she mentioned the number fifty-two bus? Was it a real bus, or was she making it up? I promised myself I'd ask her about it when I got the chance.

To our surprise, when the judges announced the morning results, we found out we'd tied for third in our division. It was far below what we were capable of, but still good enough to qualify for the Saturday round. When they called our team name, we were so sure we'd been eliminated that only Shona and a couple of other girls jumped up to run out onto the mats to get their ribbons. Shona stood there next to one of the judges and glared at the rest of us until we finally clambered to our feet and walked on.

Yay, I thought. Third place.

When I got back to the sidelines, I saw Sharon and Barb whispering to Coach Saylor. Coach put a hand on Sharon's shoulder and turned her around to face us.

“Girls,” Coach said, “I understand that, in light of Arielle's disappearance, some of you are eager to get home. Barb and Sharon have asked that we withdraw from tomorrow's competition. Quitting is not usually an option for a Soar team. But as we discussed last month, we enrolled in this competition as a warm-up for provincials. Based on our standing today, the best finish we could attain, if we stayed for tomorrow's round, would be third place. And we'd need to be close to perfect to do that. So I'm going to put it to a vote. Girls in favor of withdrawing, please raise your hands.”

Ten hands went up, and I could see that Amy Jo, one of the three holdouts with Shona and me, was wavering. Lucy elbowed her in the ribs. “The sooner we get home,” Lucy whispered, “the sooner we can start calling around to Arielle's friends.”

Amy Jo looked away from Shona and raised her hand. Shona and I were the only holdouts.

“That's eleven out of thirteen,” said Coach. “I'll go talk to the judges.”

Before we left town, we used Jada's laptop and the photo Ari's parents had sent to put together a Missing Person poster. We had a bunch printed at a copy shop, and we plastered them all over the conference center and the neighborhood near the hotel. While we were postering, I sidled up to Shona.

“What was that bus you were talking about?”

“What bus?” She frowned at me, obviously still furious that we'd pulled out of the competition.

“You said Arielle was probably on the number fifty-two bus already. Is that a real bus? How do you know about it?”

“It's the northbound bus. To the art gallery. You know, for the field trip that Arielle cared about more than she cared about this competition.”

I ignored the dig. “But how do you know about that bus?”

“My grandparents live in Stouffville,” she said. “Not far from here. They used to take me to a store in North York to buy my gymnastics outfits. For competitions.”

Well, I thought, aren't you special. But all I said was, “Oh.”

chapter fifteen

It was 7:00 PM by the time we reached Stratford. After our night out with the basketball players, and the long day's drama, it felt like midnight to me. It was a relief to see my father's car pull into the Soar Club lot. Dad got out to load my bags. To my surprise, he gave me a long, tight hug before climbing back into the car. I guess the news of Arielle's disappearance hit close to home.

“Are you hungry, hon?” he asked. “Want to hit a drive-thru or something?”

“No, thanks,” I said. “I just want to go home to bed.”

“I should warn you, sweetie,” my dad said, “we got a call from the police. They want you to come to the station tomorrow for an interview.”

“Do I have to?” I asked.

“Well,” he said, “I'm not sure you have to. But I guess they think you could be of some help, if they decide to start a search.”

“Okay,” I sighed.

A couple of hours later, I was watching TV in my pajamas when the phone rang. It was Arielle's mother, calling for me. She wanted to know if I could come by to talk. “Her paintings are gone, Marnie,” she told me.

I went up to my room to change back into my clothes.

“Where are you going, sweetie?” asked my mom.

“Ari's mother wants to talk to me,”

I said. “Can you drive me over there?”

I'd tried to keep the fatigue out of my voice, but I couldn't hide those things from my mom. She put her arms around me in the hallway, and then she held me out at arm's length. “Listen, Marnie, you tell Mrs. Kuypers that if there's anything I can do to help, she should give me a call. I can't imagine what she's going through right now.”

I nodded in agreement and then stepped out the door to warm up the car for my mom. When I got to the Kuypers' house, Arielle's mom looked as elegant and well groomed as ever, but her hands were shaking. She led me into the living room, where Mr. Kuypers was waiting, and we sat stiffly across from each other. The last time I had been in that room, Arielle and I had been sprawled on the floor, our feet up on the couch cushions. We'd just come in from a long run. It was September, the beginning of cheerleading season, and we'd been trying to whip ourselves into shape. We were laughing at how winded we were and talking happily about the season to come.

What a difference a few months can make, I thought as I sat across from Ari's worried parents.

“So she told you she'd applied for residence?” Mrs. Kuypers asked. “Actually applied?”

I tried to remember Arielle's exact words. “I'm not sure,” I said. “I think she just told me she'd make up her mind later.”

“And you say you didn't help her pack for this Toronto trip? You don't remember how many bags she had?”

I shook my head. Clearly, my focus had been on one person only: me. “When did you notice the paintings were gone?” I asked.

“This afternoon,” Mr. Kuypers said “As soon as I got the call from your coach, I drove home from work and checked Arielle's room. The outside doors were all locked, as usual. But the paintings were gone. There was a roll of packing tape on the floor. Whoever took the paintings had to have had a van and a key.”

And they wouldn't have been spotted, I realized. The Kuypers' driveway went all the way around to the back of the house. Whoever took the paintings would have gone in and out the side door to Arielle's studio. It wasn't visible from the road.

“And she didn't say anything to you about any unusual plans?” asked Mrs. Kuypers. “Nothing at all?”

Both of them stared at me, disappointment written all over their faces. “You're her best friend…,” Mr. Kuypers said.

“She didn't tell me anything,” I said.

She didn't trust me enough, I thought as I put on my boots at the door. On the bus trip to Toronto, when she'd seemed so excited, it wasn't the cheerleading competition that was on her mind. It wasn't cheerleading at all. It was something else. Something that I was absolutely clueless about.

A secret.

That really hurt.

The next morning, I answered all the same questions at the police station. When I asked them when they were going to start looking for Arielle, they wouldn't give me a straight answer. All they would tell me was that they'd circulated her photo and some details of her disappearance through both police forces. But that was it.

As I was about to leave, the interviewer, an older guy named Detective Fuller, asked me a question no one had asked before. “Did she have a private email address? One her parents might not know about?”

“She had at least three addresses,” I told him. “The home one and two others. I don't know them off by heart. But I have them on my computer.”

Detective Fuller gave me his card. “Send them to me,” he said.

Not even “please” or “thank you,” I thought, as I walked out. Just “send them to me,” as if I'd give up my best friend's secrets that easily.

But when I thought about the despair I'd seen on Mrs. Kuypers's face, I knew I'd do just that.

chapter sixteen

I turned on the computer as soon as I got home and did a search of my inbox to find Arielle's addresses. There were lots of messages from her home email address. Most recently, there were details about the Toronto trip, most of them sent to the whole team.

I had to look harder to find messages from her other addresses. A note she'd sent me from Toronto when she was checking out residences was sent from her iPhone. I pasted that address into a message to the detective.

The third address was [email protected]. There were only a couple of messages from that one. The most recent was the art portfolio. It was sent to me alone, no other recipients.

I wondered if she'd ever sent that portfolio out, and if so, to whom. I looked through the pictures again. As always, the images sent a chill up my spine. They were pictures that kept secrets.

I sat in my chair for a long time, looking at the carnival picture. There was a title under the picture.
My Girl
.

I went online and and googled
My Girl
by Arielle Kuypers
. Arielle had been on the computer a lot recently. I remembered her telling me about the artist who'd admired her work, but I couldn't remember his name. I wasn't expecting to find anything, and I didn't on the first try. But when I tried again, this time using
My Girl
with
gesso91
, I got a hit to a bulletin board. The board was hosted by a site for young artists. There was a conversation thread about Arielle's painting. Three different people had commented. One was the site moderator. The other two were “Redmeg,” a seventeen-year-old girl who, according to her profile, specialized in “fantasy illustration.” The other was someone who called himself “TheBeneFactor.”

“The BeneFactor.” I said it aloud, trying to remember if this was the artist Ari had talked about. I clicked on his profile. A pop-up advised me that TheBeneFactor did not accept unsolicited portfolios. A search on the word
benefactor
turned up too many hits. I was stumped.

I spent another hour on my computer, trying, without success, to figure out the identity of Arielle's friend.

I felt alone in a way I never had before. I knew I ought to be worried about Arielle— and about Liam too—but what I really felt was hurt. Besides my parents, Ari and Liam were the two people I trusted and counted on most in the whole world. Now both of them were gone, and provincials were just four weeks away. I was not only trying to adjust to being a flyer, but I was suddenly the team captain too.

When Arielle made me assistant captain, I thought she'd done it to put an end to Shona's little mutiny. Now I wondered if she'd planned this all along. If she was already preparing to bail out on the team and leave me to pick up the pieces. It was a cruel trick, especially considering I could barely manage my own problems. Now I had twelve other girls to worry about.

chapter seventeen

The next day at school, I made my way down to the art room at lunchtime. I needed to talk to Ms. Currie, the art teacher, to see if she knew anything about someone called The BeneFactor. But how was I going to talk to Ms. Currie without raising her suspicions about Arielle? Ari, of course, was one of Ms. Currie's favorite students. If she thought I knew something about Ari's whereabouts, she'd want me to report it to the police. Even though that seemed like the logical thing to do, Ari had kept me in the dark about her plans because she knew I would blab under pressure.