Twigs and leaves crunch under my rubber boots as Keenan and I cross a clearing in the woods far from our houses. Men, women, and teenagers are all combing through the large land with nothing but flashlights, lanterns, and moonlight.

Everyone has a buddy. Michelle has her fiancé, Todd Noel; Dad has his brother; and I have Keenan. Keenan's brother is at his fiancee's house.

Over time, more people joined in—neighbors, friends, families, and strangers. Their voices are like ghostly whispers in the dark, all calling for Regina.

"Leila?" His voice is soft and highly sympathetic. I glance at him, then I turn back to the mud pooling around my feet. While the police spoke to my parents, it started drizzling, so everyone changed out of their pajamas and into warmer, thicker clothes.

"Yeah?" I kick a fallen limb to the side and sway my flashlight. We step across branches and rocks—too big for either of us to move—then veer to the right.

"What happened to your sister," he asks, and I scoff with a wry chuckle. Owls hoot and crickets chirp nearby, their voices growing louder and louder the closer we get to a tree that seems to touch the sky. It's covered in moss and wider than three doors put together.

"She's not my sister." I duck under a low-hanging branch and look behind us while walking forward. Orange eyes flicker back at me from creatures blinking. A chill rushes down my spine, my eyes widen, and I grit my teeth to keep from shuddering.

He inhales deeply, his shoulders rising to his ears. Then, as they fall, he exhales. "Okay, well, what happened to Regina?"

"I don't know," I mumble. We reach a path with grass up to our hips and a bright green light on the other side.

"Leila." I stop walking and whip around to face him. His arms are crossed, and he's staring at me with his head tilted in disbelief.

"Will you stop calling me? I said, I don't know," I shout, and he doesn't flinch. Raindrops tap the top of my rubber hat and pool on the brim, weighing it down. "What more do you want? If I knew where she was, would I be out here?"

He narrows his eyes at me and calmly says, "I didn't ask where she was; I asked what happened." He follows me through the grass, taking quicker steps until he's at my side. "Leila, what happened?"

I can't tell him. I won't tell him.

Since the first day, I've treated this like a field trip. I thought I'd wake up famous, so I joked around, not understanding how serious this was. These people are real. This life is real. This isn't like a simulation game where I can start over if I do something wrong, and Regina running away showed me that what I say can even affect everyone.

"I don't know, Keenan." He doesn't say anything else. We drag our feet through the thick mud under the grass. It's like hands are wrapping around our feet and pulling us down, but we jerk our knees high to keep from sinking. Our steps make a sloshing sound and I scrunch my face, still sweeping the light across my path.

That green light in the distance stretches across the forest's background like the Northern Lights my real parents would take me to see. I even learned about them in class: aurorae. We reach the middle of the swamp-like patch where the voices calling out for Regina sound faint.

When we're about to step onto the dry ground on the other side, hidden under tall trees, my foot catches under what feels like a vine or tree root. I swing my arms while squeezing the flashlight and the beam flashes in circles. I fall backward and land on the seat of my denim skirt.

Keenan and I stare at each other. His lips twitch and with his mouth closed, he makes a noise that sounds like static from a radio.

"I don't find this funny at all," I say. He reaches out a hand to me, but I push myself up and side-eye him. Clumps of mud fall off my skirt, down my tights, and into my boots. I take off my yellow hat and flick it at my side until the water spills off.

Keenan looks around, shining his flashlight wherever his eyes go, and he says, "Let's look a bit further, then head back to the group."

I shake my braids and beads, then place the hat back on. We continue past trees, lizards, and frogs. The rain falls on the grass harder than a waterfall, but it can only slip through the trees in small amounts.

I grip my rubber coat sleeve and use it to wipe away the brown chunks on the glass. I leave a smudge that I can't remove with my sleeve, so I rub the glass against my skirt leg. When I lift the flashlight, it's not as clean, but it's enough to see what's in front of us.

"I don't even understand why we have to look out here," I say, and he furrows his eyebrows at me like I'd cursed his family. I roll my eyes. "I just mean, it's unlikely she's out here. If anything, she'd be at her boyfriend's house."

He stops walking and stares at me with his mouth open. He asks, "She has a boyfriend," but, obviously, it's rhetorical; plus it sounds more like a statement. The old me would say something sarcastic, but I'm too tired to even smirk. "Leila, why didn't you tell anyone? We could've at least had someone go there."

"It was just a thought," I say as we turn to the grass. When I start to step into the mud, my flashlight flickers. I hold it in both hands, looking down at it and watching it struggle to light up.

It flickers over and over, slowly dimming. I shake it like a snow globe with my eyes on Keenan, who is trudging through the tall grass. The bulb loses its light, and I stand there, desperately shaking the flashlight, but it doesn't change anything.

Something runs past me from behind, and by its footsteps and growling, it sounds large. Instead of looking in its direction, I run after him.

***

When we found the group near the park's map, Keenan told our Dads what I said about Regina having a boyfriend and her likely being at his house. They asked for a name, but I couldn't tell them. It wasn't just because I had an allegiance to her, it was mainly because I didn't remember.

I do remember Khadijah, though. Aunt LaToya and Mom were sent to find her while we searched the woods or went home. Some adults had to work and the other kids had to go to school. Thankfully, Keenan is allowed to stay since she's his cousin.

We're sitting at a foldable table with a wide umbrella and trays of sealed food, but I'm the only one not eating. I can't.

It's been hours and no one knows anything. Our only updates are about a red coat some guy found that doesn't belong to her and what President Bush is doing.

I sit with my elbows on the table and my forehead in my palms. Her voice replays in my head along with her face. I see her crying, screaming, and throwing my basket. It's like an out-of-body experience because I can see myself too. I smirked when she was angry about me acting weird and I called her selfish for wanting her parents to stay together.

"I found something," someone yells out and I lift my head so fast it looks like a Wack-a-mole. A guy in jeans and a bright orange rubber coat runs to Uncle Wallace with a dingy shoe. It looks like Sketchers and a size too big for her, so I shake my head with my mouth pulled to the side.

Wallace glances at Dad who shakes his head as well, and I drop my eyes onto my knees. My tights are ripped there and near my calves. Those holes are the only things keeping me distracted.

I run my right-hand fingers along the torn fabric on my right knee, but my eyes wander onto the rainboots across from me. Keenan's sitting beside me with his bowl to his mouth, drinking the broth from the gumbo. Two boys are across from us—boys we don't know. One looks around our age and the other is small like a ten-year-old.

"Shouldn't you be in school, right now," I ask the little one. He stops chewing, and the other one glances at him and narrows his eyes at me.

"Our mom talked to our teachers. They said we're allowed to miss today to help," he speaks for him, but I don't break eye contact. Keenan sits his bowl and fork down, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I just don't see how you'd be of much help," I tell the kid. He looks at his brother, the tall and skinny boy with darker skin than Keenan's, who shakes his head at me. "There'll be a lot of walking, lifting, searching. Some of us won't be eating or stopping for water. You might even see a bear. Can you handle that?"

"I'm a Boy Scout," he says and I can't help but throw my head back and laugh. Even his voice is high-pitched like a baby's. His brother lifts his hands and furrows his eyebrows at Keenan who sighs.

"Leila, leave them alone," he mumbles, but I don't let up. I don't know why I'm annoyed by these two.

"Don't tell them my name." I look at Keenan with my head tilted. I point at the kids and say, "This one might show up to my door and sell me cookies." I crack a smile, and I don't care that Keenan dims his eyes at me. The older one picks up his bowl in one hand and stands up. "Oh, I'm sorry, I was thinking of Girl Scouts. What do Boy Scouts do again?"

"Nick, get your food and go sit at another table." He listens to his big brother, tears pooling on his thick eyelashes. He carries his bowl and fork to a table far behind us and I watch him with a grin. He's about as tall as my leg, further proving my point.

"I wasn't trying to be mean, but," I say, dragging my words and the smile hasn't left my face. The older boy walks to my end of the table and I look him up and down. 

He leans close to my ear and whispers, "Fuck you and your sister." The corners of my mouth twitch, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of frowning. Then, he says, "I hope that same bear you were talking about dragged her to his kids and ate her."

He pulls his face back and stares me in the eyes. My throat closes as my mouth waters. I force the spit down, but some go down too fast. My throat burns and my chest rises and falls, my body ready to cough. Part of me wants to cough in his face, but that's gross and I don't know if he hits girls.

When he walks away, I quickly look forward and cough into the bend of my arm.

"Leila, what's wrong with you?" I cross my arms with my back slouched.

"Oh, I don't know, my sister is missing," I say sarcastically. He takes off his rain hat and shakes his head at me. "I feel like these dumbasses are only prolonging her being found because what can a coat, a shoe, or a fucking hairclip do to find her?"

"If they're hers, it can show where she was. They're like footprints," he says, and I scoff. I stand up and walk to the end of the table, staring at the people going in and out of the woods empty-handed.

"Footprints would be more helpful," I mumble. An older man and his son walk to Dad with a heart necklace. It has a rusted chain. I toss up my hand and shake my head, then I say. "But no, she chose to run away right before it started raining."

I glance at Keenan. He's staring at the people leaving the woods with his elbow on the table and his fingers against his lips.

"Leila?" We look behind me and I smile at the boy standing there in baggy jeans, designer sneakers, and a raincoat with the hood up.

"Troy," I say with a heavy breath. Seeing him takes a weight off my shoulders.