Troy and I are sitting on a bench far from everyone, facing the trail. Mom and LaToya are still looking for Khadijah, and, despite the weather, almost everyone is combing through the woods.

I don't feel sad or angry anymore. I feel tired.

So far, we've found enough clothes to dress a mannequin, but they're in varying sizes. Dad must've gotten frustrated, seeing a size ten shoe and a kid's coat, so he went home for a picture.

He sat it upright on a table and I stared at it awhile. It looked recent because Regina's braids were fresh. She wore a grey T-shirt tucked into her light blue jorts, tall socks, and white sneakers.

She was smiling so hard she was squinting but her hazel eyes were visible. They saw a happy teenager, I saw someone I let down.

What if we never find her? How would things turn out if that happens and Keenan sends us back home tomorrow? Could we come back to fix it, or would that be permanent?

I lean forward and rest my face in my palms. Raindrops softly thump the top and back of my hat. Some slide down my neck and cheeks.

Troy touches my back and says, "It's okay, Leila. We'll find her."

Hearing that makes me wanna throw up. My stomach twists and that feeling -- like an elephant on my chest -- happens again.

"Can I ask you something," he asks, and I nod. "Why'd she run away?"

"You're the second person to ask me that," I say under my breath. I sit back and stare at the birds waddling around a wooden trash bin, overflowing with junk and food. One flaps its wings, but its body can only lift a few inches. It's chubbier than the rest and has feathers so black they look blue.

I wanna tell him everything just as much as I wanna tell Keenan, but I can't. Keenan will probably shake his head, pinch the bridge of his nose, and say, 'Leila, I trusted you. I told you not to cause trouble. How could you do this?'

Maybe not telling him would make things worse, but I have to fix it myself.

He tilts his head so his face is in front of me. I shut my eyes with a deep breath, then I turn to him with a wry smile.

"She was sad about -- stuff." Troy narrows his eyes at my vague answer but doesn't press me for clarity. Instead, he sits back and watches the birds with me. I don't understand why they want food drenched in rainwater, but I suppose I have higher standards.

I follow Dad's station wagon with my eyes, watching it speed down the street with Mom behind the wheel and LaToya in the passenger seat. I stare through the glass, but no one's in the back and my shoulders slump.

She parks along the curb and a few people stop to stare: Dad, Uncle Wallace, Keenan, the boys I argued with, Troy, and a few older kids. She jumps out of the car before it can fully stop, but LaToya takes her time. They're wearing parkas and see-through rainhats, but different pant styles. Mom is in jeans and LaToya's in colorful leggings with geometric patterns.

They stand in front of their husbands, but they stare at Mom. She talks with her hands, but I can't hear her. Whatever it is, it's bad, because Dad places his hand over his mouth and his eyes drift away from them. LaToya crosses her arms, her husband tries to console Dad with a hand on his shoulder, but he quickly swats him away.

Dad walks away and Mom sets her fingers against her shaking lips. He stops in front of her picture, his back to his family. He stares at her face for a few moments, the speed of his chest and shoulders rising and falling increasing with each second. Then, he yanks off his rain hat and slams it on the muddy ground before throwing his hands onto his head. When he grips his hair, Mom's body jerks and she cries.

She's dead.

That's all I can think of.

I slowly stand up and Troy looks at me, then Keenan does. They give me pitying eyes that make tears fall from mine and mix with the raindrops hitting my face. I shake my head while backing away from the bench at the same speed I stood up. My lips are apart and my eyebrows are lowered.

She's dead.

She's dead.

She's dead.

This repeats in my head along with flashes of her face the last time I saw her. I see that orange light pouring out of her room and how she smells like old lady perfume. She needed me and I called her selfish.

"Leila," Troy mumbles my name. I glance at him, and when the tears fall from my eyelashes, I sprint toward the forest like a track star. "Leila!"

I can't stop. I want to, but I can't. My legs and arms go numb. My heart thumps against my chest like a drum. I take shallow and quick breaths. The air is cold and damp. Twigs give way, and amphibians and squirrels leap out of my path. I pant and whimper. Tears fall faster and faster, and they're warm on my cheeks and chin.

"Leila," Troy calls for me, his voice shaking with heavy breaths. He's running after me. His voice is close.

I leap over a rock. I duck under a branch. I cut through shrubs and splash through a creek with green water. My beads click and clack against each other as my braids swing side to side.

The rain doesn't let up. It's drizzling on anything that touches the sunlight, turning the soil into mud. I reach a log over another stream, this one overflowing, and I slow down to walk across it. I take one step with my arms out like I'm crossing a tightrope, and then a twig snaps behind me. I quickly look over my shoulder and Troy's standing there, huffing and puffing.

If he were lighter-skinned, his face would be red. He leans forward and sets his hands on his knees.

Through each heavy breath, he says, "Leila -- wait -- please," and I stand there on the edge of the log. I cry and cry, my head throbbing and chest aching like I was punched.

"Leave me alone. Go away," I tell him, my body trembling as I balance myself on one foot. Over time, his face becomes blurry. I see dark brown spots where his eyes are and dark pink for his lips.

He stands up tall and lowers his eyebrows in sadness. I open my mouth to speak, but my knee buckles. My eyes widen as I wobble at the hips. I fall to the side and my legs hook over the log. My hat slips off my head and it floats away, leaving the water to spray my face, waterboarding me.

He runs closer and grips my arms from over my head, then he tugs me. My shoulders click like the bones are dislocating. He helps me sit on the log with my boots touching the water. As he looks around for my hat, I slide my hand across my head, feeling my braids and beads. Some popped off while I was running.

Today may be the worst day of my life.

He walks alongside the log to reach the other side where he sees the hat floating down the stream.

"Forget it," I tell him and sniffle. He stares at me, then at it drifting farther and farther. He trudges to me and sits beside me.

He takes my chin in one hand and swipes away the water weighing down my eyelashes with the other. My eyes burn and I'm sure they're red from crying and whatever's in this stream, but his are clear and comforting.

"Are you okay?" Troy sets his hands on his lap, his back slouched like mine. I look at my boots and the water splashing near the toes.

I inhale through my nose and exhale from my mouth, my body shuddering. I watch his reflection staring at mine, and sure enough, my face is red and damp.

"My parents are getting a divorce," I mumble and my voice cracks. My lips feel heavy and my nose won't stop running. I sniff to keep it in, but I have to do it again and again.

"Is that why she ran away?" I nod and my beads tap the back of my neck. I sit one foot over the other and they swing together. He stares ahead, taking a deep breath. He purses his lips, then pulls them to the side. After a few more seconds, he says, "If it makes you feel any better, my parents divorced last year." He meets my eyes. "They got married again and had more kids."

"They got back together?" He furrows his eyebrows at my question while slowly shaking his head.

"Oh," he mumbles, then says with a smile, "No, they married other people."

"Oh," I mumble too, my gaze drifting onto my boots. "Well, no, that doesn't make me feel better."

I slowly shut my eyes to listen to the water crashing against itself, rocks, and the log. A few birds tweet in trees and some flutter their wings in the air. The stream sounds like someone's running a bath, and the flying birds sound like someone's fluffing a blanket.

"Who's more upset about it, you or your sister?" I whip my head to Troy and my body jerks, then tenses under my restraint. I wanna toss him in the water for asking me something so stupid.

"What kind of question is that," I ask in a snapping tone.

He stutters. "I'm just asking because -- well, she ran away and you seem -- fine." We stare at each other for a while. The more he speaks, the closer I get to wanting to push him in. I jump to my feet and storm toward the exit to prevent myself from acting out my thoughts. He takes another deep breath. "Leila, wait, I'm sorry."

"I swear to God, if I were my dad, I would check everyone who joins the search because it seems like he's letting anybody in." My voice shakes as I take heavy steps, leaving footprints with clearer details. He sprints after me, then slows down once he's beside me. "And the next person to say something like that to me is getting punched."

"I wasn't trying to be rude," he says with a steady voice. I ball my hands into fists and scoff at him while looking forward.

I stop walking and whip around to face him. "Then what were you trying to do?"

He stares at my mouth, then into my eyes. He mumbles, "I just wanna know why you're more upset about your sister leaving than you are about your parents getting a divorce."

"And why would that be your business?" He raises an eyebrow, and I cross my arms with one foot forward.

"It's not," he drags his answer like a question, and I interrupt him before he can finish.

"Exactly." I clap my hands once and hold them together in front of my chest. That lasts as long as my smile -- which was only a few seconds -- before I drop my arms and continue walking.

"But you made it my business when you told me." I force myself to chuckle, but by his face, he doesn't find anything funny. "Can you just stop for a second?"

He takes my hand and I instantly stare at his fingers. His skin is soft like a giant marshmallow and his nails are short and clean. When he tugs me, my boots scrape up mud as I turn to him.

"Why're you here, Troy," I ask him. Raindrops slide down my hair and onto my face. I squint to keep them out of my eyes, but they land on my eyelashes. He's holding my hand with his thumb over my knuckles.

"I heard about what happened and I wanted to help." He shrugs. I don't respond. Instead, I use my other hand to wipe my eyes. "The police came to our school and was asking everybody what they knew about your sister. They put up these papers, so if we wanted to join, we can."

"What about homework?" He laughs at me, and it makes me lose what little emotion I have on my face.

"You really care about that?" His smile fades when he sees how serious I am. He drops his head and mumbles, "Sorry." I yank my hand from him to cross my arms. He looks at me and says, "They said we can miss class and they'll send our work home."

Wow, that explains why there's a ton of other kids here.

"So, this whole time, you all are here because it gives you a three-day weekend, not because you care about me or Regina." He narrows his eyes at me like he's thinking. I scoff and shake my head. "I should've known. I mean, I knew having you people here was a waste of time since none of you knew her."

"Leila?" We look to my right when Keenan calls me. He's standing there with his jaw dropped and his eyebrows together like he caught me and Troy doing something we shouldn't be. My shoulders slump forward and I slowly turn my eyes to Troy.