Whether you knew her personally or not, hated her or loved her, everyone had an opinion about her. Aster Evans, the designated queen bee of Eastmore, royalty in our small town.

Everyone knew everything about Aster, from the last selfie she took, to the conditioner she used. But no-one knew where she was now, or if she was even alive at all.

Of course, as the announcement was  made on Tuesday, the 15th of May over the loudspeaker that Aster had been presumed dead after missing two weeks, the finger was pointed at me. Me, Midnight Deluca, to Eastmore, I was classed as the cynical, sardonic outsider, and the insider on the happenings of Eastmore. I was the writer of the school newspaper, The East, and as the alien of Eastmore; I was the prime suspect in everyone's head. Sure, I wasn't an Aster follower, but I'd never do such a thing!

But the town, and subsequently the school was suspicious and shaken after the events of the 2nd of May. It was the school holidays, and after attending a party the night before, Aster Evans was nowhere to be seen. At exactly 6 o'clock that evening, her parents, Suzannah and Lian Evans filed a report to the local policeman, Drew Casterwyre. Of course, it was the talk of the town, and by 10:42 pm, I had already planned the next article in The East, about Aster's disappearance, perhaps it was only a prank. It had been the school holidays, and I was certain she'd be back and well by the first day of school. But now here she was, presumed dead.

The rest of the 15th was eerily quiet. No whispers, hushed chatter or gossip. Just plain awe and shock. It was scary, really, the sound of silence;  uncanny the obedience of students, who hung their heads and did what they were told. When I began to write up the The East's article about Aster's disappearance, my fingers just froze. They couldn't type. I decided against the idea, as it would be viewed as insensitive. And to be honest, even I, who I like to think of as an investigative journalist, didn't want to know the answer. I didn't want to picture Aster, dead in a ditch or stuffed in a pipe. I pushed the idea out of my head, willing myself to believe she was still alive. It had only been two weeks after all. That in itself was eerie. The police weren't releasing any information, but had already drawn a conclusion.

"Hey, uh, Midnight?" a small voice interrupted by thoughts. I snapped around to see Kitty Roseavelt herself. Perhaps I should describe our relationship to perfectly illustrate how much this surprised me.

Kitty Roseavelt was Aster Evans' second in command. She had  impeccable style and classy fashion taste. Her light brown hair, cat eye sunglasses and a matching pink sweater and skirt was a go to for her. She was popular and clever and ran the Eastmore Charity Fashion Show every year. People like her never even noticed someone like me.  Today, however, she didn't look quite as amazing. Her brown hair looked flat and dull, not shiny and glossy, as in its usual state. Her pink pleated shirt had creases, something she would normally never been seen dead in. Her pink sweater with different shades of pink diamonds had a few loose threads. Her eye shadow was smudged. Her lipstick was crooked. Mascara ran in long black trails down her cheeks. She had been crying. Surprised and embarrassed, my voice was croaky.

"Um, yes?"

Kitty dumped a large pile of papers on my desk. "Look, I think there was foul play involved in Aster's...you know. Can you please help me? Write an article or something? Draw attention to the fact this wasn't Aster's fault!" I could tell she was desperate, what with everyone pointing the finger at me, she came to me for help. It was her only way.

I shook my head, "I don't know, sorry, but don't you think it's a bit early to dig into this? The wound is still fresh."

"Please, Midnight, she's my best friend. I miss her, and I don't want anyone thinking she was just a careless teenager who wandered off after a rough night at a party." Kitty pleaded, her eyes almost swelling with tears. There she was, off her high and mighty horse, down on the ground looking weak and feeble and defenseless. Not the usual princess that roamed the halls.

I hadn't ever liked Kitty or Aster, they looked down on people like me, pitied us, bullied us, but I hadn't ever had a best friend before, but it was there in that moment I saw raw, unfiltered grief. And suddenly I almost felt her connection, and what it would feel like to go through that pain. That bond was stronger than I ever imagined friends could be. 

"I'll think about it," I say, "You can help me with your theories if you want."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! Now here," she gestured to the large stack of papers she brought over to my desk, "is all the suspicious evidence and my theories."

"Okay, okay, we'll start work tomorrow. See you in The East office after school?" I said.

Kitty beamed, almost reaching out to hug me, "Thanks so much! I'll be there!"

As seen through the dramatic downfall of golden girl Kitty Roseavelt, the citizens of Eastmore began to well...fall apart. The townspeople who loved her were engulfed by grief, whilst the other half that hated her became fearful, worried and anxious.

By Tuesday afternoon, as I sat in English class, there was a small knock on the door. English was silent, and that lesson we were supposed to just read a book, whilst our teacher, Miss Dreawcock, sat, mourning the loss of one of her favorite pupils. Most of us though, couldn't even concentrate on the words on the page, and instead were lost in thought, staring into space.

Startled, a shocked Miss Dreawcock ran to the door, and opened it. There, stood little Elsie Evans. She was only nine years old, wearing head-to-toe black, mourning her sister's death. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and her eyebrows were furrowed. 

"Um, Mum and Dad dropped me off to hand out some invitations to Aster's classmates," she says, her voice small and meek.

"Of course, Elsie, go right ahead," said Miss Dreawcock, before wrapping her in a hug. "Don't worry, I'm sure they'll find her."

Elsie Evans wound her way through the desks, placing little black envelopes on everyone's desk. Once Elsie left the room, I turned mine over. It's decorated with black lace and a little red seal sits in the center of the envelope, stamped with "EVANS".

Carefully, I opened the envelope to view the message inside. The pearly white paper  scrawled in black letters and decorated ivory flowers, read:

"As I am sure you are aware, the Evans family is currently mourning the loss of our oldest daughter, Aster.

I know she meant a lot to some in Eastmore, which is why we will be holding a service to commemorate her.

We haven't found her yet, and although she was presumed dead this morning, the Evans family believes that there is not enough conclusive evidence. So don't think of this as a funeral, but commemorative service. To commemorate our losses and the disappearance of our daughter, the shining light of our family.

We hope, this gathering can raise awareness on Aster's case, and perhaps encourage a faster search for our girl.

Our service will be held on the 22nd of May, one week from when she was presumed dead, although we hope she will have been found by then, at our house, 34 Evyline Street, Eastmore.

Sincerely, Suzannah, Lian & Elsie Evans

RSVP by the 19th of May

8704 566 703

Thank you"

I had never felt sorry for Aster Evans before. She was perfect and popular, pretty, clever and talented in every subject, people loved her, although she spread cruel rumors. Neither had I pitied Suzannah, Lian or Elsie Evans; they were all good-looking, rich and lived in the biggest house in Eastmore. They were perfect and they had everything.

But now, they were torn apart, their family crushed and ruined. No longer did possessions and riches matter to the Evans, they would give anything to have their daughter back. It was beautiful really, how grief and loss could turn the worst of people into kind loving people, who welcomed everything and anything into their home. Despair brings everyone together. And for the first time ever, I pitied the Evanses. They had one thing taken away, but that one thing was everything.