EATING A TRAY OF OKLAHOMA BARBEQUE in her motel bed, Mila thumbed through channels until she found the 6 o'clock news her mom used to watch. The Daily Breakdown with Gray Hachette. As the intro song played, Mila could almost pretend she was back home...

GRAY HACHETTE

Good evening, folks. Welcome to The Daily Breakdown with me, Gray Hachette. We have some breaking news this evening. On tonight's special, let's dive right into the story of a missing college student...

    Mila's breathing stopped. A piece of half-chewed pulled pork fell out of her mouth and plopped on her plate. She couldn't move or breathe. Even her heart stopped beating. Her vision swam.

GRAY HACHETTE

(Walking on the NYU campus.)

New York University sophomore Camila Santos went missing while hiking at South Mountain Reservation in West Orange, New Jersey. A preliminary search of the woods resulted in the discovery of what was thought to be a murder scene. The same day, a close friend of Camila's released a YouTube video about her disappearance. The video went viral. He and I discussed Camila—or Mila—over a cup of coffee. Allow me to introduce you to Malachi Abramtzik.

Mila's legs bounced as Hachette ducked into a Manhattan coffee shop Malachi'd dragged Mila to once or twice. Mila'd turned her nose up at it, thinking it looked like all the other gentrified coffee shops he'd taken her to. Wood lined the shop from floor to ceiling. Edison bulbs dangled from the rafters. Tinny indie music played from somewhere unseen. A handful of customers wandered about the shop with coffee mugs. Hachette met Malachi, who handed them a mug, at a table by the window. Malachi, Malachi, Malachi. Mila's heart thrummed in her chest. Of course, he had an iced coffee in hand.

GRAY HACHETTE

Tell me about your relationship with Camila.

MALACHI ABRAMTZIK

Mila.

    Mila laughed so hard tears sprang from her eyes. That one-word answer... it was just so Malachi. God, Malachi was the same Malachi as always. Even the way he was dressed was just so Malachi: a brown hunting jacket over a green and navy blue flannel, a tiny pair of sunglasses tucked up into the folds of his beanie. But he didn't look good. Bags lined his hazel eyes. His olive skin was much paler than usual. Even with the beanie covering most of his hair, Mila could tell it  hadn't been brushed in a while. It fell to his shoulders in a tangled mess of brown waves. Tall and lanky, he normally looked awkward in his own skin, but it was far beyond that now—he looked like a skeleton.

    Had Mila done this to him?

    Had she... hurt him?

    Hachette folded their hands under their chin, waiting for Malachi to say more. When he didn't, they prompted him again.

HACHETTE

Right. She went by Mila. What was the nature of your friendship?

MALACHI

Best friends. Ever since middle school. She's like a sister to me.

HACHETTE

And how would you characterize Mila?

MALACHI

An [BLEEP]hole. [BLEEP.] This is live. I shouldn't say that. But I mean it in a good way.

HACHETTE

(Chuckles.)

She really is like a sister to you. Why do you believe she wasn't murdered?

MALACHI

Because of who she is as a person.

HACHETTE

(A beat. Then, when Malachi doesn't elaborate...)

And what do you mean by that?

MALACHI

I don't think anyone could kill her. I mean, she had enemies, it's not that. But... it's just... (He tugs at his collar, visibly uncomfortable.)

HACHETTE

Malachi, what is it?

MALACHI

(Shrugs and sinks low in his seat.)

I don't know. I mean... I guess she's a bit of a bad[BLEEP.] Oh, my God. Live. Sorry. But she is. And she's also smart. Especially about this stuff. She's into true crime. We both are. She knows a lot about things like this. There's no way...

HACHETTE

There's no way what?

MALACHI

There's no way she'd let anyone.

HACHETTE

Interesting. What do you think happened to her, if you don't think she was murdered?

MALACHI

Dunno. But she's still alive. And it's bull[BLEEP] that they're treating this as a murder investigation. I knew Mila better than anyone. My gut's telling me this wouldn't have happened to her. That this entire investigation's a sham.

HACHETTE

(Reaches out and gives Malachi an empathetic pat on the hand, which he pulls away from.)

I hope you and the Santos family find the closure you need on Mila's disappearance. Now onto you, Linda Seung, about the stock market scare last night...

    Mila jammed her finger into the remote's power button. She didn't care about the stock market or Linda Seung. Tears poured from her eyes. Sob after sob rose in her throat. How could she have done this? How could she put Malachi through this, or her parents? Her other friends? Adrian?

    What was she doing?

    Mila buried her face in her hands and sobbed over her barbeque.

    How could she have done this to the people she loved? How could she live with herself? How could she go back to them, after what she'd done? She'd been selfish, so selfish, so goddamn selfish. Why hadn't she just gone to therapy? She should have just gone to therapy.

    Guilt overwhelmed her. Emptiness settled deep within her chest. She'd been high on the happiness and freedom she'd felt on the open road, but everything came crashing down on her all at once. She fought back a scream.

    She couldn't do this.

    She jumped out of bed, shoving her food aside, and pulled her sweatshirt over her head and her shoes onto her feet. She didn't even grab her bags in her haste to get away from this place.

    She'd never thought of herself as the homesick type. But it settled deep in her bones like New York smog and she found herself missing the skyscrapers, the bustling city, the annoying tourists. She even missed the subway rats. God, she missed the subway rats.

    She rushed outside the motel, finding her car in the parking lot. She threw herself inside and shoved the key into the ignition.

As the car roared to life, the headlights bathed the motel in a milky pool of yellow light.

***

    MILA ONLY REALIZED she'd forgotten to turn her motel key in after half-an-hour of driving, determined, northeast. She'd had no radio on, her body close to the wheel, her jaw set. She retraced her steps back to her motel.

    She walked up to the man at the front desk. "I had a room tonight, but I'll no longer be using it. I'd like to check out early."

    The man replied, but Mila didn't hear it. She suddenly felt like she was in a dream. The world turned sideways. She wobbled on her feet and gripped the front desk to keep herself steady. It was like she was trying to read a map in a language she didn't speak, in an alphabet she couldn't read. It was confusing and disorienting all at once. She'd never felt more lost or unsure. What was she doing? What was she thinking?

    "There will be a cancellation fee," the man repeated.

    Mila laughed. "Fuck that!"

    The man arched an eyebrow. "I'm sorry?"

    Mila held her head backward and howled. "Fuck this!"

    "Miss? Are you all right?"

    The laughter tumbled from her mouth, utterly uncontrollable. "Never mind," Mila decided. "I'll keep the room. Who cares? None of this matters, anyway."

    The man swallowed nervously. Mila liked this. Making him feel scared and helpless. How his eyes couldn't meet her's. The beat of sweat that trickled down his forehead. She liked making men feel like the pieces of shit they were.

    Mila leaned her elbows on the counter. She had to stand on her tip-toes to do it, but it made her feel powerful. Like she was the one in control. Her newly-chopped curls tickled the tips of her shoulders. Having her hair cut this short made her feel powerful. She was never growing her hair long again.

    From her new vantage point, she noticed a bag of Doritos tucked just out of sight. The man must have been snacking on them. Mila reached over the counter, stuck her hand inside, and grabbed one. She tossed it in her mouth without breaking eye contact. She saluted the man, winked at him, and headed back to her room, her cheeks still stained with tears.