The next day an awful noise woke me. First, the hoover and then the grinding of the blender, and I knew without needing to ask Mom was killing nervous energy.

Sunlight spilled through my blinds. The benefit of tornadoes was the following day, the sunrises were glorious. My phone buzzed. My best friend Simon Porter's face flashed twice. I swiped, declined the call, and rolled onto my back. Everyone and their dog would have post-nado tales this morning, and Simon acted as a public service announcement. As the son of the sheriff's deputy, he had an ear full of secrets but a mouth the size of a canyon.

Before I could drag myself out of bed, my cell phone chirped with a new message. I snatched it and squinted at the screen.

Simon: Did you hear?

Not wanting to get into the dramas unfolding in town, I needed to help Dad first; I couldn't shirk this time and was familiar with tornado clean-ups. Throwing my cell phone onto the bed, I decided to catch up with him later.

Finishing up in the shower, I dressed and headed downstairs. Mom was perched on an exercise bike in the living room, her feet pounding the pedals.

"Hey, honey." She panted out a breath.

I smiled and walked into the living room.

She paused, her legs halting on the peddle. "Honey, are you okay? How did you sleep?" She dabbed a towel over auburn hair that slicked across her forehead.

I shook my head. "Not well."

"Mercury's in retrograde, and as a Pisces, your emotional resilience to all of this negative 'Derek' energy will be out of whack."

I nodded slowly, still not sure what she meant. "Have you seen my hoodie?" I lifted the cushion in the living room before moving to check the kitchen.

"You wore it yesterday before you went to school," she answered, climbing off the bike. "You lose everything!"

Frustrated, I groaned; it was my favorite one, emblazoned with the number eight on the back.

Mom offered out a plate of buttered toast. I grabbed a slice, pinned it between my teeth, and pulled my boots on.

I eased myself onto a stool at the breakfast bar. Emma bounded down the stairs in her signature skinny jeans and Nirvana T-shirt. She slid onto the breakfast stool beside me. Picking up a piece of toast, she stuffed it into her mouth and wiped the fallen crumbs from the countertop onto the floor.

"I want you both to help your father clean up the yard. You know the drill by now." Mom rounded around the side of the breakfast bar and formed a barricade in front of us.

"Sorry, but I can't," Emma replied. "I'm on my period and snapping post-tornado selfies with Rosie." She swiveled in her seat and slid off.

"Schools announced they'll be closed for a week," Emma said, reaching for a glass in the cupboard.

"They need to safety assess, I suspect," Mom replied.

"They've canceled the dance." Emma sighed and yanked open the fridge door, grabbing the orange juice.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm devastated."

"Sounds like no one would go with you," she scoffed.

Shaking my head, I dismissed everything Emma had just said. "I don't want to date; I am a young eligible bachelor in my prime. Why does society place romantic relationships above other ones, anyway?"

Mom went to speak, but Emma cut in. "I've got this. When a boy likes a girl, he prefers to show her physically. When a girl has a desire for social acceptance, she reciprocates. And that's how babies are born, hence why romantic relationships among your kin are highly regarded."

"That's not what I meant."

"Ah, then platonic love, brother." Emma laughed. "You love me, after all."

"I'm not talking about platonic love either. You were an ugly baby, and that hasn't changed."

"Emma was a gorgeous baby," Mom gushed.

"Better than being a by-product of a holy fish-slapping," Emma retorted.

When Dad was eighteen, his father urged him to join the military, wanting Dad to grow up, cut his hippie hair, and get a real job. Before enrolment, Dad had an epiphany; Jesus visited him in a dream and slapped him with a carp. Jesus asked Dad why he wanted to join the army when he could smoke pot, get laid, and go to Fat Burger, not necessarily in that order. When Dad awoke, he proposed to my mother.

Hence, I was a family joke; being conceived the night after Jesus fish-slapped my father, Emma would never let me forget it. But honestly, if Jesus had not bestowed his unique brand of wisdom that night, I wouldn't exist. To this day, Jesus is still the coolest person my Dad thinks he knows.

"You're adopted," I fired back.

The phone rang; Mom dried her hands on a dishtowel and answered. "Hello, Abby Brennan."

Mom fell silent, and I heard the hushed tones of someone else speaking. She nodded quickly, saying, "If I hear anything, I will."

Mom hung up the receiver and stood transfixed, gazing out of the window

"Who was it on the phone?" I asked.

"Penny Ackerman," Mom's voice broke. "Cindy didn't come home last night. Have either of you heard from Cindy this morning?"

"No," I answered without hesitation. Emma shook her head.

Mom and Penny were lifelong friends, but that friendship hadn't rubbed off on me and Cindy. The social hierarchy had dashed that potential back in kindergarten. Even though they lived across the street, this had stayed the same for us.

I shared no ties with Cindy, but if she was out with Laurie and Daniel, I wasn't about to cause her more grief when she eventually showed up. It was an unspoken teenage rule.

"Penny and David are worried sick. They've been contacting everyone they can think of."

"I can ask around?" I suggested.

"That would be helpful," Mom replied. She leaned over my shoulder and lifted the newspaper to remove her cell phone. She brushed the loose brown strands of my hair up and kissed my forehead.

"I'll call the neighbors," Mom said. "All of this on Penny's plate and juggling babies. The twins, Kai and Dylan, cannot be over two years old. God knows how Penny is holding up. If it were you or your sister..." She left the sentence open-ended and looked at me solemnly for a long moment.

"Cindy will turn up." I offered a smile.

"Cindy's got to be on a bender," Emma said.

Mom snapped back to reality. "Not Cindy; Penny would never have it."

Emma grinned. Now she had everyone's attention. "According to Laurie, Cindy is a ginormous slut."

Mom looked shocked. "Why would Laurie say such a thing about her friend?"

"Takes a slut to know one."

Mum held up her hand, silencing Emma.

My mind started to over-analyze. Cindy with the soccer team, Cindy with the basketball team; were any of the rumors in the bathroom stalls at school true? I struggled to imagine Cindy being that girl. On the other hand, I believed rumors were not rumors without a spark of truth to ignite them.

"Seriously, the whole school knows. At this party, Paige told Rosie that her older brother's friend's cousin saw her locking lips with no other than..."

"That's enough, Em-ma," Mom scolded, sounding out each syllable in her name. "I can't hear anymore. It makes me feel sick. The tornado has flooded the Police station with calls. Cindy hasn't been missing a day. She isn't a priority."

Emma's eyes widened. "Wow, you'd think they would be ambering this shit up?"

"The police department is gonna be busy today. If the police are not showing concern, I don't see why we should be," I said.

"That's insensitive, you dumbass," Emma said from her righteous throne beside me.

"A minute ago, you called Cindy a giant slut. And while talking about dumb shit, stop wearing T-shirts of bands you don't listen to. What's the point?"

Emma sucked in a breath. "The next words out of your mouth better be..."

"Can you name one Nirvana song?" I cut her off.

"I need not appease you."

"Because you can't." I glared back. "How do you know so much about Cindy and her friends? They're a year older than you."

"I'm not socially inept like you. You have one friend, right? No girlfriend and no prospect of one." Emma smiled, but it wasn't a friendly smile.

Emma wasn't a liar, but I refused to confess my inexperience to her. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket; pulling it out, I glanced at the screen.

Simon: I know you've read my message. Pick up your phone. This is important.

Maybe Simon already knew? Perhaps they had found Cindy? As the deputy's son, he had to be in the loop, which begged the question; if the drama was over, why was Simon so persistent?

A much darker thought crossed my mind; what if they had found Cindy, and what if she wasn't Cindy anymore?

"Guys, this really isn't the time." Mom turned to me. "Are you sure you're okay? You've gone all peaky."

I startled and dropped my phone. "Yeah, it's just..." Never mind. "What's for dinner later?" I asked instead because it's the furthest thing I can think of to a missing teenage girl.

Still, my gut-churned, turning the words over in my head; Cindy Ackerman was missing, and I was among the last people to see her. Blind fear chilled the blood in my veins, leaving a sour taste I couldn't swallow.

What the hell happened after she drove away?