Another day began; spring skies would soon sing the song of summer. When the passage of the seasons interchanged, Cindy would not. I couldn't fathom someone I knew was dead.

Every time I closed my eyes, I couldn't shake the image of her pressed up against the backseat with a wistful gaze in her eyes, and every time I opened them, she was standing in front of me, in all of her dead-teen glory.

But thanks to the wizardry of modern technology, I focused my attention. I did my utmost to ignore most of Cindy's pleas and ramblings this morning. Having her here was surreal. I still didn't know how to help her; no one had that authority over God. When she understood this, she would leave, move on, or do whatever she needed.

The school would partly reopen next week with a reduced schedule of classes. The gymnasium roof had collapsed, and now the Major had summoned in the bulldozers with the promise of rebuilding before the fall term. In the meantime, we were to collect assignments from the school office to complete at home.

Strolling to school to collect my algebra and humanities assignments, Cindy was subdued. She followed a step behind, humming a tune she had recited at regular intervals throughout the night, the name of which had rested on the tip of my tongue into the early hours of dawn.

It irritated me beyond belief. Cindy wasn't stupid. She knew to seek the answer would be to engage her in conversation. Then where would I be?

"Nick," Cindy said, coming to a halt. "You're making this weird, and I have the distinct feeling you are choosing to talk to yourself over me."

Pretend you don't see her. I disregarded her presence, but it wasn't easy.

"Listen," she propositioned.

"Stop wasting your time! I'm not your guy here. Go look for the light or something..." I waved her off.

She stopped still. "Please don't ignore me."

Heat rose from the already sun-baked asphalt. Two red-tailed hawks glided above, circling against streaks of cloud in an otherwise blue sky. Too distant for sound, they synchronized, mirroring each other as if they were the only beings on Earth.

Cindy glared at me with the malice and dexterity of a slow-moving hurricane. "The hard way it is." She tutted.

Arriving at school, people dotted the yard in front of the red-brick school building. A queue of students led from the doors to the parking lot. I joined the back of the line and noticed Simon jogging over.

"Penny and David Ackerman are holding a church prayer service for Cindy this afternoon. Are you going?" Simon asked.

Cindy's ears pricked at the mention of her parents. With clouded eyes, she stood by the entrance to the track field, observing the space where the cheer team practiced.

"Are you going?" I asked.

Simon nodded. "The entire school is. It's like Zachary Evans all over again. The Police Department opened a formal missing person's case; overnight, everyone's her best friend."

"How did people find out about the case so quickly?"

Simon's cheeks flushed in an unspoken confession. "Nothing travels faster in this town than a secret and the promise of a dead Prom Queen."

Simon continued to chatter, oblivious to anyone else, until Aiden Richards strolled passed.

Simon's mouth erupted into a wide grin. "Hey, Aiden."

Whenever Aiden was around, suddenly, everything he said, Simon found funny.

"I'll catch you later, Okay?" Simon didn't wait for an answer. He turned on his heel and rushed to catch up with Aiden.

The sound of the soccer team wading into the line caused a commotion. The noise died down to a whisper.

"Dude, I haven't clocked her since school on Monday," Daniel remarked to his teammates.

He was lying. Why was he lying?

Emma stood behind Daniel in the assignment queue, her fingers clasped around his arm. My eyes darted between them. Something was off. I'm hearing a joke but missing the punch-line, momentarily stunned by the sudden hint of intimacy between them.

Emma noticed me watching. She usually wore her emotions with pride, the good, the bad, and the ugly. But, as her hand dropped away, a sudden uncertainty washed over her face. And for the first time, I couldn't read my sister.

Cindy wandered over. "How does being the last to clock a secret feel?"

Still unsure of what I'd seen, I said, "I'll handle Daniel Garry."

"Maybe you can, but can Emma? How much do you really trust Daniel?"

Her remark hit home. Did she know something? Would she tell me if she did? What had I seen precisely?

"Help me, and I'll help you," she said.

She'd baited me.

I begrudged a nod. "Fine. What did you have in mind?"

"A girl's bedroom hides all her secrets. You just need to know where to look, Nick."

At eighteen months my junior, Emma's room resembled a miniature frat house; opened magazines, strewn items of clothing, and orphaned socks littered the floor, and in among the girl carnage, a rectangular wooden box secured by a clasp only the right key could open.

In all my life, I had never taken part in anything reckless enough to warrant either committing it to ink or bounding it under lock and key.

I jammed a screwdriver into the corner rivet and prized open the box. I half-expected to see the remnants of the four-leafed clover Emma discovered on vacation nearly a decade ago; or her yellow-tinged retainer, a friendship bracelet perhaps? What I don't expect is a dainty red leather-bound journal, a condom packet, and a posed underwear shot of my kid-sister.

What the hell, Emma?

Soft blonde locks and the blur of a playful hand obscured the sepia-filtered face, but it was unmistakably her.

Snatching up the journal, the weight of what might live inside, or the act itself, made the notebook vibrate in my hands. A crumpled white piece of paper, folded twice, dropped from a hidden pocket. Unfolding it with care, a blush-pink lipstick heart encompassed the letters D.G.

Emma didn't own lipstick, she said it was for whores and awesome drag queens, but that was beside the point. At sixteen, why was she contemplating sex, let alone having it?

Something niggled...

D.G.

Daniel fucking Garry!

A rage ignited behind my eyes, and before I could reason with myself, I began skim-reading through the pages. You better not have. I quickly turned them over, scanning the words and searching for Daniel's name. She's my sister. But he isn't there, just entries detailing Emma and Rosie's irrelevant escapades.

"Emma has secrets, too," Cindy chirped from behind me. "Now, what are you going to do about it?"

I needed answers. Daniel was dating Laurie, and as much as I couldn't vouch for her interpersonal skills, playing them both wasn't fair.

He was also my tormentor.

Everything I knew about Daniel, I'd learned from Simon. None of it was wholesome.

I knew what Cindy was really saying. She wanted a confrontation with Daniel. That may be her intention all the long. A sudden fear for Emma overshadowed my disappointment in her. Daniel was with Cindy the night she never came home. Had the dumb jock done something stupid?