The high school hadn't changed at all. While two years may feel like forever in the life of a teenager—or in the case of someone vanishing without a trace—it's nothing in the life span of a building. The dull brick walls in a tone between beige and gray, which had harbored class after class of unenthused teens, would probably last for millennia. The paint was already peeling on the often malfunctioning lockers when Jordan first was assigned one as a newly moved-in student four years ago. He was surprised any paint remained on them at all at this point.

Being a hopeless baby face, Jordan had no trouble blending into the crowd of high schoolers after he signed in at the main entrance. With a black hoodie draped over his unkempt hair, he looked like any anonymous teenage boy. No one seemed to notice that they hadn't met him in these hallways before during the semester, because he wasn't the sort of person you remembered if you'd seen or not.

Unlike Araminta. While they both may have been recluses, Jordan was the kind you figured wasn't worthy of your attention, while Araminta was the kind where you figured you weren't worthy of her attention. She swooped down the hallways in ornate wide skirts and lace boots, bringing with her an aura of untouchableness. If Jordan closed his eyes, he could still see her, curled with a book in one of the large window nooks of the hallway. While the rest of the students were floundering ants, she had been a black butterfly soaring high above, just like those elusive butterflies Derek told about in his project. Fragile and wild, they were about to disappear as well, just like Araminta.

Jordan hadn't thought he would be moved by a story about butterflies, but the tragedy of their extinction remained on his mind. After hours of overthinking, he'd written a message on Derek's channel about how much he appreciated the story. Jordan could only hope he'd managed to strike the balance of keenly interested but not so keen it became desperate.

"Are you new here?" As a voice addressed him, Jordan realized he'd been frozen in place, staring at the familiar nook where Araminta used to sit. Perhaps he wasn't quite as invisible as he'd assumed because a courteous student, a freckled girl with thick bangs, had noticed his helpless act. "Do you need help finding your way?"

"I'm good," Jordan assured his savior while wishing he'd gotten that very same offer when he actually was newly arrived. Back then, he was left to fend for himself. "I'm just going to the counselor's office."

"It's that way." The girl pointed down the hallway before being swept up by the hordes of students scurrying between classes.

Jordan already knew where he was heading. Going against the current, he dodged between hurried teenagers to reach his target. He'd only been in there once before, on the day when Araminta was reported missing. That time, him walking through the door had put in motion a tidal wave of confusion and heartache. Because when Araminta didn't show up on that second day, Jordan had grown concerned. He missed Araminta, even though no one else seemed to notice her absence. Not quite knowing what to do, he stumbled into the counseling office, hoping to find a responsible adult to guide him.

"Jordan, I'm so glad to see you!" Miss Taylor greeted him. "I was really surprised when the main office called and said you were on your way." It appeared he had caught the exuberant counselor in a moment of peace between student appointments, arranging magazines and watering flowers—luckily no lilies of the valley, as that would have freaked poor Jordan out. He still wasn't quite sure what to make of the present from the crow the night before. The flower now lay pressed between the pages of his Audio Media textbook.

"I just... came to see you." Jordan hesitated on the words, having been caught off-guard by the counselor's presence in the waiting room. He'd figured he would have a moment to sort out his thoughts before explaining his errand. "I mean, I wanted to talk to you."

Miss Taylor tilted her head, shining up in a compassionate smile. While the school hadn't changed in two years, she looked subtly different. Shoulder-length curls had been exchanged for a cascade of small braids and her previous slim glasses were replaced by black thick frames. "I'm always here for any students. Old or new," she assured him. "So how are you doing, Jordan, after everything, I mean?"

With everything, she meant Araminta's disappearance and all that came after. Because after Jordan had told her about his absent classmate, Miss Taylor took over the reins. She'd called Araminta's parents to ask if they knew anything about their daughter's whereabouts. She'd checked in with various teachers and students to find out if any of them had seen Araminta. And finally, she'd called the police. Once the officers arrived, it was already late afternoon and despite needing to pick up her kids from daycare, Miss Taylor had stayed behind to sit right beside Jordan when he was questioned about his last sighting of Araminta at the cemetery.

"I'm good," Jordan mumbled, fiddling with his hand across the frayed fabric of one of the waiting room chairs. "I'm in uni in Portland, majoring in Journalism. That's why I'm here actually."

Luckily, Miss Taylor turned out to be an avid podcast listener, even stating her love for My Favorite Murder, so explaining his project to her was a lot quicker than with Rhonda Bates the other day.

"Let's go into my office." Miss Taylor gestured toward the door. "I have a little while before my next student appointment."

Following the counselor, Jordan wondered what would have happened if he'd booked one of those appointments himself while in high school. Knowing now how caring Miss Taylor could be, he wished he had reached out to her before Araminta went missing. Maybe talking to someone would have helped with his inner turmoil. Maybe talking to someone would have helped him connect with his classmates. Maybe talking to someone would have helped him connect with Araminta. And if he did, maybe he would have given her a ride that day.

Those were a lot of maybes but Jordan couldn't shake them. Because he'd thought about it when he saw her briefly, walking into the cemetery. A brief notion of whether he should stop and call out to her had entered his mind. But before he could act, he'd started second-guessing himself. He'd told himself that she was probably going elsewhere, that she was meeting up with someone, and would just look at him in askance, wondering why he was bothering her.

But maybe, just maybe, Araminta would have gotten in the car with him. Maybe she wouldn't have been bothered but grateful. Maybe she wouldn't be missing then.