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And far sloppier, with unruly dark hair and baggy black pants that fell behind the tongues of high-top sneakers and a letterman’s jacket with thick black leather sleeves. Claire couldn’t quite understand how he could stand to wear that coat. The general store was apparently heated by a wood stove that almost made the small room feel too hot—like a dry sauna.
    â€œIs it really getting that bad out there?” Chas asked.
    â€œ Yes ,” Becca asserted.
    â€œWhy does something bad have to have happened to her?” Owen asked. “Why are you so freaked out?”
    Still rooted into her spot by the entrance, Claire slipped a hand inside her coat to clutch her suddenly queasy stomach. She didn’t completely understand the conversation, but she didn’t like it, either.
    â€œBecause she didn’t come home after school, because I can’t get her on her cell, because this is totally unlike her,” Becca claimed. “You sure you haven’t talked to her?” she asked Chas.
    â€œBeen here all afternoon with Ruthie,” he said, nodding once at the cashier, then pointing at the string of Dr Pepper cans lined up on the counter in front of her, as though it were evidence of how long he’d been in the general store.
    When Becca turned an accusatory glare her way, Ruthie swiveled her eyes down, bit her thumbnail hard enough to chip the bright purple polish. She hugged her chest, forcing her cleavage to bulge out of the top of her tight sweater.
    â€œAll afternoon,” Becca repeated. “Figures,” she snarled.
    Ruthie squirmed, shooting a pleading, doe-eyed look at Chas. When Chas caught her eye, he only shrugged, shook his head. Rolled his eyes.
    So that’s what this is about , Claire thought. Her father had homeschooled her throughout the rest of her sophomore year and the first semester of her junior year. It had apparently been just enough time to forget about this—the high school drama, the petty jealousies, the boyfriend-stealing, the gossip. Claire felt her wave of nausea subside.
    â€œShe’s not at her house—even though she said she had to get to work on a story for the paper,” Becca told Chas.
    â€œThe paper,” Chas grumbled, rolling his eyes at Owen in a way that made him chuckle.
    â€œSo what ?” Becca snapped. “She likes to write for the paper.” When the two boys continued to snicker nastily, Becca thundered, “Might be good if you two goons cared about something other than football and getting laid.”
    Ruthie squirmed, shooting her pleading eyes at Chas again. Tell her , she mouthed. Chas pretended not to understand.
    â€œLook, he doesn’t know, okay, Beck?” Owen groaned.
    â€œSerena has to be somewhere ,” Becca barked.
    Owen sighed so loudly, the sigh was itself almost a word—a Jeez. “Let’s go home,” he said. “Please. This is crazy.”
    â€œAnd do what?” Becca screamed. “I can’t just—”
    â€œShe’ll turn up.”
    â€œShe’ll turn up ? Owen, she’s not some old set of keys, for God’s sake.”
    â€œDo you see how bad it’s getting out here?”
    â€œIf you had answered your phone , we could have started looking two hours ago. You owe me—”
    â€œBecca, I already told you I was helping my mom carry groceries out of the car. It’s not like I sit around doing nothing but staring at my phone. Besides, neither one of us can help anyone if we’re in a ditch,” Owen told her.
    â€œPut your tire chains on,” Becca said.
    â€œThat’s sheer ice,” Owen argued, pointing through the front window. “You want to die out there?”
    â€œI should call my dad,” Becca blurted.
    â€œWhoa, Beck,” Owen said, reaching out to snatch her phone. “The sheriff? Are you serious?”
    â€œYes. I’m serious. This is so not like her.”
    â€œFine,”