• • •

The sun isn't coming out today, I don't think. It didn't seem to get the memo that it's still summer, hiding away behind the clouds somewhere in the overcast sky. Heavy and gray, it hangs over us like it's threatening something worse than the rain that's already smashing down so hard and fast that my wipers can hardly keep up.

"It's an omen," Gray says darkly when he lifts his eyes from the book in his hands. Despite his ongoing crisis about our classical literature course, he's still shunning the reading list for the class. Instead, he's reading through his Adam Silvera collection for the hundredth time.

"Don't say that. You know I hate driving in this weather." I'd hit him if my hands weren't clutching the steering wheel as though my life depends on it. My life does depend on it. Especially when the roads are slick with rain.

"Sorry. Want to pull over?" He checks his watch; I catch the flick of his wrist out of the corner of my eye.

I shake my head. As much as I'd love to pull over, to turn around and go home, I don't want to slip into a pattern of skipping class when we're not even two months into freshman year. We're more than halfway there anyway. Only forty minutes or so until we reach South Lakes. There's no point stopping.

"It'll be fine once we get there," I say, but I glance out of the window and I know that's not true. We're driving straight into the storm, the sky ahead of us virtually black. At least we're safer in the car if lightning strikes, but I still don't want to drive in a storm. I'm already on edge with the downpour.

Gray turns back to his book. I focus on the road, my headlights blazing to cut through the stormy morning fog. The radio is on low, the music just loud enough for me to make out what song is playing. One thing I've learnt from spending up to four hours in the car each day is that the radio has a pretty limited repertoire, repeating the same songs over and over.

We're nearly there. One more turning to go before we reach South Lakes. Only a few minutes now. When my phone buzzes in my bag, stowed away at Gray's feet, I don't even so much as glance in its direction. Whenever I'm behind the wheel, my eyes are religiously focused on the road and my concentration is even more stoic when the weather is so grim.

"Can you check that?" I ask, and Gray is on it before I finish the question. He's the ideal copilot: great with directions, surprisingly calm in a crisis, and he's almost always by my side to check my messages for me. It's only ever Mom. There are three people in the world who text me. One is right by my side; another is most likely sleeping in before his midday class.

I have Tad's number too, and a few texts from him, but so far they've all been Mom checking in from his phone when her own is dead and Gray and I are late getting back.

"It's your mom," Gray says. No surprise there.

"What'd she say?"

"Nothing, really," he says. "A link and a crying face."

My heart sinks. I know what that means. I'm sure of it.

"Maggie," I say, and I glance at Gray for just a second. I hope I'm wrong. I would love to be wrong. It would make my day if Mom's being dramatic, if the link is something stupid. Maybe they're closing the diner. Maybe Five Oaks is losing another tree. My grip on the wheel tightens with each moment of Gray's silence until I can't take it anymore. "Gray! What is it?"

He nods, scanning the article before he reads out the title. "Body found in search for missing Queens teen," he says. "Oh my God. Storie..."

I suddenly feel numb.

I didn't really know Maggie. She was in my grade. That's about it. But she was nice. There was a reason she was so popular: she was a genuinely wonderful person. People wanted to be around her because she made them feel good about themselves. Every teacher loved her; she worked hard to be top of the class and she always knew the right thing to say.

My stomach turns as Gray reads out the article. Nausea roll through me. This is too real. It's too close to home. Maggie lived two blocks away. She wasn't supposed to go missing. She's not supposed to be dead. My heart is beating too fast and as a clammy chill rocks me, I feel like I'm about to pass out.

We're so close to South Lakes. College is right on the horizon. We're off the interstate now, a few minutes away, but my hands have lost their strength and my head is spinning and I have to pull over in the middle of town. I don't feel good, so certain that I'm going to throw up or pass out that I don't even care that it's still pouring.

As soon as I jam the car into park, my hazard lights flashing, I throw myself into the rain with my hand over my heart. It's thudding too hard and I can't get my breathing under control. Gray scrambles into action. His door slams shut behind me and he's by my side in a flash. Both of us are instantly soaked by the downpour.

I don't care. I can dry off. I just had to get out.

Deep breaths. In and out. Easier said than done. The cold air helps. So does Gray's grip, both arms wrapped around my shoulders. His bony body is pressed against my side and I know I'm not going to pass out. I'm in control. The nausea is subsiding.

I turn my cheeks to the sky, the rain cleansing me, and a final deep breath seems to be enough to get a grip. My lungs are thick and shaky but after my snap shock reaction, I manage to gather myself.

"Sorry," I mumble to Gray when I drag myself back to reality and it hits me that we're both soaked to the core. My jeans are stuck to my legs as though I've been dipped in glue, my sweater dripping as it clings to my skin. Class starts in fifteen minutes and we're not even on campus yet. I want to cry.

"It's ok," Gray says, still holding me. "Are you ok?"

I nod. "I just ... I don't know." I can't put my thoughts into words and now I'm shivering, my whole body trembling when the cold kicks in. After weeks of temperatures in the seventies and higher, forty-six degrees feels like ice.

"I know," he says. He leads me back to the car and I feel strange, too full of emotions that came out of nowhere, too much to process. I know I'm crying but when I look in the mirror, it's impossible to distinguish rain from tears.

"Storie?"

I look over at Gray. I'm a pathetic mess and I know it but he's unfazed. I instantly feel a bit better just looking at him, his reassuring smile and his soft eyes. He doesn't care that I'm a wreck, that I just lost control with a minute's notice.

He puts his wet hand in mine. "Are you sure you want to go to class?"

I shake my head. I feel so stupid, like a petulant child, and I'm wracked with guilt for reacting as though Maggie and I were best friends when I hardly knew her. I don't have the right to grieve, but my mind is flooded with every interaction we ever had.

Mom jumps into my head. I know how upset she'll be right now, devastated that Maddie's dead and equally distraught that they looked for her for long enough to find her. She disappeared four days ago. Once Dad had been gone for forty-eight hours, every trail went cold. He dropped to the end of the police's priorities.

I meet Gray's gaze. He has such a sincere face. It hardens the lump in my throat. He cares so much.

"We can go," I say, changing my mind when I fill my lungs and twist the key in the ignition, bringing the car back to life. We've only been sitting here for five minutes, if that. It's all I needed. "You need to get your 4.0."

Gray scoffs. "I don't need the lectures for that," he says, and there's no hint of arrogance in his tone. "I learn better on my own than the stuff they regurgitate off the slides anyway, and I can think of a million better ways to spend our time."

He's so calm and rational and lighthearted that I can't help but feel a little better as I rejoin the road when there's a gap in the traffic. The rain catapults down harder and in the distance, a flash of lightning illuminates the sky. My usual parking lot is only two miles away but my body seizes up and I can't bring myself to go any further.

"Storie?" Gray asks when the car slows and instead of turning right, I go straight on and pull into a spot alongside the curb.

"We're getting cake," I say. I don't care that it's ten thirty in the morning. I don't care that we had breakfast two hours ago. I nod at the gorgeous café Liam took me to, the neon pink sign like a beacon calling us home.

"Ooh. I like the sound of this plan," Gray says, jumping out of the car.

There's no point scrabbling in the back for an umbrella or a coat when it'll already take us all day to dry off, so we brave the rain arm in arm and race to the doors. Five minutes later, we each have a ridiculously huge slice of cake and a hot drink. I cradle my hot chocolate as though it's a handwarmer, holding it close to my face to warm my cheeks.

Once we're settled, I deflate. All the air whooshes out of me and I sink over my folded arms, the table the only thing keeping me up. When Gray pushes my bag across the table, I take out my phone and read through the article still loaded on the screen.

There's not much detail. It's fresh news. It's mostly a biography of Maggie, details on her disappearance and the hunt for her, and the fact that a body's been found. It doesn't make me feel any better. When I cross out of it, Mom's message pops up. I send back a crying face and a broken heart.

She reads the message almost instantly. I want to call her but she's at work now, surreptitiously texting when no-one's looking. She sends back a pair of praying hands and a heart. I won't be home for dinner tonight but I know she'll hold Tad's hands and say grace; I know she'll cry when she prays for Maggie's family.

"Do you want to talk about Maggie?" Gray asks.

I shake my head. I don't know what I'd say. Sitting straighter, I push my hair off my face and let out a sigh. "It just makes me think of Dad," I say. I hate to reduce Maggie's death to my own selfless stream of thought but that's where my mind goes. Maggie's family will be destroyed but at least they've got closure, and they only had to wait a few days.

When I feel my tears coming back, I drop my fork with a clatter and press the heels of my palms to my eyes and Gray scoots over to hug me.

"Sorry."

"Why're you apologizing? I'm sorry I don't know what to do," he says, stroking my back like Mom does.

"I just feel stupid. I'm always telling Mom to move on but apparently I haven't," I say, drying my eyes and sniffing hard. The café is quiet and I'm painfully aware of a couple pairs of eyes on me. "I just hate that we're never going to know what happened and I get jealous when other people get closure, and then I hate myself for getting jealous."

"You're human, Storie," he says, ever calm. "You lost your dad. You have a right to want to know why. That's not selfish, and you shouldn't feel guilty. That's ... normal, I think. You're so strong, you know. I don't know how you do it. If something happened to my dad, I honestly don't know if I could keep going."

He squeezes my hand and presses his cheek to mine, damp skin on damp skin, and I feel it when he smiles. I'm not sure he can see my smile when we pull away – his glasses are fogged up and streaked with stubborn rain – but he can feel me squeeze his hand.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," I say. He beams and takes off his glasses to wipe the lenses with a napkin. I hardly ever see him without the black frames. He looks like an entirely different person.

"You'd be a lot sadder," he says. "Now eat your cake."

• • •

I feel better as we eat cake and drink hot chocolate, whiling away the minutes that we're supposed to be in class. I should feel bad about skipping again, especially when I promised myself I wouldn't, but I know I'd just end up fixating on Maggie and my dad if I went to classical literature and zoned out.

Here, Gray and I can talk and I'm comforted by his stream of narration, reeling off random facts and jokes and questions as though he's some kind of encyclopedia. I think he'd be a great kids' TV presenter: he's fun and engaging and he really cares.

"Did you know," he says as he swallows a mouthful of cake, "that the country's first traffic light was in Cleveland?"

I have to smile. It's impossible not to. "I didn't know that."

"It was also the first city in the world to be lit electrically," he adds. Like I said, he's an encyclopedia. "And aside from Virginia, Ohio has made the most presidents," he says, stealing a corner of my cake. "Guess how many, on a scale of one to forty-five."

"Not really a scale, Gray," I say, but he flaps his hand. "I don't know. Ten?"

He wrinkles his nose. "Seven," he says. "Not Cleveland, ironically. I think he was from ... New Jersey? One of the News. But you know who was from Ohio?"

He's about to launch into a soliloquy about his favourite president – William McKinley, one of the seven Ohio presidents and one whom he thinks is criminally underrated – when my phone buzzes. We both glance at the screen. I expect to see a message from Mom, hoping in vain that the news is wrong, that Maggie's fine, but it's Liam's name on my screen.

Gray leans back in acquiescence. I give him a quick smile and open the message, my heart lifting a little more, before it drops to the floor with a sickening thud.

"Storie?" Gray asks. My face fell when my heart did, confused dismay evident on my face. I show him the message and watch as he frowns at Liam's words.

hey. are you around later? there's something we need to talk about

That's it. No emojis, no exclamation mark. Just flat, plain words that make me feel queasy. I don't consult with Gray before I send my reply.

what?

i'd rather talk in person. are you free at 2?

I am free at two. But that's more than three hours away and I already know every minute until then is now going to be wasted on my whirring thoughts, churning up every tiny thing I could have done wrong. We were fine last time I saw him.

"He's going to end it, isn't he?" I say, but Gray shakes his head.

"You don't know that. Sounds more like he just wants to talk," he says. I'm busy backtracking over everything that's happened since I was with Liam a couple days ago.

"Annika," I say.

"Huh?"

"Liam was fine with me on Monday but yesterday I talked to Annika. That's all that's changed," I say, my cheeks getting hot and red. "She asked if we were dating and I said yes. He's mad. He didn't want anyone to know. He's embarrassed."

"Stop it, Storie. You don't know anything for certain," he says. "Just tell him you'll see him and he can tell you whatever it is he wants to talk about."

It has to be Annika. She must've told her boyfriend, or she told Liam directly. He's mad at me. He's ashamed. I'm ashamed. No self-respecting frat guy would want to be seen with me. He must have come to his senses. It's hard to swallow my humiliation but I have to, if only to send my reply. I type yeah I am at first, then I delete it.

yes.

see you at sbux (:

The smile throws me off. I don't know what to think, but I know for certain that today started badly and it's going to end badly. It's just one of those days destined to be a disaster from start to end, from the storm and the fact that I'm still soaked and I missed class and now Liam wants to talk. Nothing good can come out of him wanting to talk. Not like that.

"Stop it," Gray says. He takes my phone from me and drops it into my bag. "You're spiraling. Stop it. There's no point."

Easier said than done. There's a massive step between recognizing a spiral and actually getting out of it. I don't try to get my phone back but I do grab my laptop and click my nails as I wait for it to turn on.

"What're you doing?"

"Checking out Annika," I say. "There can't be many Annikas around. She's probably the only one at SoLa."

If anything, it's a distraction. There's too much going on in my head right now and I'm taking it out on this girl I hardly know. She's only ever been nice to be, but I don't know what to think. I used to always trust my gut but it doesn't seem to be as accurate anymore. I can't rely on my instincts.

"Ok," Gray says. I can see his skepticism but he doesn't try to stop me. "What do you expect to find?"

"I don't know," I say, an edge of despair in my voice. "But it has to be her. Right? Everything was fine, then I talked to her. God, I never should have said anything!"

"Hey! Calm down, Storie," Gray says. He lunges forward and turns the laptop away from me. "You need to take it down a notch. Like you said, you barely know Annika. She seemed nice enough. Don't make a snap decision that she did something."

My shoulders drop. I heave a sigh. "I want things to be ok. I like Liam. I want this to go somewhere."

"It is going somewhere," Gray says. "Don't throw Annika under the bus yet. For all you know, it's Liam's weird roommate. You already know they don't get on."

The penny drops. "He's Annika's boyfriend."

"Exactly," he says, like he was just waiting for me to reach the same conclusion. "For all you know, Liam just wants to explain the weird text or the roommate situation. I bet it's nothing, else he wouldn't want to meet and he wouldn't put a smiley."

"Ok."

He lets go of the laptop. "Ok."

"I'm still looking up Annika," I say. He gives me a weary smile and nods.

"Knock yourself out. If I can finish your cake."

"Go ahead."

He digs in with a grin and I connect to the café's WiFi so I can load up Facebook to search Annika. I've never used the site much, and I'm glad I don't have many of my high school classmates on it anymore, else my feed would no doubt be filled with Maggie.

My theory about Annika being the only one isn't wrong. I don't need her last name to find her profile within a minute, a picture of her with a couple of her Phi Phi Nu sisters.

"Any concrete evidence that she's out to get you?" Gray asks, a teasing tone in his voice.

"No," I say, "but her boyfriend has a name." I tap the screen where it lists her relationship status. "Davis Oliver."

"He has two last names," Gray says. "Or two first names."

"So does Liam."

He laughs. "Yeah. I guess so. Maybe it's a frat thing. Maybe they have to relinquish their identity in order to join the brotherhood."

"Maybe."

I click on Davis's name, the slow connection chugging away to load his profile. The picture loads at last, two guys in SoLa colors, and I recognize Liam instantly in a red and gold SoLa sweatshirt. His arm is around Davis's shoulders. They both have paint streaked on their cheeks but it's not much of a disguise.

The red cup in Davis's hand obscures part of his face, his hair almost covering one eye, but it only takes a couple of seconds to place his face in the bank of familiarity. I already know him.

"What'd you find?" Gray asks, and his eyes go wide when he looks up at me. I'm sure the blood must have drained from my cheeks, as white as I'll ever be. "Oh my God, Storie, what?"

I twist the computer to show him the screen, my fingertips white as they grip the edges. "Liam's roommate," I say, my voice cracking. I feel sick again. Even sicker than before. "He's the creep."

• • •