Why I Won't Forget You

Missing

Clarke's absence had stretched on far longer than any of us could have imagined. It wasn't like Clarke to vanish without a trace. By the end of the week, whispers started circulating in our group chat. It was unlike her to not make even a cameo once in the week, and by now everyone was genuinely worried.

Group Chat:

Octavia: Where is Griffin? Haven't seen her all week.

Murphy: Yeah, something's off.

Jasper: I miss her. School just isn't the same without our resident firecracker.

Raven: Has anyone heard from Madi? Maybe she knows where Clarke is.

Lexa: My calls aren't going through. Her phone's been off for days now...

Monty: This isn't like her at all.

Harper: Should we ask Madi?

After a few minutes of back-and-forth, we all agreed to head over to Madi's. We needed to know if Clarke was okay or if something was seriously up. When we finally arrived at the school's playground, Madi was there, bouncing a basketball and chatting with a couple of friends.

"Hey, Madi," I heard someone say as we approached. Lexa stepped forward. "Do you know where Clarke is?"

Madi stopped dribbling, her bright eyes flicking over us. "Clarke? She's fine," she said in that reassuring, childlike way of hers. "If she wants to talk, she'll talk to us. She said she needed some space. Don't worry, okay?"

We exchanged uncertain looks. Two weeks. Two weeks without Clarke showing up. We all knew something was off, but Madi's innocent assurance didn't quite cut it for the rest of us. The group text kept buzzing throughout the day with messages like,
"Clarke, where you at?" and "I miss you, Griffin."
But nothing came back.

Finally, after days of this worrying limbo, the decision was made: we'd pay her a visit at home. We were determined to find her, talk to her, and maybe even help her if she needed it. We piled into the car—Lexa, Murphy, Raven, Jasper, Octavia, Monty, and a couple more from our crew—and drove to Clarke's neighborhood.

The drive was tense. None of us knew what to expect. We'd been receiving texts from Madi that were vague and reassuring, but they didn't fill the void of not knowing where Clarke was. There was a collective feeling that something was deeply wrong.

When we reached the quiet suburban street, we parked outside the modest house Clarke called home. The late afternoon light gave everything a golden hue that did little to ease our anxious hearts.

We got out and made our way to the front door, all of us murmuring our greetings in low voices as we knocked. The sound of our knocks echoed on the door until it swung open. Standing there was Abby—Clarke's mom—with a polite but guarded expression on her face.

"Hello," Abby said, her tone neutral as she regarded us. The hallway behind her was tidy and quiet, with family photos lining the walls. She stepped aside, as if to let us in, but we could see the hesitation in her eyes.

"Hi, Mrs. Griffin," Lexa said, trying to sound friendly. "We were looking for Clarke. We haven't seen her at school, and... well, we're worried."

Abby's eyes flicked down to her phone briefly, then back up. "Oh, Clarke isn't home at the moment," she said, almost too quickly. "She stepped out for a bit."

There was an awkward silence as the group exchanged glances.

"What do you mean, 'stepped out'?" Murphy asked.

Abby forced a smile. "She just... said she needed some time alone and went to visit some friends. I'll let her know you all stopped by."

Lexa frowned slightly, her tone cool. "That's it? We were worried she was sick or something."

Abby's smile wavered. "Yes. That's all."

I could feel the tension spike in the room. We all knew Abby was lying—Clarke had been gone for too long. But when faced with Abby's polite dismissal, we had no choice but to leave.

"Okay," Lexa said, her voice clipped as she exchanged a look with Murphy and Raven. "We'll just leave a message. Let her know we're here for her."

Abby nodded, stepping aside once more. "I'm sure she'll reach out if she needs anything."

With that, we turned and left, our footsteps heavy on the pavement as we made our way back to the car. The drive home was a silent one, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I kept staring out the window, feeling the weight of not knowing, the sting of Abby's cold words. I wanted to scream, to demand to know where my friend was—but I held it all in, knowing that now wasn't the time for a fight with my mom.

That evening, as I finally settled into my room, my phone was still buzzing. The group chat was alive with frantic messages:

Octavia: "This is bullshit. Clarke, if you see this, come home!"

Murphy: "We're all worried about you, Griffin!"

Jasper: "What's going on? You've been MIA for too long."

Lexa: "Clarke, please. We miss you. Seriously."

Raven: "This isn't like you at all. Talk to us. Or me at least the rest can suck one"

I stared at the messages, feeling the mix of frustration and longing. But I was too tired—too angry with everything—to respond. Instead, I switched off my phone and tucked it away in the cupboard. I needed silence; I needed to forget the endless noise of worrying texts, the hollow reassurance of words from people who didn't truly understand.

As I lay there, I could still hear the echoes of the group chat in my mind—the banter, the teasing, the unmistakable concern. I tried to clear my head, but the weight of the unanswered messages made it impossible. Finally, exhaustion claimed me, and I drifted off into a troubled sleep.

That night, the group chat went silent. We were all waiting, each of us hoping that someday soon, Clarke would break her silence. But for two long weeks, nothing came. The texts piled up, unanswered, until finally, a decision was made by the group: we had to visit her home again, face whatever truth was waiting on the other side of that locked door.

I remember the day vividly. It was a cool, overcast afternoon, and the group—fueled by equal parts worry and frustration—convinced themselves that Clarke had to be found. With determination in our eyes, we drove to her neighborhood once more.

When we arrived, I felt the tension knotting in my stomach as we pulled up in front of Clarke's house. We knocked on the door, our hearts pounding in our chests. Abby answered again, her expression guarded, her eyes darting nervously as if she expected us.

"Hello," she greeted us, voice flat. "What can I do for you?"

"Is Clarke home?" Lexa asked sharply. "We've been trying to reach her for weeks."

Abby's gaze flicked to the floor. "She's not home right now. I'm sorry."

"Really?" Murphy interjected. "Because it's been two weeks, and this isn't like her at all."

Abby hesitated. "I—I'll make sure she gets your message."

I clenched my fists, feeling my pulse quicken with anger. But I knew there was no use. We couldn't force her out if she didn't want to come.

Lexa added, "This isn't just about school, Miss Griffin. We're really worried. Clarke... she's been off."

Abby's eyes widened for a split second, then she forced a smile. "I understand, but Clarke said she needed some time alone. That's all I know. Now if you'll excuse me I have to get ready for work."

We exchanged looks—disappointment, frustration, a silent promise that we wouldn't give up. Then, one by one, we turned and left, our steps heavy on the pavement as we drove away from Clarke's house once more.

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