Lost Girls (Book One in the Academy Series)

Unanswered Questions

The Academy's dining hall is inside a converted barn, with buffet tables where stalls used to be. There isn't a line when I arrive. Hot breakfast is memorialized by the lingering scent of eggs and bacon. All that awaits me is strong coffee, pitchers of milk in tubs of melting ice, eight different cereal dispensers and a few pathetic muffins.

I keep my shades on as I pour a bowl of Capt'n Crunch, prepare a large coffee and set them on a tray beside a blueberry muffin. I pass half a dozen empty tables to find Darlene in Sheila's seat. She's eating a PopTart and dribbling crumbs over an enormous art book.

I stop in my tracks.

Anyone who meets Sheila can tell she's a Queen Bee. At my old school, at most schools probably, she'd have minions, little workers who imitate her high-fashion choices, toned body, flawless manis. They would have failed at minor details, but they would have been close.

Darlene probably thinks she's Sheila's best friend, but her black hair is messy, her nails chewed, and her clothes are loose and sloppy. As she turns a page of her book, I notice one sleeve is dotted with red paint.

At least, I hope it's paint.

From my angle I can see the double pages spread before her. They are filled with fantastic beasts and all manner of naked people doing weird things. I'm pretty sure I saw this piece in Spain when I was 11.

She sees me looking and smiles. "Garden of Earthly Delights. Tasty, isn't it?"

"That's one word." I sit down. Darlene is the kind of girl who spent junior high Fridays burning through her Netflix queue and fantasizing about the latest teen stars of both genders. In the Northeast Kingdom, I'm just as boring. My first six weeks here, I literally ached for Boston's random adventures.

"Late night?"

I shrug. This is different. Around Sheila, Darlene is practically mute.

"Where's your P-I-C?"

I sip my coffee, which is sweet and creamy and the only thing that makes sense right now. "My what?"

Darlene closes the book and takes another bite of her tart. "Your Partner In Crime? Sheila?"

I laugh, nervous by the question but amused that this fifteen- year-old from Western Mass is translating expressions my mother uses. "I know what it means, Darlene. It's not as if we're handcuffed."

"I've never seen you without her."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. Now I can tell you everything she says when you

aren't around."

I look at her, popping some dry cereal in my mouth while I

wait.

"Sheila says you're a shoo-in for the Conservatory."

LOST GIRLS

"Wow," I gasp, choking on my coffee.

"Seriously, have you ever heard her talk crap about anybody?" I peel the paper wrap from my muffin and break off a piece.

"No. Not really."

"Like, I know exactly what she says about me: 'Darlene is fairly

talented but needs to be more outgoing if she ever wants a career as an artist.'"

"Actually, she said, 'Extremely talented,' but yeah, that's the gist." Darlene smiles, as if she's never heard the compliment before.

She was the first one I told, the first time Sheila disappeared. Darlene, however, had seemed unconcerned.

"It's just her way. It's how she copes." When I asked if Sheila was worried about getting kicked out, Darlene smiled and said, "Sheila could eviscerate Winter Haddenton and Collins wouldn't give her three community days."

I think that was the first time I realized how different Sheilaworld really was.

And maybe I would have brought up her latest disappearance, if I hadn't heard Emily's exuberant voice carrying across the caf.

"The rotting corpse of Gustav Mahler just stood up and gave me a standing O!"

I look away from Darlene to our new arrival. Emily is sporting a boyfriend coat over resort wear. I'm not sure if she's clinging to summer or dealing with the music building's notorious heat. She sets two huge cups of coffee beside my tray and sits down.

"I'm pretty sure Mahler's corpse stopped rotting years ago," I offer.

"Whatever," Emily says as she takes a piece of my muffin. "I'm about to put the 'ee' in the Berklee College of Music. I'm actually looking forward to my audition."

"Oh, yeah. Me too. Totally." I say it deadpan, but she doesn't pick up on this. Why would she? I remember how it feels to really nail a composition. It seems like years, back when I could handle a complex piece on my cello without missing a note-no matter how tired or drunk I was.

Emily slurps her coffee and then taps my shoulder. "Seriously, next time your boy is around, tell him I want some dueling piano action in your dorm. Hell, if you schlep your cello cross-campus, we'll make it a threesome."

With that comment, Darlene's white skin goes pink. "Schlep? Is that dirty?" she whispers.

Emily takes a beat to stare at Darlene before looking at me. "Will you educate this child, Casey? I don't have the time."

"My plate's a bit full."

She double-checks her coffee lids before standing. "I've got to NetJet. 'Two Tone' Tommy is guarding my practice room for a cup of coffee, but the boy gets panic attacks if I'm late."

"No worries."

"You're lucky. Most of us transfers have to fight it out with the hoi polloi."

"That's not luck, Ems," I say, finishing the muffin crumbs. "That's Sheila."