Lay Me Down

8. Real.

{Kadee}

Kadee usually spent Friday afternoons absorbed in her cell phone, getting little pings from her friends every few minutes about weekend plans and youth group. Today, her phone laid dead on her dresser while she painstakingly wrapped one ribbon of hair after another around her curling iron. This ritual was supposed to soothe her: the tug on her scalp, the heat and the smell of perfume taking her out of herself so there was no thought but the present moment. One perfect curl after another fell beside her ears, and all she could think about were Jon's words slapping her face and startling her wide awake.

He was right.

She set the curling iron down and used one manicured nail to flick it off, looking herself in the face. A real person had cut open his arm and bled all over the school, and she had hit "share" on the gruesome details and gone digging for more. All the beauty products in the world couldn't make that pretty.

She dropped her eyes, wet her brush and dragged it through the curls, flattening them and scraping her hair back in a pony tail.

She stripped off all the clothes she had worn that day and left them in a heap on the floor of her walk-in closet. Most of her wardrobe was inadequate for this moment. She assembled an outfit that was as plain and ugly as she felt: a black V-neck T-shirt, black jeans and grey boots. She thought of Jon's crumpled shoulders moving away from her and wanted nothing more than to make that better again—if she even knew how.

Pastor Pete's address was on the church website. Thirty minutes later, she was pulling up in front of a duplex with shabby brown trim and a lawn in need of some serious attention. Her stomach was jumping, and all her plans for the evening were out the window, spinning in the dust a couple blocks from her house.

She rang the bell and heard hurried footsteps thumping down the hall. The door flew open, and Jon was standing there looking blankly at her like he had expected someone else.

"Is Cary here?" she said, coming up on her toes anxiously.

He was a couple seconds answering. "No. He's missing." She had never seen his face without its smile.

Her stomach squeezed—so it was true. "I went to his house and his mom was all scary ice woman and said he ran away. I thought ... I hoped he was here." She turned around on the step, like she might see Cary's hunched form shambling up the block. "What are we going to do?"

Jon crossed his arms, making his shoulders small. "I don't know. My dad is taking me to look for him tomorrow."

She took a breath, trying to hide how much this mattered to her. "Do you want to go now? I was going to pick you up for youth group—and Cary—but I don't care if I miss. This is ... way more important." She could barely look at him. Her heart was in her mouth while she waited for him to answer.

"'Kay," he said. "Just a sec." He left her standing there, bouncing on the toes of her boots. She heard him holler, "I'm going to youth group!" Then he came out with his sweater hood up, thumping the door shut behind him. He didn't say anything or look at her as they went down the walk to her car. She had to hurry to keep up with him.

"Where do you think he is? Where should we start?"

"He's kicked out of the youth shelter." Jon's voice was flat, and it was killing her the way he didn't look in her face. "But maybe on the streets around there."

She pulled away from the curb with a jerk, tearing down the residential street at what was most certainly not the speed limit. "Did you try his phone? Did he text you?"