Maria tilted her head modestly. “Thanks.”
She bounced the ball a few times at her feet. “I’m worried about Soomie. I don’t think we’ve ever gone this long without talking or e-mailing or texting or something.”
With a quick toss, she served the ball. Ariana returned it cleanly, so fast Maria had no time to react, and it ricocheted off her thigh.
“Ow! That’s gonna leave a mark,” Maria said, rubbing the spot with the flat of her hand.
“Sorry,” Ariana said, jogging to pick up the ball.
“Hazards of the sport, I guess,” Maria said lightly. “So you still haven’t heard from her?”
“No. I’m worried too. It’s not like her to just disappear and not even leave a note. She’s too …”
“OCD?” Maria joked.
Ariana laughed, surprising herself. “That’s the acronym I was looking for.”
Maria smiled and Ariana served. They were quiet for a few minutes as they ran around the court after the ball, ducking one another, racing for the walls. Eventually, Ariana caught a perfect angle and won the point.
“Whoo! Nice one!” Maria said, raising her hand for a high five.
Ariana had never high-fived anyone in her life. Now she shrugged one shoulder and slapped Maria’s hand. They both laughed. They looked into one another’s eyes and suddenly, Ariana couldn’t stop smiling.
“I see what you mean about needing to hit something,” Maria said, getting poised for another return. “I already feel loads better.”
Ariana took a quick swig of water from her water bottle, then returned to the service line. “Then we should do this more often.”
Maria grinned. “Works for me.”
Ariana grinned back and, feeling suddenly like she had been crazy to ever worry that anything could really go wrong, she tossed the ball up to serve.
THE DUNGEON
Ariana sat at a table in the Georgetown dining hall on Wednesday morning, her nose buried in her Atherton-Pryce chemistry book, which was definitely hefty enough to pass as a college text. To any casual passerby, she looked like a student who had pulled an all-nighter and was now nursing a coffee and getting in some last-minute cramming. In fact, every ounce of her attention was tuned to the conversation taking place at the table behind her.
“I can’t believe she’s really dead,” Reed said, sniffling. “We figured she’d just met some hot guy and disappeared to Tahiti for a few weeks.”
Ariana smiled sadly. That did sound like Kiran.
“I’m so sorry, Reed,” one of her friends said.
Ariana had seen Reed walk in, all red-nosed, wearing a baggy Georgetown sweatshirt and no makeup, surrounded by concerned tomboys. She imagined one of them putting an arm around her now, giving her a supportive squeeze. As if Kiran and Reed had ever really been friends. Ariana had known Kiran much longer, and if Reed could have heard some of the crap Kiran had talked about her and her wardrobe behind her back, she wouldn’t be so mournful right now.
“I wonder how it happened,” another friend chimed in.
Ariana’s ears perked up as Reed scoffed derisively.
“My friend Noelle heard she was really wasted at the Halloween party she was at,” she said. “Classic Kiran. Apparently the police think she must have been so drunk she tripped and fell in the water,” she added, her tone bitter.
Ariana let out a sigh of relief unlike any other. If this was true, she was in the clear. Thank you, Kiran, for your hedonistic ways. But then a sour taste filled her mouth, tempering her happiness as Reed’s comment about Noelle really hit her. So. Reed and Noelle were still friends.
“Crap. I have to get to class,” one of Reed’s entourage said. A chair scraped back. “Hey … you guys are going to that team breakfast thing on Friday, right?”
There was a chorus of assenting murmurs.
“I can’t,” Reed said. “I’m so behind in bio and I’ve got that lab due on Friday morning. I’m going to be spending every free second in the lab until first session starts.”
“You’re going to the dungeon, alone, before class on a Friday?” one of the friends asked incredulously. “Are you crazy?”