Free Feral by Holly Schindler

it—a doodler. She scribbles on everything. She draws silly pictures, writes notes to herself. Mostly, though, it’s her initials— SS, SS . I actually started out looking for her hoping that the SS might show up somewhere—like some bread crumbs I could follow to where she was.”
    Rich shuffled his feet a little nervously. “Maybe you should check with your dad, Becca—”
    â€œ You haven’t heard anything?” Becca asked, turning her pleading voice toward Rich.
    He shook his head. “You would know better than I would,” he said. “You took my place a long time ago.”
    His voice hadn’t been accusatory, but the way Becca narrowed her eyes made it seem as though that was how she’d interpreted him. “Look,” she said. “I just want to know when you saw her last.”
    â€œAfter journalism, when she told me she was going to stay for the story,” Rich sighed.
    â€œWhat do you mean, she stayed?”
    â€œTo work on the story,” he repeated. “About the basement. That’s what she’d planned, anyway.”
    â€œWait. The basement? Of the school? She meant she was going to be at school working on her story?”
    â€œWhat else would she mean?”
    â€œI thought she was going straight home to write. I didn’t think she was at school. Why didn’t you tell someone?”
    â€œBecause—she told me her plan in the morning. And when Sanders closed school early, I didn’t actually think she’d stay—”
    â€œYou didn’t think at all ,” Becca growled.
    The harsh tone in her voice made Rich blurt, defensively, “I thought you always knew where your little shadow was, in case you had some job for her to do—like kiss your feet.”
    â€œExcuse me?” Becca snapped.
    â€œOh, don’t act innocent,” Rich told her, his voice staying even. He seemed almost immune to anger—but unapologetic at the same time. “You like having her around to worship you. You’re probably going through withdrawal right now, not having your magic mirror to walk around with you, constantly reminding you with your every breath that you, Becca Holman, are the fairest of them all.”
    â€œThat’s not true ,” Becca insisted as Claire watched in shock. “I love her. She’s my best friend.”
    Rich just stared.
    â€œI’ve got to call my father,” she said. “Someone needs to look at the school.”
    â€œSomeone has looked at the school—”
    â€œNot the basement, you jerk,” she thundered. “I mean, for God’s sake—she said she was staying to work on the story of the kid who died in the damn basement. And you didn’t think that was important ?”
    â€œYou don’t think I’m not afraid for her, too, Becca?” Rich asked softly. “You think you’re the only one who worries about her? Do you hear her when you sleep? I do. Like she’s calling out to me—like when we were kids. Calling like she wants me to come get her. Don’t act like you’re the only one who cares. If you want to know the truth, you probably truly care the least about Serena. You just want to make sure you’ve still got a president of your fan club.”
    â€œThat’s not fair,” Becca hissed, before turning her back to him. She took a step, whistled at Jasper 2 to follow her.
    â€œYou take care of Serena’s house .” Becca pointed toward Claire, before stomping off toward the other end of the street.
    The conversation left Claire feeling weak and dizzy. She shivered as she watched Becca go, her cleats taking angry, crunchy bites out of the ice. Again, Claire wondered, What the hell have I gotten myself into?
    â€œEverything all right out here? I heard some loud voices.”
    Claire pulled her head up, staring straight into Dr. Cain’s concerned face.
    â€œRough start to your