Missing by Francine Pascal Page A

glared at her but finally nodded.
    Heather placed her hand gently on her sister’s shoulder and mouthed the words: “I’ll come visit you tomorrow.”
    Her sister tried to smile through her tears. Then Heather bolted for her bedroom . It felt a bit like having to reach the toilet before throwing up.
Money,
she thought as she slammed her door and collapsed on her canopy brass bed in tears.
It all comes down to money.
    It was almost funny. She had been trying all week to convince herself that money couldn’t buy happiness, but even if that was true (which she doubted), the lack of money sure seemed to ensure unhappiness.
    She glanced over at her answering machine, hoping. Praying.
    Nothing. Ed still hadn’t called. He hadn’t called once since he’d gone away.
    Where are you, Ed?
    If she could just go over to Ed’s place tonight. Or why just go to his house? Maybe she could start a new life with Ed in Aruba or Antigua or something. Just the two of them on the beach. Maybe some fine dining ...maybe a fine hotel—
    The phone rang.
    Heather nearly burst out laughing. It was like a miracle from God. Just when she needed him the most . . . wow. She seemed to be living one cliché after another. But this one she welcomed with all her heart. She leaped from her bed and snagged the cordless phone off the recharger.
    â€œEd, you
jerk,
” she cried with a gleeful sniffle. “Where have you been?”
    â€œOh my God ...chill.”
    Heather’s heart sank—instantly. She almost felt like she’d been punched.
    It wasn’t Ed. It was Megan Stein. The girl laughed, her voice breaking up on a cell phone. “What’s your damage, Heather?”
    Heather hated it when Megan quoted from
Heathers.
Megan never seemed to understand that the entire point of that particular Winona vehicle was to expose the beautiful people for the petty, insecure, conformist losers that they were. But Megan still wanted to be a “Heather.” She thrived on privilege and superiority—and, of course, dissing the people who had neither.
    â€œHey, Meegs,” Heather uttered with as much normalcy as she could muster. “I was expecting someone else—”
    â€œOkay.” Megan’s voice cut her off, echoing through the distant land of cell phone. “I am currently in a cab with Tina and Shauna, and we have a message for you.”
    Heather heard Megan mumble something to the other girls. And then, with the phone clearly pulled away from her mouth: “Ready? One, two, three . . .
loserrrrr!
” the three girls shouted in unison, followed by waves of self-congratulatory laughter. Heather cringed as she pulled the phone away from her ear.
    â€œLoser, where
are
you?” Megan went on.
    â€œI’m home,” Heather answered, frowning. “You called
me,
remember?”
    â€œUm . . . duh,” Megan replied. She giggled again. “Look, we want you to come meet us at Serendipity for hot chocolates.”
    â€œI can’t tonight,” Heather answered automatically. “I . . . I’m having dinner with my parents.” She swallowed. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep blowing off her friends due to lack of funds. But the simple fact was, she couldn’t afford any of the usual activities—not even a hot chocolate. Nothing that her friends wanted to do seemed to qualify as “inexpensive.”
    There was a brief silence.
    â€œWhat’s your problem, Heather?” Megan finally asked, with genuine annoyance. “Are you avoiding us or what?”
    Heather opened her mouth, then closed it. She was getting so sick of coming up with stupid little stories to avoid her friends. But there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t tell them she was poor . They wouldn’t believe her, for starters.
    â€œI can’t tonight,” she repeated.
    â€œFine. Whatever.”
    Click.
    â€œHello?” Heather