Sirenz Back in Fashion by Charlotte Bennardo

that there would be any answers to our problem amongst Shar’s things, but I had a desperate desire to get back and just feel her presence.
    The dormitory was pretty empty when I got there; a lot of students went home on the weekends, then returned Sunday night for classes on Monday. Praying I wouldn’t have to meet any eyes or make any small talk, I strode down the hall and rode the thankfully empty elevator to the third floor. The institutional, cream-colored walls were punctuated every few feet with solid-looking green doors, and every now and again music blared out of some of them as I passed. A bulletin board overflowed with numbers for tutoring, jobs, books for sale, and summer-abroad programs. I got to our door having seen no one, and with a sigh of relief I unlocked it and pushed inside.
    I’d left my laptop on; the screen saver, a slide show of the band Elysian Fields, renewed itself over and over. Posters lined the walls on my side of the room, so that not even a hairline of the standard-issue paint could be seen.
    Shar’s side of the room was empty.
    I started hyperventilating.
    Calm down! This won’t help either of you! I scolded myself.
    When I was in control, I nudged the door shut with my hip, threw my purse and the fleece—still in its garment bag—on my bed, and stumbled into the emptiness that used to be Shar’s space. I opened every drawer in her desk, in her dresser.
    Nothing.
    Nothing hung in the closet.
    Nothing tucked beneath the naked mattress.
    Nothing hidden under the bed—not even dust.
    An infinite circle of nothing.
    I wandered over to my densely packed side, which contrasted harshly with the starkness of hers. Shoving the stack of textbooks on my desk to one side, I sifted through the papers underneath, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of Shar’s powder-puff pink Post-it notes, but once again, nothing.
    Continuing the frantic search, I tackled my dresser, going through every stuffed drawer and every bottle and trinket on top, searching for something, anything, that was hers. All I found were my own clothes, black and purple nail polish that Shar would die before wearing, perfume she said smelled like a funeral parlor, and a tangle of Lucite necklaces.
    I felt chilled. I’d reached that numbing sense of acceptance you get when something has gone horribly wrong; a kind of autopilot. All I could do was stare at Shar’s half of the room.
    She was … gone.
    At some point, it got dark outside, and I must’ve crawled into bed and fallen asleep, but I couldn’t remember when. All I knew was that when I opened my eyes, pale sunlight was streaming in through the window. When I managed to squint at the clock, 7:04 blinked out in insistent digital lines. Horrified, I jumped up.
    School!
    I was still in my clothes from yesterday, and while I’d kicked off my Westwoods, I hadn’t bothered to take off my makeup. I shoved on Converse sneakers and grabbed books, notebooks, and pens, stuffing them into my messenger bag. I dropped it over my shoulder, pulled my purse off the floor, and headed out. Catching sight of myself in the full-length mirror screwed to the door, I made a disgusted noise at my reflection. Black liner was smeared under my eyes, and my hair was sticking up in all directions. I found a fedora and smashed it over my dark mop, then left before I could start thinking about trying to fix anything. Shar always said I looked like the walking dead—now she was right.
    Out in the street, I shambled over to the academic building. The cool, fresh air woke me up a bit and I tried to look at everything logically. Maybe Jeremy not asking about Shar had nothing to do with Shar’s disappearance. Maybe Ian had canceled and he was embarrassed, so when he saw that I was alone too, he didn’t bother to bring it up. But what about that empty room? Would she need all her stuff in Tartarus? How long was Hades planning on keeping her?
    What