“Lizzy, this is Alex,” Skink said, nodding toward the blond kid. “And that’s Riley next to him, and Zoey in the trench coat on the end.”
“Hey,” they all said, almost in unison.
I guessed these kids were fifteen or sixteen maybe—a bit older than Lauren.
“And you, like, want to interview us? For real?” said Riley. She had a piercing in her upper lip. The skin around it was red and swollen like it had been done recently.
“I’d like to,” I said. “If you’re cool with it. We don’t have to use names or anything if you don’t want. But I’d love to hear your stories. Learn more about what you think happened to your friend Lauren.”
“So we’ll be, like, live on the air?” Alex asked.
“Not live. But you’ll be a part of the podcast. People all over the country listen. I can send Skink a link to it when it’s finished.”
“Cool,” Alex said.
Zoey said, “Do you think the TV show might come here? You know, like, do an episode on Rattling Jane next season or something?” Her lips were chapped. Her cheekbones protruded from her face, and she had dark circles under her eyes, giving her a skeletal look. Her dark hair was buzzed short and she wore a trench coat that could have fit two more Zoeys inside it.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.”
“It would be cool if they did,” said Riley. “I mean, maybe we could all be on TV, you know? Tell our stories.”
I nodded. “That would be cool,” I said. “I know the producers pay attention to my podcast, so who knows. Maybe if they like what they hear. If they think it’s intriguing enough for a whole episode.” I got out my recorder and set up the two mics, one on each side of the table, and slipped on my headphones.
“It’s August twentieth, and I’m here at one of the docks in downtown Chickering Island, Vermont, talking with friends of missing teen Lauren Schumacher.” I looked up, smiled at the three kids on the other side of the table. “So how long have you all known Lauren?”
Alex shrugged. “Her family’s been coming here for years.”
“Just a week or two each summer,” Riley added.
“Tell me about her,” I said.
“She’s a poet,” Zoey said, lighting a cigarette. “And she draws too. Pen and ink. She wants to go to college to study art. She’s kind of a genius. Literally.”
“Like she could get into college.” Riley rolled her eyes.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Girl’s messed up,” said Alex.
“But not really. It’s, like, this total persona,” Zoey argued. “She acts all tough and crazy, but that’s not who she really is.”
Alex snorted. “She attacked a kid at school, back in Massachusetts! What about that? In what way is that not messed up?”
“Really?” I asked. “Like physically attacked someone?”
Alex nodded. “That’s what she said, and I believe her. She choked him and shit. Got kicked out of school. Lauren’s like that. A temper, moody.”
Riley shook her head. “Maybe she’s moody, but maybe that kid she choked shouldn’t have been messing with her. I wouldn’t put up with that shit, the things he called her. I say he deserved it. But she didn’t deserve to get sent to that place her parents sent her, the brainwashing place, that was messed up.”
“Shit like that happens,” Zoey said fiddling with the cuff of her trench coat. “I saw a thing on Netflix—people come in the night and get you, kidnap you, take you to a treatment place that’s more like a prison. And your parents okay the whole thing. It happened to that girl who was on TV all the time, the one from the really rich family, what’s her name?”