Chapter 1:

#CaliforniaRoll

Three hundred and twenty. The number of miles separating heaven and hell. I’d burned the route into memory: one side a dry wasteland, the other a lush paradise, with almost nothing in between. Counting cacti and rest-stop signs kept me grounded.

Thirteen. That’s how many months had passed since high school graduation and landing a full scholarship—before I ghosted everyone and everything that mattered. I vanished. No emails. No calls. No texts. Not even a beachy Instagram post.

Finally, civilization emerged, breaking the monotony with sidewalks and street signs. The urban planning department had labeled everything meticulously—unlike the endless desert—as if someone had gone wild with a giant label maker.

Enough time had passed to erase the street names from my memory. Funny how the mind does that when you want it to—smearing memories like mascara after a breakup text.

The GPS blared, “1320 Shelton Street, you have arrived at your destination.”

I accidentally rolled through a stop sign—a California roll, and not the sushi kind—before parking outside the apartment building and letting Herbie, my vintage VW Bug, sputter to silence.

 Grabbing my suitcase, I glanced up at a flock of gulls. One bird veered off course, and I felt a strange kinship. The past year in Indonesia had been a series of migrations for me, too. Each place I visited was an attempt to piece together my mother’s past—but all I’d found were more questions.

My sandals brushed freshly mowed grass. Pollen kicked up, tickling my nose. An allergy nightmare. I walked up to the concrete landing. No security deposit required—probably because someone moved out in a hurry. Their loss, my gain. That was the theme of my teenage years.

I rang the doorbell. Footsteps approached.
“One sec,” a woman’s voice called out. Must be Eleanor Lee.

After finding this listing last week, I’d Googled my new roommates. I wasn’t one for surprises. 

The door swung open, revealing a petite girl with thick glasses and a messy ponytail.

Eeeeh! Eeeeh! A loud, fire-alarm-like beeping blared as soon as the door opened.

‘A coding prodigy,’ as listed by her online presence, and without makeup, she looked ten years younger—like an undercover middle-school narc.

“Sorry!” She fumbled with the keypad. “It’s a little temperamental.”  

“Eleanor!” A tall, well-groomed guy entered, just shy of giving her the stink-eye. Gabriel Oliveira. His meticulously plucked eyebrows framed the public policy student’s serious face. 

Following vampire etiquette, I waited for them to invite me in.

“I’ve got it, okay?” Eleanor silenced the alarm. “Gertrude’s a little moody, needs a wiring tweak.”

“We should’ve gone with a standard alarm,” Gabriel said, tilting his head at her. “You didn’t have to build one from scratch on your bedroom floor.”

She rolled her eyes. “You handle the kitchen; I handle the tech.”

Gabriel extended a perfectly manicured hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Prin De Sangue. I’m Gabriel, and this is Eleanor. “Excuse our bickering—friends say we argue like an old married couple.”  

Eleanor jumped in, “But we’re definitely not married. His boyfriend wouldn’t go for that.” She wrinkled her nose.

“My sous-vide chicken is finished,” Gabriel said. “Please join us.”

Definitely not. I’ll pass on the Salmonella.

“Thanks, but I’m gonna get settled.” I headed to my room and closed the door. The less they knew about me, the better.

Seventy-three. That’s how many seconds it took for the search results to flood my screen. I’d waited until after I’d booked my ticket to dive into the blogs. If not for the scholarship, I might have backed out of returning.

My thumb froze as I swiped the screen, as if to protest my online deep-dive:

—-----------------

Coronado Prep Unofficial Blog Post (13 months ago): #VanishedValedictorian

Coronado Prep senior, Prin De Sangue, went missing hours before her valedictorian speech, causing pepper-spray sales to triple at local convenience stores. Four scribbled messages found on Post-it notes may provide clues:

Post-it: “I’m grateful for my friendship with Parker S.”

Post-it: “My actions have not caused someone’s death.”

Post-it: “Vibing confidence and composure.”

Post-it: “My dream schools in Boston rejected me.”

COMMENTS:

@AmazingAce33: “No sign of her for 2 days... hope she’s not at the bottom of the Pacific.”

@KarenLuv44: “Joined a search group. Won’t stop—even if the police have.”

@CSZ331: “She’s ALIVE. Just saw the police update.”

@1MeanMomma: “What a lunatic. Had us all panicked, and she ran off to Bali.”

@blingqueen77: “That psycho better never show her face again.”

—-----------------

The herbs packed away in my suitcase carried the fragrant aroma of Bali with them—making me miss it already.
I set my phone down, my stomach twisted.

It started with my mother’s drowning.
Or maybe it started with Layla’s car accident—my best friend’s sister.
But the real breaking point came hours before graduation, when I learned the truth about my mother.

Why had I come back?

For the scholarship?
To fulfill my grandmother’s dream?
Maybe.

But deep down, I knew part of me had come back to break the trail of death that seemed to follow me—Layla, my mom. 
And I needed answers about my mother—
why she left,
why she died,
and whether coming back would bring me closer to her... or closer to the darkness we both carried.

Digging through the school archives might be the only way to uncover who she really was—before she disappeared.

Nine months. That’s how long the first year of college lasts.

I’d be shocked if I made it through unscathed.

***