Jessica

The wind has blown the ocean clouds inland, and the sky is clear on the coast, the stars glittering, the nighttime noises amplified. I park at Blind Beach and slip out of my car, shivering. The surf hisses in and out like dragons’ breath, and the waves lick the shore like thirsty tongues. I pause, surveying the beach for driftwood bonfires or any other sign of life, but no one’s here. My ankle boots echo across the pavement, and my keys rattle loudly in my hand as I walk toward the beach, with Tegan’s phone an unwelcome passenger in my pocket.

When I reach the sand, my boots sink into its softness and my body takes on a lurching gait. I focus on the dark maw in the distance, the cave where I first kissed Jake. It’s low tide—I checked the tide chart before I left—and the cave is accessible now. On the way, I pass a ring of flowers, photos, notes, and toys near the bluff below Falcon’s Peak. It’s a makeshift memorial to Shawna that someone set up after the beach search. Keeping my eyes averted, I pass the wilting flowers and continue walking.

The sand near the cave is wet, and I have about an hour before the tide rolls in and traps me inside. The deepest recesses remain dry year-round because the cave slants up in the back, but the entrance gets blocked every high tide. However, I’m here for one of the cave’s lesser-known features—it completely blocks cell phone signals.

With the ocean behind me, I flip on my cell’s flashlight and sweep the cave’s entrance. “Hello?” I whisper, not wanting to startle any lovers or a seal, both of which have happened before. My voice echoes back to me, and no one answers or moves. No seal lunges out of the darkness.

I walk several feet inside, just enough to scramble a cell signal, and sit on a rock that’s been polished smooth by endless strokes of seawater. As I slide Tegan’s phone out of my pocket, my heart rate speeds a notch. The scratched plastic cover is cold but still glittering, like Tegan herself. “Here goes nothing.”

I power it on.

The cracked screen remains blank for what seems an eternity. Then it turns white and a black apple appears—the fruit of all knowledge. My breath hitches when the password screen materializes. I have six tries before the cell locks me out.

When Tegan and I were friends, her password was her parakeet’s name along with the number one. I don’t know if she still has the bird, but it’s worth a try. I type DOLLY1. The phone shakes and orders me to Try Again.

I have five more attempts and decide to stick with the pet motif. The Sheffields’ goldendoodle is named Boomer; I know this because whenever Grady is away for sports or vacations, Chloe takes care of the dog. I type BOOMER.

Try Again.

I glance out the cave entrance to the sea. One of the most common passwords on earth is 111111, and Tegan’s arrogant enough to use it. I type it in, get the same response. Try Again.

Three more tries.

My thoughts flit to the past. Tegan and I were close once—true best friends. Everything that was mine was hers, and everything that was hers was mine. We traded clothes, toys, and secrets. We rode all over town on our bikes, buying ice creams and lip glosses, and attending library programs.

Everyone wanted to play with Tegan, but she was content with me. We had countless sleepovers where we made popcorn from scratch and watched movies in her basement. We teased Grady and made him run errands for us. We were happy—just the two of us, and her beloved Irish setter, Maggie.

Maggie died last year, and Tegan posted that she was “the best dog ever.” The name Maggie has six letters.

I peer toward the lapping waves, feeling alone and hidden inside this cave, but not safe. I need to hurry. Holding my breath, I type MAGGIE into the phone.

It unlocks.

I did it! A slew of pent-up texts vibrate Tegan’s phone and my heart thrums, expecting sirens or the whir of helicopter blades as the police descend upon me, but the night remains silent except for the pulse of the sea. I move deeper into the cave and switch the phone to airplane mode.

Swiping to Tegan’s photos first, my hungry eyes swallow them. Tegan on vacation; Tegan with her friends; Tegan posed in a hundred different outfits; Tegan with multiple cute boys, her pink tongue sticking out. She looks so happy, so confident. It’s hard to believe she’s missing and not the one pulling the strings.

I check her stored albums and find one titled The One That Got Away. It includes a single photo—a selfie of Tegan and Jake, taken when they were dating. They’re cuddling in her canopy bed. He’s shirtless with a mouth full of braces, and she’s wearing his T-shirt, her hair tangled. They’re each smiling at the camera, and I recognize the dreamy look in his half-lidded eyes. He’s just had sex. She added a virtual heart-shaped sticker to the photo that reads First Time!

Gross! I almost hurl the phone across the cave.

This is too much, too intimate. I can’t. I just can’t. But I have to.

Breathing the cold sea air, in the very cave where I first kissed Jake, I skip to her text messages. My fingers tremble as I carefully swipe the damaged screen, and my eyes scan the cave entrance, hoping no one shows up to get high or make out.

I read all of Tegan’s messages, from the beach bonfire up to her end-of-summer party. Most are innocent, just talk about what music to play and what time her parents would be back from Santa Cruz on Sunday. The texts between Shawna and Tegan are chilly. I heard at school they’d been fighting.

Then I read the newest texts from her friends, the ones that had been building up since she went missing on Sunday: Where are you? Are you okay? Or: Stay away, the FBI is going to arrest you. There’s a cryptic one from Shawna on the night she died that reads beetlejuice, falcon’s peak. I have no idea what that means.

The waves grow more aggressive, sending sea spray into the cave. I need to get out of here before high tide. I scroll faster through the messages, noticing Tegan didn’t respond to any of the recent texts, but then, how could she? Jake had her phone, and now I do. I open her contacts and find Jake’s number, but there’s only one undeleted message between them, and it’s from Jake on Sunday morning after the party: Why did you film us?

Us? Jesus.

I grip the phone so hard, a piece of plastic shatters off and cuts my hand, drawing blood. I suck the wound, my heart thudding. Even though the signal is blocked and the cell is in airplane mode, I feel like I’m holding a ticking time bomb. I need to finish and get out of here, but there’s nothing on this phone that incriminates Jake or lets him off the hook. It doesn’t explain what happened to Tegan or where she is now.

I find the texts I sent her after the disastrous Fourth of July bonfire. I read our exchange over and over until tears blur my vision. These messages are private. They have nothing to do with where Tegan is now, and I have the power to get rid of them. A crab scuttles out of the rocks, startling me into action. I swallow and then do it—I delete the messages.

But I know that deleting our text exchange isn’t enough; a forensics lab could recover them. A full factory reset would be better. I open the settings, scroll to the reset button, and hover my finger over it. Swiping the button will destroy my texts and her responses forever, but it will also erase Tegan’s entire history—all her photos, videos, texts, and upcoming plans. It will be like erasing her.

My heart knocks against my ribs. No, I can’t do it.

I’ll leave the phone here, in the back of the cave where it’s dry. The whole town knows that Shawna’s body was found near these waters. A battered pink phone in a cave will warrant their attention. Someone will find it and they’ll turn it in.

I grab the sanitizer wipes I brought, and begin to wipe the phone clean of my fingerprints and Jake’s as I walk deeper into the cave. On the way, my boots get tangled up in something, maybe seaweed, and I trip forward. My head smashes against a jagged rock on the ground, and hot blood dribbles down my forehead.

I pull my cell from my pocket and shine its flashlight. “Oh!” I tripped over a dark blue sleeping bag. Next to it is a small pile of food wrappers and fresh bottles of drinking water.

Someone is living here! Oh my god, what if it’s Tegan? What if I found her hiding spot?

“Okay, okay,” I mutter to myself, heart banging. I need to go. Now! Crap, I dropped Tegan’s phone! I crawl around the cave floor, reaching and feeling into the nooks and crannies of the rocks. Empty abalone and crab shells clatter beneath my fingertips.

“What the fuck are you doing?” says a man’s voice.

I leap to my feet, my breath steaming around me. The man stands at the mouth of the cave, carrying a bag of takeout. He’s filthy; I can smell his body odor from here. He’s wearing a baseball hat, but I recognize him.

It’s Shawna’s missing boyfriend, Marcus.