You Look Different in Real Life

weirdness ofmy knowing her knowing. I don’t think there’s any way I’ll sleep.
    But it’s been a long day. Eventually, I’m dreaming that Felix has just told me he’s leaving to play keyboards on tour with Michael Jackson in heaven, and I’m begging him not to go.
    When I open my eyes to a streak of unfamiliar light on the ceiling above me, I have no idea where the hell I am. Someone is knocking hard somewhere. The door.
    To the room I’m in. With Keira and Rory. At Aikya Lodge and oh yeah, life blows.
    “Time to get up!” Pam’s voice. “Everyone dressed and in the kitchen for breakfast in fifteen minutes! Comfortable clothes and sneakers, please!”
    From across the hall, we hear a loud yawn from one of the guys, a roar that’s got the funny of a monkey and the scary of a lion, and it goes on way longer than you’d think possible. I bust out laughing.
    “That’s funny?” asks Rory, sitting up and looking at me.
    “Yes.”
    She nods and then, staring across at Keira’s bed, frowns. Glances up at the bathroom door, which is open.
    “Keira’s already up,” she says.
    I peer over the edge of my bed to verify. “That figures,” I say.
    I climb down and after Rory has retrieved her clothes from her drawer, I grab mine and move into a corner, turning my back to her. I glance over my shoulder to see that Rory is standing naked in the middle of the room, slowly getting dressed.
    Downstairs, Lance, Leslie, Kenny, and Pam have already eaten breakfast, which is oatmeal and fruit and eggs and bagels. Lance has a camera on the tripod in the corner.
    “Load up,” says Pam. “You’ll need the energy.”
    Nate comes down next, his hair uncombed, his eyes shaped differently than usual. He’s wearing his swim team sweatshirt and olive green cargo pants and black work boots, like a recruit for the prepster army.
    After another minute, Felix appears. He looks even less rested than Nate.
    “Is Keira on her way?” asks Pam.
    “I thought she was already down here,” I say, scanning the room again to be sure. No Keira.
    Pam plunks her coffee mug on the counter and marches through the great room, then up the stairs, calling Keira’s name. It echoes through the house. Keira? Keira? Hello? Keira?
    Now Pam is downstairs again, pulling on her jacket and opening the front door. Lance and Leslie look at each other, a little bit of panic. Lance moves to the cameraand takes it off the tripod. He’s got a perfect shot as Pam comes back inside, moves quickly into the room, her face completely drained. She looks right at Leslie, then takes a deep breath and delivers news.
    “Your car. Is gone.”

THIRTEEN
    T urns out, Lance is a pacer. I wouldn’t have guessed that.
    He’s treading the wide planks of the kitchen floor back and forth, back and forth, while he scratches the same spot on the back of his head. It all seems a little overdramatic. Maybe he thinks that if he keeps moving, he won’t feel like such an idiot.
    Because during the night, Keira managed to sneak into their room and steal their car keys, both cell phones, and Leslie’s wallet.
    I’m a little shocked and a lot—so much that I can’t even contain it—impressed.
    “Who’d have thought?” I say now to Felix. We’re sitting on a bench on the front porch. It’s warm, so the door is open and we can hear everything that’s going on at the back of the house. Rory sits on the steps in front of us, reading. We’ve been rather forgotten at the moment. It feels like a wide crushing pressure has been lifted off my chest, and the sun is shining and this weekend is turning into something pretty terrific.
    Felix has his keyboard on his lap and plays a few random, distracted chords in a melancholy key. “Keira’s always had a lot going on below the surface.”
    “Yes,” says a voice to our left, and I turn to see that Nate has stepped onto the porch. As the resident expert on the subject in question, he had been asked to remain in the Holy Shit Keira Is Gone headquarters. Here, the light hits his face but doesn’t brighten it; it’s drop-shadowed with worry. “She does have a lot going on.”
    “Any news?” I ask.
    Nate shrugs and leans against the porch railing, facing us but focused on the side of the house above our heads. “They finally got ahold of her dad. He said he had a voice mail message from her, telling him she was okay and she wanted to be left alone for a day or two, and to ask that nobody come find her unless they hadn’t