Miguel
I plop myself down in my desk’s noisy swivel chair and click onto the internet. What first pops up after I type “news’ into the Google search bar is as non-surprising as my abuelo yelling at me for something I did, or in most cases, didn’t do. I find my cursor reaching a particular article that reads, “POLICE FIND EVIDENCE RELATING TO MISSING GIRL”. Under the article, a picture of a blonde teenager stares back at me, sending unrelentless chills down my spine. The almost-too-happy girl’s image represents only one of the many sites attempting to tell her story.
I have a feeling this is more complicated than that.
Emily Johansen disappeared 3 days ago. No one knows where she went, who she went with, or why she went, not even her ‘best friends’. Emily is the type of girl that doesn’t need friends-- they need her. She’s your typical blonde high school student with the added benefits of a pretty face, and a pretty rich daddy. The police have been finding these faux clues for the past few days now, just trying to offer the least substantial amount of relief to Emily’s parents, (who also happen to be the worst people on the planet. Ever.) At this point, it feels like the police are in an episode of The Twilight Zone and they’re stuck in a whole other dimension than Emily.
If Emily wanted to disappear from her perfect life so bad, she would’ve done it with a bang. Dozens of articles already written and an ongoing manhunt is overdoing it, in my opinion. Who knows, her dad might’ve taken her trust fund away or something. Otherwise, she has no good reason for wasting everyone’s time. Emily is doing a good job of playing hide-and-seek, but at some point she’ll get tired of a game designed for toddlers. Unless… she didn’t disappear on purpose. This thought has popped up in my mind a couple of times over the 3 day period of this fiasco. Emily would do anything for attention, although this is a little far even for her.
“Miguel!” my grandfather screeches in a beautiful melody of disappointment. Being 60-something years old, he defies all odds by yelling at me every single day. I shut my laptop screen and prepare for some ridiculous lecturing and/or arguing that is about to ensue. With my grandfather (who goes by Ricardo Jauregui, but to me he’s only sir), it's only ever arguing. He’s incapable of speaking to me like the 17 year old that I am and he instead just screams at me until I “learn my lesson”. He is probably the reason why I’ve been diagnosed with Anxiety Disorder for the past two years, which forces me to take meds every single day.
Pushing myself away from my desk and up onto my feet, I make my way out of my room, also known as my safe haven. One step out of here and it’s a war zone. I’m forced to tiptoe around landmines whenever I talk to Ricardo. Step by step I plummet down one stair, two stairs, three stairs, until I’m finally at the bottom. My palms feel sweaty. Good thing I took my meds today, although I might have to pop another Xanax in before I can make eye contact with this man. I hear another screech, “Miguel!” This is louder than the first, making my eardrums even closer to exploding than usual.
“Yes?” I mumble. My eyes subconsciously do a 360 like an old, trained dog performing one of his tricks. I come face-to-face with the man I’ve grown to loathe. (He probably hated me from before I came out of the womb, anyways.)
“When are you going to get a job, Miguel?” Ricardo asks with a tinge of again, disappointment. He’s no longer looking at me and instead scans the morning paper while peering into a mug of black coffee. I wish my mother was here right now so she could get me out of the college-style lecture that’s about to ensue. Unfortunately she’s at a low-paying job which includes sitting in an office chair for a seemingly dangerous amount of time. He looks at me through the glare of his reading glasses, “when I was your age, I had two jobs. One was in a butcher shop. I chopped up the meat and had a good time while doing it,” I can’t help but to cringe as he says this. I’m not a huge PETA advocate, but the idea of chopping up animals does make me a little uneasy. Ricardo doesn’t seem to notice, “my second job was a being a paperboy-- do you even know what that is?”
“Yes, sir.” I retort, his face shows no emotion.
“Anyways, this isn’t about me, it’s about you. You need to get a job. You need to help pay the bills, they’re not going to pay themselves.” The thing is, I would get a job if I could. It’s hard enough for me to go to school, I could never imagine having to deal with customers along with a boss. My meds allow me to do the best I can with people but without them, I wouldn’t leave the house. If I ever told Ricardo that I depended this heavily on my pills, he would probably flush all of them down the toilet. He doesn’t believe in mental illnesses, as if they’re some fairy tale that we were told as children. Ricardo is as ignorant as they come, even if I’ve tried explaining these things to him. He thinks I somehow made up my anxiety. He thinks that I’ve chosen to live with this.
“Okay, I’ll try my best.”
“If you’ve been trying your best so far, then your best isn’t good enough,” he lectures mockingly. He picks up the newspaper he was looking at earlier and shoves the page in my face. The page contains an oval in red which encircles an ad for O’Reilly’s Convenience Store. It reads, HELP WANTED AT O’REILLY’S CONVENIENCE STORE, APPLY FOR A POSITION AND CALL 713-543-9621.
“That sounds perfect for you! You have no excuse this time so here,” Ricardo hands me the landline, “call them and tell them you’re interested.” Grabbing the phone away from him, I decide that I have to take the job offer this time, especially with my grandfather’s cold eyes plastered on me. I take a glance at the pill bottle on the counter with JAUREGUI, MIGUEL pasted on it. “Those things really make you lazy, huh?” My grandfather sneers.
Of course this isn’t true, but I let it slide as I dial in each number on the landline. My heart beats. 7-1-3, I take a breath. 5-4-3, I begin to lose grip on the phone because of the considerable amount of sweat building up on my palm. I exhale as I punch in the last four numbers. As difficult as that task was, I still actually have to make the call and that's the hardest part.
The phone rings, someone answers. The voice I hear on the other line, I simply can't believe it. “Hello? This is Anna O’Reilly from O’Reilly’s convenience store, what can I assist you with?”
This is probably my worst nightmare. I’m so dumb, so, so dumb. How could I not see the last name and think of Anna O’Reilly? Anna is one of Emily’s ‘best friends’ and we have a mutual understanding of hating each other. This is unbelievable. There’s no way I can get a job here.
I slowly lower the landline from my ear. “I can’t work here.” I whisper to my grandfather.
A hint of fury begins to rise in his voice, “...And why is that?”
“I..I ju-just can’t.” My hand that’s currently not holding the phone in it begins to slightly tremble as I whisper this.
“You know what, Miguel? I can’t do this anymore. You are getting off your trasero perezoso* and getting this job. There’s no getting out of it this time.” He slaps the phone away from me and raises it up to his ear. “Hello? Yeah, sorry for taking so long. I’m Mr. Jauregui, Miguel’s grandfather and Miguel called in to apply for a job. He had to go away for a minute…” Ricardo glances at me with his eyebrows corrugated, “He had to do his homework..” I roll my eyes. This is going to be a disaster. “Mm hmm. Yeah, he can start tomorrow, actually.”

*lazy butt
I swear, I think I’m going to have a legitimate heart attack. This definitely makes the top-ten list of my worst experiences. It probably makes the top five to be honest. “That’s great! I’ll tell him the good news, thanks.” He gets off the phone with the smuggest look on his face imaginable. Ricardo snickers, “well Miguel, you have yourself a job.” 
_

Anna
I get off the phone with Mr. Whatever and I want to run myself over with a lawn mower, but unfortunately we don’t carry those at O’Reilly’s Convenience store. The reason I don’t like Miguel: he’s an absolute freak. Nowhere else will you find a weirder and more messed up kid than Miguel Jauregui. He’s one of those guys that are like, obsessed with me. In the hallways at school, he always stares at me, like there’s something wrong with me, (which is pretty ironic). Working with him would make my life even more of a living hell than it is currently with Emily’s disappearance. I know Emily, she would never do something intentionally to cause me worry, even though she can be a drama queen sometimes. I roll my eyes pensively while sorting some crappy $1.00 candy bars.
“Hey dad? Do you think we can reconsider this?”
“What do you mean, sweetie?” I don’t think he understands what I’m getting at.
“Miguel shouldn’t work here. He’s... Odd.” My dad gives me a skeptical glance.
“You know that you’re not supposed to judge people without actually knowing them, you only learned that in, I don’t know… Kindergarten?” He chuckles, “We’re in need of some help here, especially since you’re busy with tennis everyday.”
“I can skip tennis, really. It doesn’t matter. That kid really, I don’t know, just gives me the creeps.” That’s a lie. I actually love tennis. Not to sound cliché or anything, but it keeps me grounded. I’ve been playing since I was about 8 or so, it's the only sport that I can actually stand to play for an extended period of time. Softball? Too boring. Soccer? Getting kicked in the shins isn’t really my idea of a ‘good time’. What most people don’t know is that tennis is actually my passion. I would never give it up to avoid some random, freaky guy.
“Now why would you go through all of this trouble just to avoid working with this boy? Did he.. Do something to you?” A look of concern floods over my father’s face.
“No! Dad, I just… It’s fine, I’ll work with him.” I decide that rather than worrying my dad, I’ll just work with the freak.
I guess I’ll just have to deal with a missing girl and a guy that I wish would go missing instead at the same time.
Walking away from the jingle of the store’s door, I recount the many memories that I’ve shared with Emily. When we were just kids, we used to have sleepovers all the time, (at least on non-school nights). We would play with her puppy, Randall. Randall was a cute little yellow lab that by now is pretty much the same size as me. Throwing the tennis ball to him was always a bittersweet process; Randall would eagerly chase after the prized possession to only return it back completely soaked in his slobber. This would induce a lot of high-pitched giggles that would go on for endless hours.
Emily has been my best friend for most of my life, I can’t let her go this easily. Even though I know many would disagree with me, Emily is a good friend. She’s my best friend.
They don’t know the Emily I know.
_

Miguel
It’s 7 am on a Saturday morning when the sound of my alarm decides to creep into my dreams and abruptly wake me up from my slumber. As soon as I awake, I realize, to my dismay, that today is my official first day of work. Today is the day that I have to spend a whole shift with Anna and I’m definitely not looking forward to it. There’s nothing wrong with Anna physically; she’s beautiful. What she has for her looks, however, she lacks in her awful personality. Anyone that’s friends with Emily is definitely a jerk.
They sort of ruined my life. Kinda. Sorta.
Ricardo doesn’t understand how hard this is going to be for me, and he probably never will.
I sluggishly throw my comforter off of me and hop into the shower with all the energy that I can possibly muster-- (it's not a whole lot). As I feel the water drip onto my exhausted body, I can’t help to think about Anna. What will she say to me when I first walk into the door? She’ll probably not even make eye contact with me because she thinks I’m a “freak”. “Freak” is the nicest name I’ve heard come out of her mouth in regards to me, so I guess I should consider myself lucky, (in some weird, self-pitying way).
I dry myself off with a green towel and throw on some jeans, sneakers, and a Logic tee shirt. After I kiss my mom goodbye I make my way towards the front door and grab my keys. My hands immediately clam up and then I remember. My medication, I almost forgot to take it. The last thing I do before putting the key in the ignition and hearing the steady roar of my mom’s car is take my pills with a big gulp of water.
_
Anna
Miguel walks into the store and I immediately wish there was a lie to get me out of this. At first, I can’t even look him in the eyes. This is so awkward. Before I can even open my mouth, he utters the first words.
“Hey, I’m here to you know.. Work.” He mumbles with a look of disinterest.
“Yeah, um.. I can see that.” Is all I can think to say.
“Well, what should I do first?”
As I’m shelving a variety of cans, I can tell that Miguel is struggling with the customers. He keeps giving them the wrong amount of change and taking a way longer time than necessary per customer. I kinda feel bad for the guy.
When its closing time, I go to check in on him. “Hey, are you okay? It looked a little rough over there.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m fine. To be honest though, I’m not the best with people. The subject of humans isn’t really my forte.”
I can definitely see that, “well, we can switch if you’d like. I’ll do the register and you can do the canning. Just to see how you’d like it.”
“I think that would be best.” He flashes me a warm smile.
Now I really feel bad so I say it, “I just want to say I’m sorry for always treating you like crap all of these years. I only did it because of.. Well.. You did do that… Thing.”
He doesn’t look surprised, “you mean that thing? Like me peeping through your window? Yeah, that never happened.”
I’m shocked, “you don’t have to lie, Emily told me you did it and she wouldn’t lie about something like that.”
Miguel glances at me skeptically, “see, that’s the problem right there. Emily said it. She was lying. I don’t even know where you live and I would never do that. I’m weird, but like, not that weird.” He places his grip on one of the many shelves, “maybe Emily isn’t the innocent girl that you think she is.”
I think about this for a second, “yeah, maybe you’re right.”
As I’m getting into my car, I see that Miguel is doing the same.“Do you want to know why Emily disappeared as much as I do?” I blurt out.
“I am kind of curious, yeah.”
I gesture towards the passenger side of my car, “okay, get in.”
_
Miguel
We arrive at the infamous Johansen household and I seriously believe that I’m about to projectile vomit. Anna said that Emily borrowed her chemistry textbook a week ago, and that will give us a valid excuse to look through her room.
“Her parents love me, we’ll be fine.”
My heart beats faster and faster with every step I take closer to the house. I don’t know if I can do this, her parents already don’t like me.
When we were eleven or so, Emily and I were good friends-- that is until I abandoned her while we were hanging out. It was because I was having a nervous breakdown. I didn’t know it then, but it was actually just preparation for the next couple hundred I would have over the years. I was really nervous for no particular reason, rather than hanging out with a girl, I guess. My dad was forced to come pick me up. A crying and screaming Miguel does not make for a happy time-- especially with Emily’s parents. Her parents told my dad that they don’t want me around their precious daughter, that I was a bad influence. Emily never let go of that grudge and she never spoke another word to me. I remember when my dad left three years ago, she went around telling people that he left because he couldn’t handle my craziness.
I wonder if there might be some truth in what she said.
Anna rung the doorbell to the Johansen’s house, and I swear that my heart skipped a beat. “Hi, Anna and.. Hi, Miguel.” Mrs. Johansen doesn’t look very happy. A smudge of mascara is visible right underneath her tear-filled and bloodshot eyes. Mr. Johansen looks at me with bewilderment. I flash my best ‘I-should-probably-go-home-because-it's-getting-awkward’ smile-- it’s a charmer. “Hi Mrs. Johansen, I- me and Miguel were wondering if we could go up to Emily’s room and grab my chem textbook. She borrowed it and we have a really tough test tomorrow in Mr. Kimball’s class.” Anna looks at me like she expects me to add something, so I do.
“Yeah, ummm my grade depends on this test.” I weakly utter.
Mrs. Johansen sniffles, “Okay… Go right ahead. Don’t touch anything else though, the police are still investigating.”
We walk into the mansion known as Emily’s house. I am instantly reminded of her wealthiness and wish that I could afford to live in a house this big. It’s funny how the people that work the hardest sometimes never achieve their dreams. My mom works nearly 24/7 and we still are struggling to pay our bills. I guess that’s the irony of life.
My phone begins to ring just as we step into Emily’s room, which is basically the same size of my entire house. I answer it while neglecting to look at the caller. “Hello?”
“Miguel, where are you right now? Shouldn’t you be home right now? God, I knew this would be a bad idea. You need to come home right away, you can’t have a job if you aren't responsible enough to give me a call to tell me where you are.” Ricardo’s voice fills my ears, and I’ve definitely had enough of him.
“Hey, I’m actually doing something really important right now so if you could leave me alone for once, that’d be great. Bye, Ricardo.” I don’t get the chance to hear his response because I hang up right away.
Anna beams, “is that the first time you’ve stood up to him?”
I return the favor, “yeah, yeah it was. And it felt good.”
What looks like part of an Urban Outfitters room decor catalog is overwhelmed by an ominous feeling. The room looks so empty, so  incredibly uneasy.
I guess it’s because of the fact that the room’s usual occupant is, well… Gone.
_

Anna
I go through the first set of drawers that I lay my eyes on. It’s filled with a bunch of expensive-looking clothes. Nothing seems to stand out to me as being odd. After conducting my own version of an investigation, I pick up my chemistry book from Emily’s desk. A slightly crumpled piece of paper drifts to the floor. Picking it up, I notice that it’s addressed to me at the top.
_
Dear Anna,
Well, it's been a crazy 17 years. I’m so glad that I got to spend so much of it with you. You’ve always been my best friend, and I’ll always love you for that.
You may have noticed that I’ve been acting different these last few months, and that’s because I felt different. Everything  has changed for me. My parents started being really hard on me because my grades were slipping. My grades were slipping because I just couldn’t do it anymore. I was sick. I didn’t feel happy. Or really anything at all. Everything started to fall apart like dominoes. Everytime I would try to get back up, I would soon be knocked back down. I don’t know at what point I started to feel this way, but it definitely was around the time that my parents started fighting again. Like, real fighting. My dad would get near-blackout drunk every night and take his anger out on me.
Makeup these days… It can cover anything from a pimple to a sweltering black eye.
I didn’t feel like I had a purpose other than being in the way. My parents would probably get a divorce if it wasn’t for me just being there. I was a mistake.
I don’t blame you for not noticing this, I’m really good at hiding things. I started to ease my pain in different ways, drugs mostly. What the drugs couldn’t fix was my will to live. Nothing made sense anymore. I was losing at everything, my life was going downhill. I know that this all appears very sudden. I know you cared, but it just wasn’t enough to fill the gaping holes in my heart. I wasn’t eating and my parents didn’t notice one bit. They never do. I just have no other options at this point. I disappeared to make it easier for everyone. Chances are, no one will find my body for another week. There’s nothing I can do. Nothing. I’m tired of this. I’m done. I love you. I’m sorry.
Take care of Randall for me.
See you later,
Emma