Chelsea and I aren’t very much alike. I’m the third child of five, while she’s the only kid in her family. My mother stays at home and my dad is a publisher. Chelsea’s parents owned and ran a big jewelry company.

Rosie was the first to point out the strange black car in front of Chelsea’s house. Chelsea didn’t recognize it. We went inside and found a strange woman. I remember exactly what she said.

"Are you Margaret and Daniel’s daughter?" she asked.

"Yes," Chelsea replied hesitantly.

"I’m Jaclyn Thomas, your parents’ lawyer. Oh, who are your friends?"

"My name is Early and this is Rosie," I told her.

"I’m afraid have some bad news. I suppose it’s a good thing you have your friends with you when you hear this."

"Why? What is it?"

"Well, Chelsea, there’s no easy way to say this. Your mother and father were in a car accident on the way home. They were both killed instantly I would have called for you at school, but I only just heard and so I came here. I’m very sorry."

"Wh…what?" Chelsea stammered.

Jaclyn only looked at her sadly. Chelsea collapsed to the ground in tears. We tried to comfort her but she did nothing but cry for days.

Six months later, Chelsea still wasn’t over her loss. She would go into a daze whenever she saw something that reminded her of her parents. I’ll admit that I said some nasty things to her about it. At the time, I really couldn’t understand why she refused to talk about what happened. I grew up with four siblings, and we always leaned on each other when we had problems. I didn’t know why Chelsea couldn’t bring herself to do that with her aunt and her friends. I still don’t know why.

One day, Chelsea and I were over at Rosie’s house. We were helping her little sister Holly with a school project. At their house, though, we weren’t allowed to call them Rosie and Holly. They were Rosalie and Holiday, if you didn’t want their mother to send you straight home. It’s never bothered me; all of us have strange names except Chelsea.

Chelsea was looking at something, I don’t remember what, and she went into one of her little trances. I snapped on her.

"What’s wrong with you?" I shouted.

"What?" she asked me, not quite sure what I had said.

"It’s been six months, Chelsea. SIX MONTHS. And you haven’t changed at all. Stop moping around and get over it. Talk about it with people. Keeping it inside will only make it worse! Why can’t you ever be open with us?"

"Early, don’t. Just don’t," Rosie said, putting her hands on my shoulders. I shook them off.

"No, Rosalie. This has gone on too long. I’m not going to watch her act like a spoiled little child anymore! She needs to confront her problems and deal with them." Rosie was silent. Chelsea was crying.

"What’s wrong with me? Oh nothing, Early. Nothing worth being concerned about! My parents just died, that’s all, Early. That’s all. It’s no big deal. I just loved them more than anything in the world. Nothing important, Early!" she screamed at me.

"Chelsea, please, calm down. She didn’t mean it–"

"Like hell she didn’t mean it! You know what, I don’t care anymore. I hate you, Early. I hate everyone. I HATE EVERYONE!"

Chelsea left then, just stormed out of the house. Rosie looked at me angrily but didn’t say a word. Holly sighed loudly.

"You’re an idiot," she told me simply.

"What?"

"You are an idiot," Holly repeated, slower this time. "She’s going to do something drastic now. And it’ll all be your fault."

"Look Holiday, I don’t need your advice," I told her sharply. I was mad enough already at Chelsea and Rosie, I didn’t need Holly to get angry with me too.

I stood up and silently left the house. I didn’t say a word to anyone.

The next two weeks were horrible. Chelsea completely avoided both Rosie and I. Rosie and I refused to be anywhere near each other.

Then, on a Thursday, Chelsea didn’t come to school. She was absent Friday and all of the following week before we found out what had happened.

Chelsea had disappeared with some clothes and food.

They still haven’t found her. I know that if she has anything to say about it, they never will.

I just hope she’s all right. It’s been a month. Rosie and I still aren’t talking.

Everybody seems to have faith that Chelsea will be found or come back. Everyone but me.