The Absence
Hollywood Arts was a perpetual symphony of adolescent energy – the constant thrum of conversations overlapping, the dramatic sighs and pronouncements echoing through the hallways, and the persistent, often off-key, warbling of someone passionately rehearsing a song in a nearby practice room. It was the natural soundtrack of their chaotic, creative world. But this particular morning felt…different.
A subtle dissonance hummed beneath the usual cacophony, an undercurrent of something amiss. Or perhaps, Jade mused with a familiar cynicism, it was simply her own internal weather system acting up again, casting a gloomy filter over everything.
She navigated the main corridor with her usual practiced swagger, a steaming cup of black coffee clutched in one hand, her trademark sarcasm already primed and ready for deployment. Beck ambled along beside her, his voice a steady drone as he recounted the details of some new directing workshop he’d excitedly signed up for. Jade offered occasional, noncommittal grunts in response, her mind only half-engaged in his enthusiastic monologue.
Because the moment her gaze swept past the familiar bulletin board near the entrance to the music wing, her internal monologue screeched to a halt. Her feet instinctively braked, her forward momentum abruptly arrested.
The “Make It Shine” locker – Tori’s locker – was bare.
The absence hit her with a strange, unexpected force. Gone was the haphazard collection of personal touches that had always defined that small, silver rectangle. No more the slightly crooked, glitter-dusted name tag Tori had painstakingly crafted freshman year. Vanished were the little musical notes and treble clefs she’d doodled onto its surface with a silver Sharpie during particularly dull lectures. Missing were the random “Hi Tori!” sticky notes, often adorned with Cat’s whimsical drawings, that had accumulated over the semesters. All that remained was a stark, unadorned expanse of plain, boring silver. Sterile. Quiet. Empty.
Jade blinked, her grip tightening reflexively on the warm paper cup in her hand. A knot of unease began to tighten in her stomach.
“What the hell…?” she muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible above the surrounding hallway chatter. She took a hesitant step closer, as if her own eyes were playing tricks on her, as if a closer inspection would somehow reveal the missing personality clinging to the cold metal.
Beck, sensing the shift in her demeanor, stopped beside her, his brow furrowed with concern. “Something wrong, Jade?”
She didn’t answer him. Her attention was solely focused on the locker, her hand reaching out almost involuntarily to touch the cold, flat surface. She ran her fingertips across the smooth metal, as if seeking some explanation, some lingering trace of Tori’s presence.
But the locker remained stubbornly silent, offering no answers.
It was gone. Erased.
“Maybe she’s just… redecorating,” Beck offered with a shrug, his tone light, attempting to diffuse the sudden tension that had emanated from Jade.
Jade didn’t respond. Her breath caught in her throat, a strange tightness constricting her chest. She felt a sudden, disconcerting hollowness, as if a small piece of the familiar landscape of her life had inexplicably vanished.
Because suddenly, fragmented images from the past few days flashed through her mind like shards of broken glass: the raw vulnerability in Tori’s eyes as she confessed her feelings, the tremor in her voice when Jade had turned away, the deliberate way Tori had avoided her gaze in the crowded hallways ever since.
“She’s not redecorating,” Jade said flatly, her voice devoid of its usual sharp edges, a strange hollowness echoing within it. She pulled her hand back from the locker, her fingers trembling almost imperceptibly.
Beck’s brow furrowed deeper, his gaze shifting from the bare locker to Jade’s unusually subdued expression. “Wait a minute. Did something… happen between you two? After the party?”
Jade continued to stare at the empty locker, her mind racing, piecing together the fragments of Tori’s recent behavior, the subtle shifts in her demeanor that she had perhaps, in her own self-absorption, dismissed. “No,” she said slowly, her voice barely a whisper, “nothing happening.”
Without another word, she pivoted sharply on her heel and stormed off down the crowded hallway, her long strides carrying her past a sea of confused students and the increasingly insistent echo of Beck calling her name. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat that felt like a desperate race against time, a gnawing premonition that she had already missed something significant.
Because deep down, a cold, unsettling certainty began to take root in Jade’s gut:
Tori Vega didn’t do anything quietly. Not usually. Her presence was vibrant, her expressions open, her emotions worn on her sleeve.
Unless she was finally, irrevocably done.
Jade’s eyes, sharp and perceptive as always, instantly locked onto the familiar figures navigating the crowded hallway. Cat’s vibrant, untamed red curls bounced with each enthusiastic step she took beside Robbie, who seemed to be only partially tuned into her animated chatter while Rex, perched as usual on Robbie’s arm, was undoubtedly expounding on some utterly trivial matter with his characteristic self-importance.
They were radiating an unsettlingly cheerful aura, their demeanor too bright, too…normal for the turbulent emotional landscape Jade was currently inhabiting. And Jade, to put it mildly, was absolutely, unequivocally not in the mood for anyone’s blissful ignorance.
“Hey!” she called out, her voice slicing through the surrounding din like a sudden gust of wind preceding a storm. She cut a direct path across the hallway, her purposeful stride leaving a wake of startled glances in her wake.
Robbie, ever jumpy, reacted as if he’d been caught red-handed attempting to cheat on a particularly difficult exam, his shoulders jerking upwards in surprise. Cat turned, her wide, innocent eyes blinking in her direction.
“Hi Jade!” she chirped, waving with her entire arm in an overly enthusiastic greeting, as if they were long-lost friends reunited after years apart.
Jade didn’t even bother to slow her momentum. She stopped abruptly right in front of them, her gaze fixed and intense. “Where’s Tori?” The question hung in the air, demanding an immediate and truthful answer.
Cat’s bright smile faltered, the corners of her mouth drooping slightly. Robbie shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other, avoiding her direct gaze.
“Why do you need to know?” he asked cautiously, his voice laced with a hesitant apprehension.
Jade’s eyes narrowed, her initial suspicion solidifying into a sharp, undeniable certainty. “Because her locker’s been wiped clean, Robbie. Vanished. Like she never even existed in this damn school. And no one seems to have a remotely coherent clue where she is.”
Cat exchanged a swift, worried glance with Robbie, a silent communication passing between them that Jade instinctively recognized as confirmation of her fears.
Robbie’s eyes darted nervously between Jade and Cat, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. He looked like a cornered animal, caught between a rock and a very hard place.
Rex, ever the sardonic observer of impending social disasters, muttered in his low, gravelly voice, his words barely audible but carrying a distinct air of grim prophecy, “Oof. It’s about to get spectacularly awkward in approximately… three… two…”
“Guys,” Jade snapped, her voice dropping to a low, urgent tone, the simmering frustration threatening to breach the surface and erupt into full-blown anger. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know something. Spill it.”
Cat bit her lower lip, a nervous habit she invariably resorted to when confronted with uncomfortable truths she desperately wished to avoid. “She… she didn’t tell you?” The question was soft, laced with a hesitant surprise that suggested she genuinely believed Tori might have confided in Jade.
A cold wave of dread washed over Jade, a sickening lurch in the pit of her stomach that felt like a physical blow. “Tell me what?” The words were clipped, barely a whisper, betraying the raw fear that was beginning to claw at her insides.
Robbie sighed, the sound heavy with reluctant understanding and a hint of pity. “She’s leaving, Jade.”
“What do you mean ‘leaving’?” The question was sharp, laced with disbelief and a desperate, almost primal refusal to accept the devastating implication.
“Like… leaving Hollywood Arts leaving,” Cat whispered, her voice barely audible above the persistent hum of hallway activity. “She got that recording deal. The one in… Australia. She’s leaving this weekend.”
A profound silence descended upon their small, tense group, a heavy, suffocating blanket woven from unspoken truths and dawning realizations. The usual cacophony of the school seemed to fade into a distant, irrelevant hum.
Jade simply stared at them, her mind reeling, struggling to process the enormity of the words, the stark reality they presented feeling utterly surreal, like a scene ripped from a badly written melodrama. “No,” she finally managed, her voice flat, devoid of its usual sarcastic bite, the denial a desperate plea against the crushing weight of the truth. “She… she wouldn’t just leave. Not like this. Without saying anything.”
“She told us that she got a recording deal last week,” Cat said gently, her wide eyes filled with a soft, almost childlike empathy. “She was really excited.”
“Yeah, she did tell us,” Robbie added, his tone surprisingly gentle, devoid of any accusatory edge. “You just… you weren’t really listening, Jade.”
The simple, brutally honest words hit Jade with the force of a physical blow, knocking the wind out of her, leaving her momentarily breathless. The casual dismissal in Robbie’s tone was a stark indictment of her own self-absorption.
Fragments of their last, fraught conversation replayed in her mind with agonizing clarity: Tori’s voice, trembling with a raw vulnerability Jade had rarely witnessed, when she had pleaded, “Then try.” The heartbreaking crack in her tone, the almost imperceptible flicker of defeat in her eyes, when Jade had ultimately turned away, choosing the false comfort of familiarity and her carefully constructed walls over the terrifying, exhilarating unknown of genuine connection.
“Are you kidding me…” Jade muttered, the words more a self-directed condemnation than an accusation leveled at her friends. Her jaw tightened, the muscles clenching involuntarily. Her hands curled into tight fists at her sides, the sharp edges of her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms.
Cat took a cautious step closer, her usual bubbly demeanor replaced by a quiet, hesitant concern. “Why… why do you care that much, Jade? I mean, you two weren’t exactly friends. I thought… I thought you wanted her gone ever since she first showed up here.”
“She didn’t even say goodbye,” Jade whispered, the raw, unfiltered hurt finally breaking through the carefully constructed layers of her cynicism and indifference. The quiet admission hung in the air, a testament to the depth of her unexpected pain.
“Why would she say goodbye to you, you were nothing but a bitch to her ever since she came to this school. ” Rex interjected, his bluntness cutting through the fragile atmosphere like a shard of ice.
That one stung the most. The brutal honesty of Rex’s statement, the stark implication that her constant dismissiveness had been interpreted as a final, unspoken farewell.
Without another word, Jade turned abruptly and walked away, her long strides carrying her swiftly down the crowded hallway before they could fully witness the cracks forming in her carefully constructed facade, before they could see the raw, unguarded emotion that threatened to spill over.
This time, she didn’t have a clear destination in mind. She wasn’t heading towards a specific classroom, a rehearsal space, or even the sanctuary of the drama room.
But a painful, undeniable truth resonated with increasing clarity within the hollow ache in her chest: she knew exactly who she should have followed the moment she had turned her back and walked away from the terrifying, exhilarating possibility of something real. And now, it seemed, it was far too late.