The Underdogs by Sara Hammel

said. “People aren’t always who they seem to be on the surface.”
    He was right. Things around here were definitely not always as they seemed.

 
    After
    My mom spit her coffee out on the shiny granite. It wasn’t long after dawn the next morning, maybe six thirty a.m., and she and I were alone at the front desk. She’d just gotten hold of the latest St. Claire Bee .
    â€œIt’s about time!” she exclaimed as she wiped up the coffee with a paper towel. She read aloud the front-page headline: “Cops: Annabel Harper Was Murdered.”
    The real bombshell was in the second paragraph: “Police said the victim appeared to have drowned in chlorinated pool water, likely from the pool she was found next to, although tests are still being conducted.”
    â€œI would’ve sworn that poor girl was strangled,” Mom said. “I would’ve bet the house on it.”
    I knew what she meant. I remembered what Ashlock had said that first day about how Annabel’s hair was dry and perfectly styled when she was found, and how could a person drown without getting her hair wet? But Ashlock—all of us—had been wrong.
    *   *   *
    Later, Lucky walked up to the front desk where Evie, my mom, and I were hanging out. He leaned on the countertop with his chin resting on his folded arms. “What do you think the mystery item is?” he asked my mom.
    â€œWhat?” she responded, not bothering to look up from changing the radio station.
    â€œIn the St. Claire Bee . The ‘item’ they mention.”
    She reached under the desk for the newspaper, incredulous. She checked the front page again, then flipped to the jump page.
    â€œIt’s terrible,” Lucky said. “I have a daughter myself, you know? It really makes you think.”
    â€œOh, I know you have a daughter,” my mom said, briefly meeting his eyes. “I’m just not sure you know.”
    Lucky almost looked hurt.
    Suddenly my mom’s eyes went silver-dollar wide. “How did I miss this?”
    I had a peek. I could see how it had gotten past her—strangely, the Bee had put the detail in question in a separate box with just two brief sentences, below the main story about Annabel’s death. Maybe the editor was out sick that day.
    My mom read aloud: “A source close to the investigation into the death of local teen Annabel Harper tells the Bee that police are focusing on a ‘missing mystery item’ that could lead investigators to a suspect in her killing. No further details were available at press time.”
    Mom squinted and read it again, then looked up at Lucky, who was now yawning. “So? What is it the cops are looking for?”
    â€œI thought you might know.” Lucky shrugged. Then he wandered away, leaving us to guess into the wind about the Bee ’s tantalizingly vague clue.

 
    Before
    â€œCome on ,” Evie said, brushing her hair vigorously again. “Why is my hair so flat ?” She bunched it up with her hands, but it went dead and fell unevenly past her shoulders.
    She looked at me. “I need a haircut.”
    I agreed. She really did. We were hanging out in the locker room while Evie got ready. Lucky was taking the older tennis camp kids to the movies and Evie was allowed to join them because he was her dad, and plus the movie was rated PG, so it wasn’t just for the older kids—thus the hair drama. She sighed and combed her hair back up into a ponytail. I knew she was nervous about tonight. As she wrapped a scrunchie around her hair, she said to me, “You’re the only real friend I have, Chels. But sometimes I need more, you know?”
    I knew. My feelings weren’t hurt because we were the best of friends and always would be. But man, was I worried about her. On top of everything else, her mom had skipped calling this week. It wasn’t that Evie had illusions that she was going to