Kendra went after her roughly ten minutes later.
Mallory was gone.
Her backpack remained inside.
Her clothes, toothbrush, sneakers, and sleeping bag were there too.
Everything was still there except Mallory and her phone.
I barely remember the drive to the campground.
When I arrived, police vehicles were already parked near the entrance. Teachers were recounting the students repeatedly. Officers searched along the shoreline.
And people were shouting my daughter’s name.
“Mallory!”
“Mallory!”
Whenever I heard it, I kept expecting her to respond.
She never did.
I found Kendra sitting beside a picnic table, crying.
She and Mallory had been best friends since seventh grade.
I took her hands in mine.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
“She said her head hurt,” Kendra whispered. “She went back to the tent.”
“Was she upset?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Did she meet someone?”
“No.”
“Did she say she wanted to leave?”
