Anam Cara: (n. Gaelic) A person with whom you can share your deepest thoughts, feelings, and dreams with; your soul friend.

I barely remembered falling asleep last night. Though the next thing I remember is being woken up by my phone ringing incessantly.

Groaning, I grabbed it from my bedside table.

"Hello," I answered, still half asleep, as apparent by my groggy tone.

"Harley!" It was Jonathan. His tone was frantic.

This woke me right up.

"Jon?! What's wrong?!"

"Are you by a TV?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Turn on the news."

Quickly scrambling around for the remote, I found it, turned on the TV, and scrolled to the news channel.

"Do you see it?"

"Oh my god."

There was another disappearance.

Scrambling for the remote, I found it and switched on the TV to the news channel. "Do you see it?"

"Oh my god." My heart caught in my throat as I saw the breaking news of another disappearance—this time someone familiar: Miranda Hutchins.

Miranda Hutchins was no stranger to me; we shared a complicated history marred by her relentless bullying tactics. Despite her malicious actions towards me, a part of me couldn't help but feel sympathy for her family, now facing the torment of uncertainty over her whereabouts.

It must be awful not knowing where your child is or if they're okay. To have that feeling when you're at the park with your son or daughter and lose sight of them, even for a second, that gripping panic that overcomes you. To have that feeling continue without setting eyes on your child must be unbearable.

The weirdest thing is that I didn't remember seeing her at all yesterday. I would have remembered too, because she made it her mission to ruin my day every time we crossed paths. Come to think of it, she hadn't been at school for the past three days.

"She was reported missing yesterday. Nobody's seen her in three days."

"I was about to say. I've been torment-free for three days, which is a miracle in itself. But if nobody's seen her in three days, why was she only reported missing yesterday?"

"Her parents probably thought she was with Jackson."

Jackson was our school's golden boy—co-captain of the basketball team, charismatic, popular, and entwined with Miranda in an on-again, off-again romance that seemed destined for disaster.

Miranda, on the other hand, was the most popular girl in school, the beauty queen, and the object of many boys' desires.

They made the perfect couple, or so it seemed.

Their on-again, off-again relationship was the talk of the town. They would break up, make up, and break up again, each time more dramatic than the last. Their dynamics were volatile yet magnetic, drawing them together even amidst chaos and uncertainty.

"I don't want to jump the gun, but something about this doesn't feel right."

We lived in a small town where everyone knew everyone. It was a place where my mother's bakery served as the town's gathering place, where gossip flowed as freely as the coffee. Everyone knew everyone's business, and if they didn't know it, they would make sure to find out. Every corner held a story, and every whispered conversation carried weight.

Someone has to know something.

"Well, Jackson did say they were supposed to meet at your mom's bakery, but she didn't show up. He waited for two and a half hours before he left."

I did remember seeing him sitting by himself in my mom's bakery a couple of days ago.

"I thought they weren't together anymore."

"You know them. Always breaking up and getting back together. I overheard him telling some of his friends they were going to talk about getting back together."

Just then, my cat, Stevie Wonder, decided to join me, jumping on my bed.

I remember the day my life changed forever, the day I met Stevie Wonder. He's a majestic black tabby Maine Coon, with fur as soft as a cloud and eyes that mirror the leaves of the willow trees.

I had struggled with anxiety for as long as I could remember.

But when Stevie came into my life, everything changed. He had a way of sensing when I was feeling overwhelmed, and he would gracefully leap onto my lap, purring like a tiny engine, his warmth and gentle vibrations soothing my nerves.

Stevie was just a baby when I first laid eyes on him, having been found abandoned and barely clinging to life. He had survived by drinking from the creeks in the forest, a testament to his resilience. The vets weren't sure if he would make it, but I saw something in him, a spark that said he would not be defeated by his past. So, when my parents surprised me and told me I could adopt him, I was over the moon. 

Apparently they had read somewhere that Maine Coons are known for their calm and soothing nature, and they thought a feline companion would be the perfect fit for their anxious daughter.

I named him Stevie Wonder because, like the singer, he had a way of navigating the world without sight. Those first few weeks with him, his eyes were sealed shut, but he'd swivel his head towards any sound, as if he could see the very air vibrating with life. It was like he had a secret sense that connected him to the world around him.

As for me, I've always felt a bit like I was navigating the world with my eyes closed too. There's something different about the way my brain processes things, and it's not just the anxiety.

Concerned about the underlying reasons for my anxiety, my parents brought me to our doctor, who believed I showcased symptoms commonly associated with autism.

I've read about autism in girls, and so much of it resonates with me. But without a formal diagnosis, I've felt like I'm stuck in limbo. The doctor suggested we see a specialist, but life threw us one curveball after another. First, my great grandpa passed away, and then my grandpa, mom's dad, got cancer. Before we knew it, the thought of another appointment, another label, got buried under the weight of everything else.

Even after my dad's death, the idea of revisiting the autism diagnosis remained just that, an idea.

Instead, I started doing my own research, finding comfort in the stories of other girls who faced similar challenges. 

But there was always this feeling of hesitance to claim the autistic identity.

There's this weird gatekeeping that stops me. Like I'm not allowed to claim a piece of myself unless some expert gives me the stamp of approval. And the people, oh the people.

Neurotypicals, they think they know it all because they've seen a movie or two, or they know someone who's got a cousin's friend's kid with autism.

Autism isn't a one-size-fits-all. It's like snowflakes, each one unique, each one beautiful in its own way.

And then there are the anti-vaxxers, who treat autism like it's the plague, like it's something to be feared and avoided.

They don't get that autism isn't a disease, it's just a part of who you are, like having blue eyes or a knack for playing the piano. It's not a curse, it's just another way of seeing the world. 

It's frustrating, because they're spreading lies that put everyone at risk, all because they've been convinced that vaccines cause autism, which is just not true.

But Stevie, he doesn't know about any of that. He just knows that when I'm feeling lost, he's there to guide me with his soothing presence and unwavering love. And that's all that really matters.

"It just doesn't seem healthy," I remarked, stroking Stevie Wonder as he purred contentedly on my bed. "If they can't make it work after so many tries, maybe it's time to let go. Anyway, who am I to judge? I don't have a boyfriend, and I might die in my house full of cats."

"Don't do that," he chided.

"Do what?"

"Talk down about yourself. You are one of the most kind, genuine, and beautiful human beings I have been lucky enough to encounter. You know exactly who you are, and you make no apologies about it. It's why I called you my Luna. I drew that parallel because both of you possess an unwavering indifference towards the opinions and judgments of others. Throughout our upbringing, you were always there to defend me, and I am forever grateful for that."

"I know..."

"Do you recall the time when you courageously punched Barry Bridges in the face after he pushed me off the swing in second grade?" He chuckled.

I couldn't help but join in. "Yes, because he was incredibly bothersome, constantly tailing me around the playground."

It's true. During recess, he would relentlessly follow me, and I despised him.

"I'm coming to pick you up. I'll be there in ten."

"Alright." Hanging up, I grabbed my favourite biker jacket that my dad got me for my thirteenth birthday, the last one we'd spend together.

I held it to my nose, inhaling the smell of leather. Taking a moment, I flipped it around, looking over my initials on the back. The white letters were uneven and in stark contrast to the black leather, giving the dripping paint style more authenticity, as far as I'm concerned.

It was a symbol of who I was—bold, unapologetic, and fiercely independent. As I searched for the rest of my outfit, I found solace in the familiarity of black—a colour that spoke to my soul.

I saw my black cami belly top and matching black cargo pants on my desk chair.

Sniffing them, they didn't smell dirty. There was no odour of sweat or anything; rather, it smelled of brown sugar. It's one of my favourite scents. This would work.

I know, a lot of black. What can I say? It's my favourite colour.

The metal chains on my pants chimed as I ran over to the gothic-style vanity that sat in the corner of my room. I grabbed my snake bite piercings and put them on my lips.

Raking a brush through the auburn hair I inherited from my father, I took a quick once-over before heading downstairs. Jonathan should be here any minute.

As I ran down the steps, the smell of sizzling bacon and brewing coffee greeted me in the cozy kitchen. My mother stood at the stove, her back turned to me as she flipped pancakes with practiced ease.

"I can't stay for breakfast today. I love you," I called out, grabbing two slices of buttered toast from the table and stuffing them into my mouth as I searched for my bag.

Just as I was about to rush out the door, a familiar voice stopped me in my tracks. "Wait!"

I turned around to see my reflection staring back at me—hazel eyes mirroring hazel eyes, chestnut brown hair tangled like my own auburn tresses.

It was then that I noticed she wasn't dressed for work. The bakery opened pretty early because people often stopped there in the morning for a muffin or a treat before heading off to work or school. In fact, I often dropped in at the bakery en route to school.

My mother's usually impeccable appearance was marred by disheveledness today. Her hair lay in wild curls around her face, a stark contrast to her usual sleek ponytail or loose curls. Despite our physical similarities—our shared olive complexion and tall stature—it was clear that our differences ran deeper than skin-deep.

People often remarked on how much we looked alike, but they never saw beyond the surface. My mother's warm and effervescent personality was a stark contrast to my own brooding and introspective nature. While she lit up a room with her laughter and smiles, I preferred solitude and contemplation.

"What's wrong, mom?"

She approached me, cradling my face between her hands. "Please be careful, sweetheart. You and Jonathan promise you'll be careful."

Oh, so that was what this is all about. She must have seen the news this morning about Miranda going missing.

"We promise, mom. Nothing is going to happen to us. We have nearly every class together. You don't have to worry."

It's true. Jonathan and I were rarely caught away from each other's company.

"I know. It's just with that Miranda girl going missing that I worry for the both of you."

As I took in her unkempt appearance, a pang of guilt tugged at my heart. How could I have been so caught up in my own world that I didn't notice her struggles? With a newfound sense of empathy, I reached out to smooth down her unruly hair.

She smiled wearily but gratefully at me before pulling me into a tight embrace. In that moment, as we stood entwined in each other's arms, it became clear that despite our differences, our bond transcended mere appearances—it was rooted in love that ran deeper than blood ties.

And so, as we stood there in the warm embrace of understanding and forgiveness, I realized that sometimes it took stepping out of one's own shadow to truly see the person standing beside you—the person who shared not just your features but also your heart and soul.

As the morning sun peeked through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the cozy kitchen, three quick knocks sounded before the front door opened.

"Hey!" It was Jonathan, my best friend. His presence always brought a sense of comfort and familiarity to our home.

"Hey Jon," I greeted him with a smile, followed by my mom's warm welcome.

"Hello, Jonathan," she chimed in as he entered the kitchen. "Now Jonathan," my mom's tone turned serious. "I've already told Harley, but I am going to tell you too. Make sure you're together. Watch over my baby."

"Of course, Mrs. Masterson, I wouldn't let anything bad happen to Harley. She's my best friend. I would die before I let anything bad happen to her," Jonathan reassured her with sincerity in his voice.

"You see, mom, we'll be fine," I added, trying to ease her worries.

"I know, sweetheart. But it's my job as a mom to worry about your safety," she replied softly, her eyes filled with love and concern.

"I wish my mom felt the same way," Jonathan mumbled under his breath, revealing a glimpse of the pain he carried from his own family struggles.

It was no secret that Jon's family life wasn't as nurturing as mine. His parents' distant relationship had left him craving warmth and stability, which he often found in our home. My mom had even offered for him to move in with us several times, but he always declined out of pride and fear of being a burden.

There were fleeting moments where I caught glimpses of Jon's inner turmoil beneath his cheerful exterior—a longing for familial love that eluded him at home. And although he did his best not to voice it aloud, I could sense his silent plea for solace and acceptance.

She gave us a kiss on the forehead, and we headed out the door.

The walk to school wasn't a long one—maybe fifteen minutes. But it gave us more time to chill before school.

We had every class but first period together. Which was why I made the most of our time before we headed to our first period.

Today we were a little behind because of the talk with my mom.

When we finally reached Willow Creek Institute, the bell rang almost immediately.

Hugging as we entered the front door, we split up to our separate classes. Him to computer sciences. Me to biology.

The clock seemed to move at the pace of a snail. I couldn't help but keep glancing at the it, as if that would cause it to move quicker. Obviously, it didn't.

Tearing my gaze from the clock, I quickly copied the notes the teacher had written on the board, adding my own little notes in the margins.

RINGGGGG!

Finally, the bell rang, signifying the end of period one. Perfect timing too. I had just finished copying the board.

Gathering my things, I quickly made my way through the crowded hallway to join Jon in PE.

Getting dressed as fast as I could, I exited the change room, walking straight into the gym.

There, I saw Jon and a few other kids in our class.

Jogging over to Jon, we struck up a conversation about our upcoming crime weekend.

This week we were going to watch a documentary about one of the world's most confounding mysteries that remains unsolved to this day.

We liked to have competitions on guessing who we think did it—a suspect police already found or a completely unknown person.

Of course, we could never really determine a winner because these cases all remain unsolved. Many of them date back decades.

Our conversation was abruptly cut short as a whistle sounded throughout the room.

Oh god. I thought I hid that thing.

You see, our Phys Ed teacher, Mr. Bruile, loved his whistle. I mean, loved it. He blew on it for anything.

That's why Jon and I decided to take it one class and hide it where he wouldn't find it. We probably should have counted on him to buy or have another one.

"Gather around kids. Gather 'round." We all formed a small semicircle in front of him. "Okay. Today we..."

I didn't hear the rest as I tuned out, only regaining focus as I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"You coming?" Jon asked.

"Wait... what are we doing?"

"Running laps, then we get a free period."

"Free period?!" Free periods were extremely rare, and we hardly got them, especially from Mr. Bruile. Usually, they only happened when we had a supply teacher.

"Yup. I thought we could use it to get a head start on our project in English."

I nodded. "That sounds great."

That's exactly what we did. After running our ten laps around the gym, we sat on the bleachers and started our English assignment.

"I was thinking. Why don't we write this in a novel format?" Jon suggested.

Funnily enough, I had been thinking the exact same thing last night. Great minds, huh?

"I was thinking the same thing last night. It would make it different from everyone else."

I enjoyed pushing the boundaries of assignments to create new and exciting presentations, which this was sure to be.

He turned back to a stack of papers he had pulled from his bag. "This is what I have found so far."

Flipping through them, it was a compilation of different murders and disappearances that occurred in this town over the last hundred years. It's a startling number.

However, one thing stood out to me. The same surname kept popping up. Haggerty. Huh? I wonder if Mr. Haggerty had any relation.

I mean, it didn't stand out as a common surname that multiple unrelated people could share, unlike Smith or Williams.

It appeared to be men of the same family, spanning generations. At one point or another, all of the fathers's and sons were once considered suspects in the disappearances and murders, but nothing could be proven.

"This is so weird," I said, skimming through one of the articles. It spoke of Lewis Haggerty, who was believed to run a "religious compound." In other words, a cult.

According to the information in these articles, they lived on the other side of what was known as "The Forbidden Forest." It was named after the Harry Potter books, but it was much more sinister. It was where the girls and young women went missing and sometimes even turned up dead.

"I know," Jon agreed. "I'm sure you've already noticed, but do you think these guys could be related to our teacher, Mr. Haggerty?"

"That's the first thing that came to mind when I saw the name. These could be his great-grandfather, great-uncles, great-great-grandfather, cousins, and so on."

"Exactly. Now, I think we should look more into this. Let's call it what it probably is: a cult. I think they have something to do with it, and it would be great if someone could finally prove it."

"You believe two high schoolers will be able to prove the involvement of suspects even where experienced detectives couldn't?"

"We've basically been doing this our entire lives. Not just in our marathons, but in trying to solve real cases we heard about. We've always made an awesome team." I looked up to see him wearing a cheesy grin.

"You're such a dork," I teased.

"But I'm your dork," he replied, putting his arm around my shoulders.

Now was my time to smile. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

We stared at each other for a few more seconds before the bell rang, signalling the end of the period.

It was now lunch time, meaning school was halfway over. Thank goodness.

Heading to our lockers, we grabbed our lunches before heading outside to sit at our favourite picnic bench located under a tree that faced the cafeteria.

Plopping ourselves down, we placed our bags down beside us and began eating.

It was only as I took a bite from my apple that I noticed Jonathan wasn't eating.

Furrowing my brows, I asked, "Jon? Why aren't you eating?"

He turned his bag towards me. It was empty. He didn't even bother reaching into his wallet, meaning he didn't have any money.

"Why didn't you tell me? My mom would have given you something before we left this morning."

He shifted, not able to meet my eye. I could tell it was because he's embarrassed. It's the only time he couldn't look me in the eye. "I already depend on you two for so much. She has already opened up her home to me. I can't ask her to give me lunch too."

I frowned. "My mom doesn't care about that. You're like the son she doesn't have. You know that." I switched sides, now sitting beside him, rubbing his shoulder.

He placed a hand on top of mine before finally looking at me. "I know."

I returned to my side and reached into my backpack, rummaging around before pulling out a plastic container.

"Here."

"What's this?" He asked, taking the container from me and opening it.

"My mom packed it in my bag this morning because she knows how forgetful your parents can be. She said it was just in case."

"Forgetful?! Ha!" He laughed bitterly. "They're more than a little forgetful." He murmured the last part under his breath, but I still heard it.

I wrapped my arms around his torso, continuing to comfort him. "I'm sorry, Jon. On the bright side, you're always welcome over at our house. You know my mom loves having you over."

It's true. My mom treated him more like her son than his own parents. My dad used to joke that it was because she believed Jon and I would grow up to get married and she'd be his mother-in-law. Not that he disagreed.

In fact, people often assumed we were dating because of how much time we spent together.

"Thanks," he said, finally allowing a small smile to shine through.

No words were needed from me. A simple smile always let him know everything was okay. Or, at least, it was going to be.

I didn't even get to sit back down to continue my lunch before we were interrupted.

By none other than Kirsty.

Kirsty Lavell. Best friend of Miranda Hutchins. Her number two.

I rolled my eyes as she completely ignored me and turned to Jonathan. No surprise there. She hated me. Her and Miranda.

But she was also one of many girls who suddenly began paying attention to Jon at the start of high school. He had just gone through a growth spurt; his voice dropped, he put on some muscle, and he grew his hair out to his shoulders. His face had also gotten more defined, especially his chin.

Mind you, these are the same girls who've known him since nursery school. Only when they thought he was good-looking enough did the staring begin, along with the occasional interruptions of our conversations.

Like now.

"Hey Jonathan. A couple of us were going to the movie theatre later tonight, and we were wondering if you'd come with us."

We looked behind her to see her gesturing toward the popular table. The table was where all the jocks and cheerleaders sat.

He looked at me before I motioned for him to answer.

If he wanted to go with them, it wasn't my place to stop him.

"Um, sure. We'll meet you there."

The smile on her face dropped instantly.

"Ohh. I'm sorry. We meant just you."

Of course, I'd known this was what she meant before she even opened her mouth.

"Well, I'm sorry, then. I'm going to have to decline."

"What?!" By the look on her face, you could tell she was not used to hearing the word 'no'.

"Yes, no. If Harley isn't invited, then I'm going to have to pass. Thanks for the offer, though."

"Why do you even hang out with her when you could be hanging out with us?" She gestured to her fellow athletes. "She's like an annoying bird that won't go away."

"Hey Jonathan. Do you remember me asking for her opinion? No? Yeah, me either." I turned to Kirsty. "Look, darling, I don't need your approval. That's for insecure people. You say I'm a bird? Well, bock, bock, bitch."

The bell sounded, and we got up, walking away, leaving her standing there, slack-jawed.

"You didn't have to do that, you know?"

"I know. But why would I hang out with them when I could be having so much more fun with my... BEST FRIEND!"

He picked me up, causing me to squeal.

"Ah, Jonathan! Put me down."

He pretended like he was going to drop me, causing me to wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to him like a koala.

No one paid much attention to us, as this was a frequent occurrence. We did ridiculous things like this often enough that people just stopped caring.

"Okay. I can't wait for our crime marathon tonight." I told him, as he began carrying me to our next class.

"Yeah. We can take a break from our project for the weekend, right?"

I nodded. "Of course. Mr. Haggerty said we have all term to work on this project, and term's only just begun. We have plenty of time."

We finally reached our class, and he let me down.

I couldn't wait for the school day to be over.

A/N: Stevie Wonder