He shrugs. His gaze travels upward to the ceiling. “We’re friends.”

“Are you in any of her group chats?” We obviously know the answer, but now I want to know how honest he will be.

“Yes.”

“Do you ever talk to her privately? Or do you only text?”

“Why?” His lawyer’s hand brushes his wrist, and Zane exhales. “We mostly text. Sometimes we meet up on the beach.”

“Oh?”

“I live a few houses down.” His shoulders lift again. “Sure. A lot of us hang out on the beach.” Another exhale. His gaze falls. “But she’s not there. I volunteered in the search group.” His gaze lifts. “She didn’t run away. I know everybody thinks that, but that’s not what happened. You need to fucking do your job and find her.”

“Zane,” his lawyer admonishes.

At the conclusion of our meeting, Zane stands and looks directly into my eyes. “You don’t need to waste time here. No one here has any leads for you. She’s a good person. And she would never do this to her father or her friends. Not willingly.”

Unfortunately, over the next two hours, we hear more of the same from faculty and students alike. There are no issues, no warning signs, no suspicions. A few teachers suspected she missed her mother, but she had adjusted and continued to thrive both academically and socially. Every single student and faculty member passes my body language lie detector analysis with flying colors.

Body language is a science, but it’s not infallible in a five-minute interview. Still, I’d expect some hint of nervousness or worry from a culpable person. Especially a teenage student.

As we exit the front doors to the school, Ryan grumbles, “That was useless.”

As we cross the lawn, we pass a gaggle of students giggling. None of the students are ones we interviewed. I doubt they know why we are here. One uniformed male student points in our direction, and I could swear he says the word amazon. Are the kids here mean? Was Sophia bullied?

Ryan opens the passenger door for me and hands me his phone.

“Erik texted over a compilation of some of her posts and videos that hint at melancholy. I just glanced through them, and they look like a teenager doing a pouty face to me. But check them out. You might have a different perspective.”

I scroll through the photos as Ryan starts the car.

“Yeah, these are all fashion-model poses.” In some pics she pushes glossy lips out in an exaggerated pout, but combined with the dramatic eyeshadow, it looks like she’d been goofing around taking selfies. “I agree with you. These are meaningless. Especially when mixed in with all her happy posts.”

“Did you check over her social media?”

“Last night. I’ve followed her on Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok since around the time of the funeral. I’m not on SnapChat. She and I communicate on WhatsApp. She mainly uses Instagram. From what I can tell, she doesn’t post a lot of TikTok videos, but that doesn’t mean she’s not on it a lot.”