I don't own the Gallagher Girls.

Elizabeth Sutton was known for her remarkable memory. Anything she heard or saw was instantly stored in the giant filing cabinet hidden somewhere within her blonde hair. Facts, dates, numbers- anything you wanted to know- she knew it.

How many species of trees are in the Amazon Rainforest? 16,000 known varieties. How about how the capitol of the Tuvalu? Funafuti, and the CIA director happens to own a large investment of the island (supposedly for underground storage of nuclear weapons, but that isn't fact: merely a rumor). What is the record for number of pancakes eaten in a single seating? 70 pancakes within an hour.

None of those statistics were helpful. None of them were truly worth anything. None of them mattered.

But that's just what Liz knew.

But forget what you read earlier. Liz does not know everything. But she did know one thing for sure: she would gladly trade every piece of worthless, random knowledge just to have the slightest clue as to where her friend was.

You should know one last statistic: 99 percent of missing persons are found within the first 51 hours. From there, everything goes downhill.

But when it says everything, it means everything. Not just the chance of discovery, but every aspect of life crumbles around you. Liz found that she couldn't say her friend's name without tears brimming in her eyes. She couldn't eat waffles without a burst of nostalgic guilt. M&Ms were off limits, PMS be damned. God forbid she actually talk about school, where a certain friend may not make an appearance in the fall.

Luckily (but sadly), she was sharing these feelings with several others. Rebecca Baxter was slowly losing her go get 'em attitude. She was usually so charismatic and upbeat, but she was starting to sit quietly. Macey McHenry was seen without eyeliner the other day. The probability of that? Liz hadn't a clue, but it was something so minuscule that it frightened her.

They were all frightened. In the Gallagher Academy, its walls as high and shielding as could be, the three girls were sharing in their misery.

"Liz, have you found anything new?" Macey, now in full makeup, asked hopefully.

The little blonde shook her head. "Nothing. She's too far off the grid." Everyone's gaze fell to the cold concrete floors. The early summer breeze blew through the open window, ruffling their blouses. They could've been out enjoying the beautiful weather, but nothing seemed very bright to them.

415. That's how many hours that Cammie has been missing.

51. That's how many hours are in the best time frame for finding a missing person. Cammie's probability of discovery has plummeted since she passed that mark two weeks ago. There was still a chance, the little piece of hope that all the girls were holding on to. But it was so small. Almost minute. Diminutive. Infinitesimal.

That number rose alarmingly. It rose higher and higher until Cammie had been MIA for exactly 2025 hours. That was the entire summer. Liz spent her time tallying the hours. Resorting to mentally torturing herself. Where she usually found comfort, the numbers were now taunting her, mocking her. In her face, exploiting her weaknesses to show just how pathetic the odds were. Liz absolutely didn't want to do the math, she knew she shouldn't. But it was habit. A nasty habit that only made her heart sink further. 2025 hours, and Liz had almost lost the last bit of her hope.

But there was a far more important number: 2026. That very special number marked the final hour of Cammie's absence, whether Liz knew it or not. Not even halfway into the 2026th hour of missing Cammie, a helicopter landed on the grass outside the P&E barn.

All the girls leaving their most physical class gathered around the field, looking for whoever was important enough for a surprise landing in the middle of the grounds. Murmurs spread through the crowd, Liz standing among the whispering girls. She was just as clueless as the rest, but as the pieces slowly fell into place, she realized what was going on. Two figures took a step from the aircraft as Liz darted forward. Before she had escaped the gathering for good, she froze.

Was that even Cammie? Had she gotten her hopes up for nothing. The swelling in her chest had suddenly felt too empty. Squinting, she examined the girl.

The flowing blonde hair Liz had known was replaced with choppy black strands that were swept away by the whirring blades. The natural curves of her friend had turned into protruding ribs and defined jaw. Tanned and freckled skin was pale and bruised. The girl standing on the grass didn't look like Cammie.

But it was Cammie, and not a fraction of uncertainty existed in Liz's mind about that.

"Oh my gosh!" Liz gave a final push through the gathering of girls and sprinted as fast as she could with her petite legs. She launched herself at her friend and wrapped her arms around her skinny neck. The girls embraced, and Liz felt all the unshed tears from summer well up in her eyes. Finally allowing them their freedom, she wept. The few seconds that Cammie was with her in her arms were worth the thousands of hours without. Liz finally released Cammie so Macey could get a hug. Warm tears still streamed down Liz's face, but not tears of sadness, rather of relief.

What were the odds that everything would turn out perfectly?

Zero. The scars and scrapes and bruises lining Cammie's skin proved that.

But the chances of success, regardless of a few flaws?

Infinitesimal, but hopeful.

This was a really quick write-and-edit thing, so I hope you liked it! A bit drabble-ish, but I'm content. :)

Any thoughts?