I think I am in love.
It’s a short clip, about four minutes. There are large photos of me, the perpetual toothless second grader, flashing as the anchor talks, with a 1-800 phone number to call. The news anchor looks a little bit fake in his concern over my well-being, but the coanchor looks on like she really cares. There is footage of a group of people tromping through the woods and calling my name—they sound frantic. Then the anchor shows a piece from a news conference on the steps of the police department. My parents huddle together behind a podium, crying, pleading for my return. And there’s Blake, four years old and scowling at the sun in his eyes. Mama begs for the abductors to bring me back, no questions asked as long as I’m safe. There’s even a reward.
I watch, horrified. Awed. When it ends, I just stare at the screen. After a minute, Cami turns it off and I ask, quietly, “Can I watch it again?”
She peers at me. Pulls off her mitten and touches my cheek. Her finger comes away wet, shiny. “You sure?”
“Yes,” I breathe. I want to see it again.
Cami rewinds and I watch it again. All of it. I watch how sad they are, how much they are weeping over me. I drink it in.
“God,” I say when it’s over. I slump back in the seat and fling my arm over my face, wiping my cheeks and eyes. “God. I had no idea.”
“No idea of what?”
I roll my head from side to side on the back of the bench seat, staring at the ceiling of the minivan. “No idea anybody cared like that,” I say.
Cami is quiet for a while. And then she says, “A lot of people cared. Tons.” She turns sideways toward me on the bench seat, rests her elbow on the back, and just looks at me. “How could we possibly not care?”
I don’t want to explain. I already sniveled in front of her. I’m not going to do that again. She probably thinks I’m a freak. “I guess because nobody ever found me,” I say. “How would I have known anybody tried?”
“We tried.”
“I know that now.”
“Good.”
And then it’s awkward, the two of us alone in a quiet, slowly darkening minivan. Two strangers who used to be friends. But I can feel something here between us. Different from any of the other girls. Deeper. Maybe I’m imagining it. Or maybe this just means something, to have these ties that go back so many years. Maybe you don’t have to remember something for it to be true. For it to exist.
She’s looking at me, a little afraid about her feelings, maybe. A little guilty. Probably thinking about the boyfriend. But wanting it—this thing between us. That’s probably the best way for her to be, though. Wanting. The wanting always keeps you on your toes, makes you fight for more. I know that well enough.
“I should go,” I say. “Homework.”
“Yeah, me too.” She bites her lip and looks down. I hope she’s not looking at my crotch.
I scramble up, suddenly self-conscious, and bump my head. “Shit.” I start laughing uncontrollably, but manage to contain it so I don’t quite sound like a lunatic. Score.
She laughs and climbs up over the seats to turn off the minivan’s engine. Pulls the keys out. “See you tomorrow?”
I shrug, open the slider door, and hop out. She follows. The freezing wind flips my hair off my face. “If I don’t get abducted,” I say with a grin, but it doesn’t really sound funny. “Thanks for showing me the tape. That was . . . that was cool of you.”
She stands there, head cocked and tape in hand, like she’s trying to decide something. “You want it?” She holds it out to me.
“Nah. I’m good.” I’ve seen enough. More than enough, probably. I turn and grab my backpack and trudge home through the yards, past the snow family that does not include me, and into my house.
CHAPTER 15
Gracie’s stirring mushy chocolate ice cream in a bowl when I walk in the kitchen. Mama looks up sharply. Comes over and hugs me a little too tightly, and then pushes back. “Where were you?” she asks.
I set my backpack down in a chair. “I went over to Cami’s after school.”
“Oh,” Mama says. She presses her lips together and turns her face away. I can see her take a deep breath and let it out.
“Why, what’s up?”
“You’re sposta call Mama if you’re going to be late, even one minute. That’s the family rule,” Gracie says.
Mama nods, grim-faced. “I didn’t tell you, Ethan. I guess I didn’t expect you to go anywhere on your first day.”
“Blake didn’t tell you? He saw me go.” I grab Gracie’s spoon just as it’s going up to her lips and shove the glob of ice cream into my mouth.
“Hey!” she yells, and slams her elbow into my hip. “Mama! Efan stole my ice cream and got his gross germs on my spoon!”
But Mama’s distracted. I grin at Gracie, pushing melted ice cream through my teeth. She scowls and takes her bowl with her to get a new spoon, grumbling, and then she moves to the other side of the table.
I swallow it and turn back to Mama, realize she was really worried. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I should have thought of that.”
“Yeah, it’s sort of a family thing, after what happened.” Mama glances at Gracie, and I know that means not to say anything scary.
“I can see why you’d want to know where everybody is,” I say. And I can see it now. After the tape. “But I don’t actually know the phone number here.”