Dead to You

I nod. I’m sure he did. We hurry to catch up so Blake doesn’t have much time to corrupt Mama and Dad before I’m there to defend myself. But I know I’m in for it. Big-time.

“Just stay calm,” Cami says. “He’s trying to get you to do something, and he’ll keep trying. If you stay calm and don’t let him get his satisfaction that way, you win.”

“I have no chance at winning here. Did you see what I did to his face?”

“Yeah, I know,” she says. She runs her hand through her hair and looks at me, worried. “But don’t make it worse.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Okay.”

“I mean it. Stay calm. Be the rational one. You’ll look better.”

I know she’s right. I suck in a breath and let it out slowly to keep the panic buried as we reach the driveway right behind Blake and Gracie. Gracie hops off the sled and runs to the door. She looks back at me like she’s scared of me, and that pretty much just makes me want to shoot myself in the head.

“You’re so dead,” Blake says to me as he goes inside.

I turn away, and now I don’t want to go in at all. I’m scared. I don’t want to hear it—Mama all upset about Blake’s face, Dad furious at me, all the yelling. “I can’t go in there,” I say.

“Let’s just sit out here on the step. It’s nice out.”

But I’m not thinking, not feeling the temperature, not feeling anything. “I think maybe I should go.” I sit down on the step and whip off my bloody gloves. Pinch the bridge of my nose, where a headache is starting.

“Where?”

“Away. Maybe back to the south. To find Ellen . . . nor.” I can feel Cami staring at me, but I can’t look at her. I don’t want to think about leaving her behind. Not now, when I’m just getting her to like me, maybe. A little. But I can’t keep living like this, I really can’t. Constant tension in the house . . . and Blake . . .

And then I think about Gracie and how she looked at me. Like I betrayed her. I don’t know if I can look her in the eye again. Such a little sweet kid—she doesn’t need to grow up and see this kind of crap.

“Ethan,” Cami says softly. Finally. “Eleanor’s not the right answer. Don’t you think that would be even harder to go back to? Plus, isn’t she, like, wanted by the police?”

I squinch my eyes shut and I don’t want to think about that. I had good times with Ellen. She really liked me, too. I know she did. She chose me, for fuck’s sake. Out of all the kids in the world, Ellen chose me. And she hired those guys, or whatever, to kidnap me. Me, not Blake. Not Cami. Not some other kid down this street, or any street in Belleville or St. Paul or New York or Hollywood. She chose me. She wanted me. Somebody fucking wanted me.

How could she stop wanting me?

I know something must have happened to her for her to not come back for me in Nebraska. Because she always came back. Always. And now I wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake. I abandoned her by not going out to find her. What if she needed me and came back to the youth home, and I wasn’t there? What if she did actually see news of my return to my real family, and she’s so sad now?

The sickness is roiling inside of me—the panic and the laughter. That’s what it is, I think. It’s a sickness. I didn’t have it when I was a little kid, I know that by the look of horror on Mama’s face when she watched me spin out of control at Dr. Frost’s. And I feel it there now, heavy, like I swallowed a boot—yeah, like I swallowed a goddamn boot and it’s trying to hike its way up my ribs, trying to get out. And I don’t want to let it, because Cami’s here and she’ll think I’m a total freak if it happens, but it’s so strong I don’t think I can stop it. I don’t have any control. I push my head between my knees and try to suck in some air.

“Ethan, are you okay?”

I nod and flash her the okay sign, but she still looks worried. I want to get away from her so she doesn’t see it. I want to run, but I know what’ll happen. Same thing that happened at the basketball game. I need every ounce of air I can get so I don’t pass out and fall down. How would that look, huh? Pretty fucking worse than if I sit here and let the sickness run its course.

And it does.

It sounds like I’m dry heaving, but then the hysterical laughter spews out.

Cami, fidgeting and anxious, stands up. “Ethan, do you need help? I’ll get your mom!”

I grab her wrist. Shake my head and cover my face, so she doesn’t see it all ugly and distorted. I hold her arm and she sits down next to me, looking helpless, and then she puts her arm around my shoulders and holds on. I hold up my forefinger to let her know I’m almost through it. But I know, once I’m through, Cami’s not going to want to be anywhere near a freak like me.

I can’t help it now, though. I can’t hide it. I need her.

When I can finally speak, all I can say between gasps is, “I’m sorry. I’m really not as fucked-up as I seem.”

“Man.” Cami shakes her head. “What was that all about?” She’s not leaving.

“It’s just a problem I have. Some sort of nervous reaction to stress after all the crap I’ve been through, I guess. Doctor says I’ll probably grow out of it.”

“Uh, it might help if you could cut down on the drama,” she says.

“You think?”

She grins. God, I love her. I do.