Dead to You

by Lisa McMann

  We meet the principal and the school counselor and then she walks me through my schedule. It’s easy and I’m really just anxious to get away from her. She walks me back to my first period, and thankfully I get a seat without too much staring.

  I don’t know anybody in my classes. At lunch, I just sit alone in the middle of the cafeteria and people mostly come and go around me, but some of them say they know me. I tune most of it out and smile when I’m supposed to. Sometimes I pretend to remember something—it’s almost a sport now, after the weekend family disaster.

  The teachers are decent enough not to make some big announcement about me being there, although one of them, Ms. Gibbons, gets a little gushy, calls me a hero and a survivor. In the hallways, a few people stop me and say stupid “I thought you were dead” things, but I try to stay low-key. I mean, how do you answer that? “Thank you”? Eyes on the ground or on the map, scowl on my face. Most of them either don’t remember because they were too young, or they don’t really care. Fine by me.

  When the bell rings at the end of the day, I manage to find my locker again. I grab my stuff and take off to the bus, stuck behind foot traffic. The crowd shifts and moves as one huge mass. Finally, I bust through the doors to the bus line. My stomach twists when I see her long, black hair.

  And the guy who’s touching it.

  CHAPTER 14

  And then they’re kissing. He’s leaning back against the bus and she’s leaning into him. And I—I’m suddenly doubled up in hysterics, laughing uncontrollably with a crowd all around me, feeling like a total psycho loser and unable to stop it, so I drop down to one knee. Start tying my shoe. Gasping and laugh-crying down at the snow-packed cement as people bang into me, their knees catching my kidneys and shoulders and digging in a little harder than they need to, because I’m there, in their way.

  When I finally get it under control, I stand up, take a deep breath and let it out, and move past Cami and the asswipe. I get on the bus and sit up against the window, staring out at them.

  I have no idea what to do when she climbs on the bus, alone, and sits with me.

  “How was it?” she asks.

  “How was what?”

  “Your first day, duh.”

  “Fine.” The bus chugs out of the lineup and we’re moving, heading toward the middle school, where we pick up the next load of students.

  She just looks at me. “Is something wrong?”

  I want to yell. Not at her. Just loudly. Scream, so the crap and buildup of everything can get out. I want to hurt somebody. Anybody. Seriously, I could beat the crap out of a little kid right now. I grip my knees and talk myself through it.

  The feeling passes.

  “Ethan?” She leans in, concerned, and I can smell her. Jesus. Baths together. Fuck.

  “I’m fine,” I say, and change the subject. Blurting it out. “Tell me what happened after.”

  “After school?”

  “After I disappeared.”

  She slumps back in the seat. “Oh.” She shakes her head. “Oh, that.” She takes a deep breath. “It was pretty terrible. Are you sure you want to know?”

  “Yes,” I say, smiling through gritted teeth. “Please.” We come to a stop in front of the middle school just as the students start streaming out of the building. There is chaos as they load. They are so loud. I want them to shut up. Blake raises an eyebrow as he walks past our seat, but says nothing.

  “Well, from what I remember, I guess Blake told your mom that you got into a black car. Then your mom called my mom, all hysterical. She asked if you were at our house. Of course you weren’t. So we all went out and started looking around the neighborhood for you, and Blake kept yelling about you getting into the backseat of the car. Then the cops came and I guess they got the word out to look for a black four-door, but that’s all the information they had.”

  I am lost in the description. “It was gray inside,” I say softly, imagining it, but I have no idea where I get that from. I didn’t remember the abduction, but now, it sort of feels like I do, a little. Like hearing the story fills in a little piece of my life.

  “The whole neighborhood was looking. We walked for hours, after dark with flashlights, and in shifts for days afterward. Calling out for you. But if you were in a car, I don’t know why we spent so much time in the neighborhood. I think maybe people weren’t sure they could believe Blake. He was really little.”

  “Maybe that’s why he’s so pissed,” I say, looking out the window.

  Cami shrugs. “I just thought he was so sad about what happened.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  “We searched for you for, like, three weeks. It was on the news every day.”

  We sit in silence. I think about it all. Wonder if they would have found me if they’d just believed Blake.

  “Hey, Ethan?” Cami touches my thigh.

  “Yeah?” I stare at her hand. I think I can probably take the asswipe, once I get all my strength back and beef up a little. Maybe.

  “My mom taped the news. When it happened, I mean. It’s on a video. You want to see? I think our VCR in the minivan still works.”

  I nod and focus. “Yes,” I say. “Yes.”

  We get off the bus and walk to her house. She gets the key from inside and starts up the minivan. “We used to take this beast on trips when I was little. I have an older brother, you know,” Cami says. “Josh. He’s in college now. We used to fight about what videos to watch.” I like how thoughtful she is, letting me know she has a brother without making me feel stupid about not remembering things. We sit in the middle row of the old minivan in her driveway. The engine is running, but the heat hasn’t choked its way out yet. Our combined breath fogs the windows, and I’m freezing. Cami leans forward and messes with the VCR, trying to get the tape to play. “I used to watch this over and over,” she says simply. “I had a really hard time letting you go.”

  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 i
n 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.”

  “It’s on one of the papers I gave you this morning, remember? I told you. I showed it to you.” She looks freaked again and her voice is on the fringe of yelling. “You have that sheet, right? Please check.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I say. I’m sure she’s right. “Yeah, I have it. Sorry, I just forgot.” I watch her cautiously.

  She waits for me to check, so I do. Sure enough, there it is. I feel her eyes boring into me. And for a second, I wonder why I ever left the freedom of the street.

  She smiles, finally. “Good. I’m getting you a cell phone tomorrow. Please make sure you always let me know where you are. And can you memorize the home phone number? Please?” She’s calmer now.

  “Great. Okay. I will,” I say. A cell phone? I have exactly no one else to call. It will be like a leash to my mother. Nice. Quite the reality check seeing the overprotective side of her.

  And then we just stand there, quiet, awkward, so I start my homework at the table so Mama can hawk all over me.

  I want to talk about things. I do. But it’s so hard. We can’t do it when Gracie’s around, and when we’re alone, it’s so hard to start the conversation. It’s like the words weigh a thousand pounds each. So I don’t say anything.

  At dinner, all five of us sit around the table like a TV family and talk about our days. I have never, ever done this before. With Ellen, it was so laid-back—we ate whenever we had food, wherever we happened to be standing. Once again, I feel like I’m on a TV show. I wonder what each of them is thinking. If it’s as weird for them as it is for me.

  I help with the dishes afterward, and then go and hide down in the basement for a few hours, making my space more comfortable with an old quilt I find in the bottom drawer of a beat-up dresser. And then I look for more treasures in my Ethan boxes. The building blocks and collectible cards and books, all neatly packed. Shoe boxes filled with school report cards and math papers and art projects Mama saved. And the photos. I stare and stare at myself, trying to absorb that part of my life, those first seven years. But it’s all still so cold. Looking at the photos is like looking at pictures of myself superimposed in strange settings. I memorize everything.

  It’s each of us in our beds, in the dark, when Blake says, “You’re hooking up with Cami, I suppose.”

  I hear jealousy in his voice, but I might be wrong. “No,” I say.

  “Why not?”

  I open my eyes and stare into the darkness. “She’s got a boyfriend.”

  “No she doesn’t.”

  “Yeah, he just doesn’t ride the bus.”

  “Oh.” Blake doesn’t sound convinced.

  Silence.

  “So,” I say. “You want to tell me what it was like?”

  Blake is so quiet, I think he’s sleeping. But then, after a while, he says, “I was just really mad at you. That’s what I remember. Being mad.”

  “It’s okay.” I just want him to say it and get over it, so things aren’t so weird.

  “Why did you do it? Why did you go with strangers in that car?”

  “I don’t know, Blakey.” I heard Gracie call him that once.

  There’s another pause. “You used to call me that. You’re the one who started that nickname.”

  “I know,” I lie. I just want him to love me.

  To forgive me.

  He’s quiet for a minute. “You have no idea how you wrecked everything. Mama and Dad started fighting all the time. Crying. Nobody gave a crap about me. It was all about you. And then when we finally got a little bit used to you being gone, me all alone with them, Mama not crying ten times every day, there was the baby.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  I hear Blake roll over, turn his back to me, and then he says, muffled, “It’s still all about you. Always will be. Both of you. You guys are like . . . I don’t know. The Lost Boy and the Miracle Girl who took his place.”

  CHAPTER 16

  I lie awake in bed for a half hour, thinking, before I climb out and go to the kitchen for a drink. Russell is roaming the house, stalking shadows. I picture him on the street, where we’d be enemies competing for food. Inside, we are friends. I give him a cat treat, take my water with me, and wander to the living room, where I see a soft glow of light.

  Mama’s still up. She’s in her bathrobe in the dark, watching a late show with the sound on low. The only light is from the TV. She motions for me to come.

  I sit down next to her on the couch. “Hey.”

  “Can’t sleep?”

  “Nope. You?”

  Mama smiles. “Same. This is all really crazy, isn’t it. You doing okay?”

  The TV flashes. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

  “I set an appointmen
t for you to see a psychologist. The one that CPS recommended to me is on vacation this week, so we’re in for next week. Okay?”

  I bite the inside of my cheek and say the right thing. “Yeah. I suppose.”

  “I know it’s got to feel really strange to be here. We’re all so glad you’re back, Ethan. We really are. It’s just going to take some adjusting for all of us.”

  Adjusting. It’s pretty much all I do—I am an expert. “I’ve made adjustments before.”

  “Have you? Like what?”

  And there it is. An opening. I feel her lean toward me just a fraction. Eager, but not pushing me.

  I take a breath and let it out. Deciding. “The woman who . . . had me. Um . . . Eleanor.” I’m not sure why I want to keep protecting Ellen’s name, but I do. “After a while, after everything—having me for all those years—she got rid of me. Couldn’t afford to keep me anymore. She drove me out to Nebraska to a youth home. You can drop your kids off there in Nebraska, did you know that? No penalty. Leave ’em for good,” I say. “And people do it. She did that.”

  Mama wears an intense look. She’s quiet, but I can tell she’s disturbed, and I like that, actually. Is that sick?

  “So,” she says. “You had to adjust from Eleanor’s home to the group home.” Her words are clippy and her accent gets sharper. I can tell that she has a thousand other questions, but she holds them in.

  “Yes.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  I remember it. Remember Ellen pulling up to the door in the darkness, leaning over me to read the letters on the glass. Telling me to go on, it was okay, that she’d be back for me in a few days, once she got a job and could get us a new place in Omaha. Touching my cheek, telling me she loved me, and I could see in her eyes that she meant it. I believed her. I did.

  And then I had to live it down. All the other abandoned loser kids mocking me. Up in my face. They knew. Even my girl Tempest said Ellen wouldn’t be back. But I was stupid. It was months before I believed them. Before I believed that Ellen could ever do anything so horrible to me. When I fell apart, they all fucked with my head even more.