Dead to You (8 page)

I look around nervously as the guys surround me. “I . . . I guess so. Heh.”

“What a lunatic.”

“Well, she wasn’t that bad. I mean, she was nice to me.”

“That’s whack. Is she in jail now?”

I’m starting to feel uncomfortable. “Yeah, uh, no, she’s still out there somewhere, probably on an abducting rampage.” I take a bite of the brown meat product on my plate. “So,” I say, changing the subject. “What’s your name?”

He grins wide. “Lucky number thirteen, Jason ‘J-Dog’ Roofer.”

“ROOOOOF,” says the rest of J-Dog’s posse.

I almost choke on my roll. Gracie would get along great with these guys—they’re right at her level. “I’m, uh, Ethan. E-Dog.”

The posse doesn’t say anything, and J-Dog snorts again. “You’ll know who I am by the end of the week. Basketball game Friday night. You’re going. You sit at my table, that means you’re one of my friends now. Right, guys?”

“I—I don’t know,” I say, and I shove the pasty mashed potatoes in my mouth and pray that I have enough saliva to swallow them. Getting a stomachache. I push my chair back. “Maybe. See you later.”

“No, you’re going. Everybody goes.” He’s still grinning. Like, nicely, though I keep waiting for him to beat the shit out of me. God.

I shrug and head over to the dishwashing station to chuck my tray.

After school they’re there again, leaning against the bus and talking this time. J-Dog sees me and shouts, “Yo, little E-Dog!”

There’s a guy like him in every school. “Roooof!” I say. I reach out and bump his waiting fist, and then I accidentally trip going up the steps into the bus on account of catching Cami’s surprised look. I feel the rumble of panic laughter build up, but I hold it back. I have nothing to panic about. Nothing. Everything is exactly as it should be, and getting better every day.

Cami hops up the steps and flops into my seat with me. “So . . . how’s it going at school?” The bus pulls away from the curb.

“Pretty good, most of it. Spent half the day testing so the teachers can figure out where to put me. I have more tests the rest of the week. Hope I can get out of some of the loser freshman classes.” I’m actually kind of worried about this.

“You making any friends?”

“Besides J-Dog Roofer?” I try to hold back the sarcasm.

But she’s defensive. “It’s just a silly name to get the basketball crowd riled up. He doesn’t even like it.”

“What—I didn’t say anything about J-Dog Roofer’s name.”

“You had a tone. Stop it.”

“I did not. Why are you so defensive about your boyfriend?”

“I’m not!”

Her mouth is a frown and all of a sudden I just want to taste those pouty lips. I look at her eyes and she’s glaring at me. I lock my eyes on hers and suddenly we’re in a staring contest, neither of us willing to blink. But hers are like black holes. I’m sucked in.

Finally, I wet my lips and smile at her, and then I blink, giving up. She gives a reluctant grin back.

“You dork,” she says.

I shrug and grin, shifting in the seat until our legs touch, and I pretend I don’t notice. She doesn’t move away. She pulls her iPod out of her coat pocket and offers me an earbud. And so we sit, thighs and shoulders touching, listening to some screamo crap.

When the middle schoolers get on the bus, Blake gives me a look, like he thinks I’m pathetic. I shrug and pull out some stupid forms I have to fill out, and then just rest and listen, eyes closed, picturing things the way I want them to be.

I go straight home this time, and Mama presents me with a cell phone. I dump my stuff in the bedroom, where Blake is spreading out his homework on his bed.

“Can you show me how to work this thing?” I ask.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I’ve never owned one.”

Blake just looks at me like I’m a total fucktard. “What’s your number?”

I point to it on the paper Mama gave me, and then he takes out his phone and starts punching buttons. I stare, totally intrigued. I move his stuff over, sit down, and watch him. “What are you doing?”

“Sending contacts to your phonebook. Mine, the landline, Dad’s, Mama’s. Gracie doesn’t have one. You want Cami’s, too? I have it.”

“Ah . . . yeah.”

He laughs and checks for more. When he’s done, he shows me how to make calls and look up people and send text messages.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.” Blake turns back to his homework. “Your other . . . people. The abductor dudes. They didn’t have cell phones?”

“Nope,” I say. “And it was a woman. Eleanor.” Her fake name comes out easily now.

Blake looks up. “Just a woman? What about the guys?”

“What guys?”

“The two guys in the car, that took you.”

I stand up and shove the cell phone in my pocket. “I don’t remember it. I don’t know any two guys. So you’re sure two guys were in the black car?” I feel my heart race.

“That’s what I remember,” he says. “I can see it. Passenger-side guy leans out the window, gives you something. You get in the backseat. I yell when the car drives away.” He pauses. “I thought you were getting to do something I wasn’t getting to do. I mean, I think I was too little to understand about getting in the car with strangers. Unlike you, who should have known.”

I flop down on my bed and get my homework out, study guides for the rest of the testing I’ll be doing this week. I ponder the new information from Blake and ignore the barb. “What are you working on?”

“Science.”

After a minute of getting organized, I get a weird feeling and look up, and Blake is staring at me again. “What?”

Blake shakes his head. “I’m just trying to figure out why two guys would kidnap you and you’d end up with a woman. Did she hire them to do it or something?”

I sigh. “Blakey, I really don’t know.” But after I think about it a little more, I like that story. “Yeah, maybe,” I say. “That makes sense.” I move another piece of me into place. Close my eyes and memorize the picture of it.

For the English test prep I read some wacky Emily Dickinson poem over and over again, not really comprehending it. Thinking about Ellen . . . and about why I changed her name when I started talking about her.

She’s really not such a bad person. Not as bad as J-Dog made her out to be. Even after what she did to me in Nebraska, and never coming back . . . I guess I still hope she doesn’t get caught.

The days crawl along and I get through them,
doing most of my homework and flirting a little, not too much. I’ve been here a week. It still feels weird. Sometimes I just have to go detox down in the basement, in my little cubby of boxes.

On Friday, J-Dog stakes me out and asks if I got a ticket to the stupid basketball game.

“No,” I say. “I don’t have anybody to go with.”

“The whole junior class sits together. Get a ticket. You’ll get to know some people.”

“I don’t have any money.”

J-Dog looks around and spies somebody. “Hey, Zack, you got two bucks for my new friend Ethan? He needs a game ticket.”

“Sure thing,” Zack says. “Can do you one better. Here’s mine. I’ll go buy another one.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” J-Dog says.

I watch this all. I don’t understand it, why these jocks are nice to me, but I take the ticket. “Why do you want me to go so bad?”

“Because we’re hospitable here at Belleville High. And everybody—EVERYBODY—goes to see the J-Dog play. ’Specially my homies. I like you, little E-Dog. You’re scrappy. And you’re a survivor, man. Look at you, finding your way back home from that creepy woman. You’re like a hero or a celebrity or something. You ever play hoops? You should.”

I’ve never played basketball outside of shitty PE classes. I ignore the question. “I’ll try to get a ride.”

“You call the J-Dog if you need a ride. I’ll have my people come get you. Okay? Just be there. Five-eight-six-J-Dog.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” J-Dog peers at me, apparently satisfied, and lets me go as the bell rings.

When we get home from school, Dad’s already there. Mama’s putting Gracie’s hair in braids. “What’s going on?” Blake asks. He grabs a granola bar from the cupboard and rips it open.

“We’re going to the basketball game,” Mama says.

“What?” Blake freezes, granola bar nearly to his mouth.

“You heard her,” Gracie says. She sticks her nose in the air.

“We don’t go to games. We never go anywhere,” Blake says. I can tell he’s got a bug up his butt, the way he’s winding up.

“We’re going to start now,” Mama says. “We’ve got a child in high school, and it’s my alma mater too, you know. It’s something we should have been doing for a long time. A good family tradition.”

“I’m not going,” Blake says. “I’m not sitting with you.”

“Yes, you are.” Mama has a look in her eye I wouldn’t want to go up against.

Blake shakes his head, incredulous, and stomps off to the bedroom. “Why not just torture me instead?”

I stay out of his way.

Ellen would call him a hothead.

It’s snowing again. Inside the field house entryway, the floor is slick with filthy slush. Black carpets gush when you step on them, but the ones closer to the basketball courts are only damp. I wipe my shoes off and look around for familiar faces. There are people everywhere—students and families. It’s like the major event of Belleville or something.

I see some of Cami’s friends from the bus stop and the butterflies in my gut slow down a little bit. At least I know where to go.

I turn to Dad. “Is it cool if I sit with my, uh, friends?”

Dad looks alarmed. “Where?”

“Just right over there, Dad. I’ll meet you here at this coatrack after the game.”

“I—I don’t know. Maria? What do you think?”

“What?” Mama says.

“He wants to sit with his friends.”

Mama hesitates, but only for a second, and then she gives me a strained smile. “That’s a great idea. Of course. When you’re in high school, you have to. That’s what I always did too. Junior section is there, isn’t it?” She points.

I nod. “I’ll meet you right here after the game. I’ll be fine,” I add. “I have my cell phone if you need me.”

Blake stands there looking pissed, and Gracie just stares at all the people.

“Okay,” Mama says. “Have fun. Don’t miss out on the halftime show. It’s usually pretty interesting.”

“Right,” I say, and I take off for the bleachers. It feels like everybody’s watching me. I think I might puke, I’m so nervous. I climb up the steps between sections and see the guy, Zack, who gave me his ticket.

“Hey,” I say uncertainly.

“Hey, new guy. Glad you made it. Told you everybody comes to these. There’s competitions between the classes.”

“Yeah, okay,” I say. I totally have to pee.

Zack and his friends shove down on the bench to make room, and I sit. There’s a band playing, and everybody’s shouting and talking. I can feel drum vibrations in my chest. It’s kind of thrilling, actually. Zack hollers to the people down the row and I just sit and watch, trying to calm down.

The cheerleaders come out and start jumping around. One girl looks familiar, like she’s in one of my classes. Math, I think. She’s pretty. I think about being with her. God, I’d give anything to just hold a girl. It’s been a long time—nobody wants to hold a homeless guy. It’s like my skin is aching for it.

I watch the people coming up the bleacher steps, and then I see Cami. She climbs up and stops when she sees me. Breaks into a big smile.

“Hey!” she says, and sits down next to me. “Make room!” she yells, and smacks Zack on the head. Everybody shoves down. She puts her hand on my shoulder. “You’ll be glad you came,” she says in my ear.

I shiver with excitement. I’m already glad.

The game isn’t nearly as exciting as being in the middle of a huge screaming crowd next to a girl you used to take baths with. I yell along with everybody when it comes time to compete for the juniors in the school spirit shout-off, but we take second place to the stupid loudmouth sophomores.

At one point I see my family, up in the first balcony above one basket. I think Dad’s watching me. I don’t wave because that would be dorky, even though I know he probably wants me to. It’s so weird being here. Having a dad, a whole family like this. I’m almost overwhelmed for a second.

Halftime comes and I stand up. I really have to pee now. I lean down to let Cami know I’m going to hit the restroom, and she gets a funny look on her face. “No, don’t—there will be a mad rush right now. Wait until third quarter starts and you’ll be in and out in a minute.”

I shrug and sit down again. And then the announcer guy comes onstage, near the pep band. He calls for attention and Cami grips my knee. I look down at her hand, then at her, and she’s grinning huge.

“What the . . . ,” I say.

The announcer is talking now, and the field house grows fairly quiet. He welcomes everybody and the lights dim a little. A large screen, hanging from the ceiling above the pep band, rolls down, and then the announcer says something that scares the crap out of me.

“Once there was a boy who disappeared from our fair city, snatched from his front yard, leaving no trace,” he says in this awful overdramatic voice. My heart stops beating. “He was abducted, and the people of Belleville searched high and low for him. But he was gone, leaving Belleville, his neighbors, and especially his family mourning deeply over his loss.” A film begins playing. My jaw drops open and I feel the heat start to creep up. “But now the community and KTRX-AM radio are so pleased to welcome Ethan De Wilde back home!”

The audience breaks out in applause and the people around me start clapping me on the back, and Cami’s squeezing my knee and laughing, and I’m just staring, flabbergasted, horrified, so very horrified, when the makeshift film tribute begins.

And there I am, my second-grade picture splashed on the big screen, and then part of the news clip that Cami showed me, and another news clip from a different TV station that I hadn’t seen before of people searching, and then a clip of me on some missing-and-wanted TV program, which nobody told me about ever, and I am feeling so sick I think I’m going to throw up right here, right in the bleachers, over the entire junior class of Belleville High.