“I don’t want to push you,” she said, “but I thought these might help you start to remember more. Want to have a look?”
I nodded. The amnesia act would deflect suspicion for only so long; I needed to start learning this stuff if I was going to make everyone believe I was truly Danny.
Lex flipped through the book, naming everyone and narrating the events the pictures captured. Every now and then she’d look at me and say, “Ring any bells?” or “Do you recognize this?” I would say something noncommittal, and she never pushed. It was exactly what I needed. The more cousins’ names I could commit to memory, the more birthday parties I witnessed via Sharpie-labeled DVDs, the more I could start to become Daniel Tate. Lex made me a crunchy peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch, and I ate it happily, even though I didn’t care for peanut butter. This had been Danny’s favorite, and now it would be mine. To tell a good lie, part of you has to believe it’s true. With each piece of his past and each day spent under this roof, with this family, I could feel Danny growing inside of me. He was the parasite and I was just the host. Eventually, he would take over until I was only the skin he wore.
It was all I’d ever wanted. To finally bury the boy from Saskatchewan who had mattered to no one and become something else. Something better.
But it was a slow process, and the days were long in that house. I wasn’t used to my every movement being watched, to having to weigh every word and action so carefully. When I was in care, all I had to do was keep my mouth shut and everyone ignored me. It was a totally different story here. Lex never left me alone during the day, Mia clung to me when she got home from school, and I feared making even the smallest misstep in front of Nicholas, who was standoffish, if not downright suspicious of me.
“Adam Sherman messaged me on Facebook to ask about you,” he said one day at lunch. “I can give you his e-mail if you want to talk to him.”
I blinked. “You mean Andrew?” Andrew Sherman, I’d learned from Patrick and Lex, had been Danny’s best friend and had moved away several years ago.
“Oh, right,” he said vaguely. “Want his e-mail?”
It could have been an honest mistake, but I wouldn’t have put money on it. At least if it was a test, I’d passed.
The only time I had to myself was when I went to bed, which I did increasingly early just so I could escape the eyes for a little while. I wasn’t made for this. I was used to being invisible, and I’d never realized before how much freedom there was in that.
On my twelfth day at the Tates’, I finally snapped. Lex had been following me from room to room all morning, never more than five feet away from me, asking every ten minutes if there was anything she could get or do for me. Nicholas looked up at me from his computer every time I moved or breathed. But the last straw was Mia. I usually didn’t mind being around her as much because there was no chance of her doubting me, but she’d developed a habit of climbing up next to me anytime I sat down, her overly warm, sticky hands clinging to me like she was trying to absorb every lost moment with Danny through her skin. It was stifling. Like the walls were closing in on me, the big bright rooms of the Tate mansion getting smaller and darker around me, trapping me in a tiny room, a closet, a coffin.
I disentangled myself from her and got up, intending to go to the bathroom in the hallway to catch my breath. But my feet just kept walking, taking me out the front door, down the driveway, and onto the street. I walked and walked in a kind of frenzy, sweat beading on my forehead and stinging my eyes. My muscles burned from following the swells of the hills, but I could breathe. The walls I’d felt pressing in on me had fallen away. No one was looking at me. No one was expecting anything of me.
At the gate, a security guard asked me if I was Daniel Tate, that my sister had called down and asked them to look out for me. I said no and kept walking.
What I learned pretty quickly was that people in California don’t walk. I wanted to disappear, but instead, everyone was staring at me from their cars.
Why is he walking?
What’s wrong with him?
My God, is that person walking?? I HAVE NEVER SEEN SUCH A THING.
I needed to get off the street.
I crossed a heavily trafficked road and found myself in some kind of outdoor mall. At the far end I spotted a movie theater. Perfect. A place where I could sit in the dark for a couple of hours and not be looked at. With a swipe of my new magical plastic, I bought a ticket for the movie starting the soonest and hoped it would be something dumb and loud enough to drown out the voices in my head for a while.
I got in the concession line to buy a Coke, and that’s when I saw her. At first she was just a curtain of black hair two people ahead of me, but when she turned her head and I saw her profile, I recognized her as the girl from Starbucks.
I’m not sure why I suddenly felt so exposed. Like she might recognize me and ruin my escape, which was ridiculous. Normal people don’t recognize someone they saw for five seconds in a coffee shop two weeks before, and even if she did, what did it matter? There was no reason for her presence to make me nervous.
I watched her order a popcorn, soda, and a box of candy. Holding all three was awkward; she had the drink in one hand, the popcorn in another, and the candy gripped in the crook of her elbow. I had pegged her as a shy loner, the type who would go to coffee shops and movies by herself, but then she said something to the cashier that made him laugh out loud, and I had to rethink my assumptions, which was rare.
She moved off to an area near the concession line where there were straws, napkins, and self-serve butter, and I watched her, trying to figure out her deal, while the cashier got my Coke. She had finished up by the time I had my soda, and she stepped toward the ticket taker just in front of me, attempting to get the ticket out of her pocket with all the snacks in her arms. I was so busy watching her struggle that I didn’t see the ripped piece of carpeting in front of me. I tripped and crashed into her from behind. Her popcorn went flying and her box of Sno-Caps hit the floor and somersaulted to a stop under the ticket taker’s stool.
“Jesus, sorry,” I said. Way to stay invisible. There weren’t many people in the theater lobby, but they were all staring at us.
The girl burst out laughing. Not the reaction I’d been expecting.
“At least I held on to the drink!” she said.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Let me buy you another popcorn.”
She smiled. “Thanks.”
We returned to the concession stand, where the kid behind the counter offered to replace her popcorn for free. While he was scooping a new bag, she looked at me, and I looked down at the ground. She was wearing brown sandals and radioactive green polish on her toenails.
I was being weird; I could feel it. I didn’t want to be weird anymore. I summoned the new Danny persona I was creating, one that was friendly and confident and cool, and lifted my chin.