“How’s it feel to be back?” Ainsley says.
“Weird,” I say, but what I really want to say is Terrible. “Why is everyone being so nice to me?”
“You’re famous now,” Ainsley says, and I can’t tell if she’s kidding or not.
“You’re gonna need an extra bag for this stuff,” Darla says, eyeing the display.
Chita’s just staring at me, like she’s trying to read my mind. Over the years, I’d have these spells, where things at home were especially bad—when Mom entered what I started to call a Black Hole—and it always seemed like Chita knew. She’d crack jokes or talk about something ridiculous that we could make fun of together to distract me right when I needed it most. But she never made me talk about any of it.
Darla and Ainsley help me shove the gifts and stuff in my backpack, or at least the stuff that will fit, and the rest we shove into my locker.
The warning bell for homeroom rings.
“How’s your ankle?” Chita asks as we walk down the hall.
“Fine. It’s fine.”
“Will you be able to practice?” Ainsley says.
“I think so,” I say.
We all reach the spot in the hall where we usually veer our separate ways. They all want to hug me again, so I let them. I know they all mean well, but it feels strange somehow. “See you at lunch,” Chita says.
“Sure,” I say, already walking away.
===
Sam had been gone about six weeks when it was time for me to start my freshman year. I was so relieved to escape from the endless days of waiting, Mom’s crying and Earl consoling her, me hiding in my room, everyone jumping out of their skin when the phone rang.
Relieved and also kind of excited. Excited to start high school. Excited to see my best friend Grace again. Mom thought Grace was too prissy (“Miss Teen USA,” she always called her), and that she “put on airs,” whatever that meant. I remember Sam sort of had a crush on her, because he turned bashful and quiet when Grace came over. We’d been tight all through middle school and I figured we’d pick up where we left off.
But I hadn’t seen her for weeks. She’d called and texted, after Sam went missing, but I couldn’t bring myself to respond. The last time I heard from her, she texted me reminding me about cheerleading practice, which was going to be held a few weeks before school started. “You have to do this with me,” she said in the message—and it’s true, that had been our plan all along. We’d spent so many days that summer practicing in Grace’s big backyard. But the thought of asking Mom or even Earl to take away one minute of their search for Sam so I could try out for cheerleading—well, I couldn’t do it. I never sent Grace anything back.
When the first day arrived, I wasn’t really prepared. Mom hadn’t taken me shopping for any new clothes. I only had a few supplies—ink pens and pencils and notebooks left over from the year before. Back then I didn’t have a laptop. All we had was the one desktop computer, “for the family,” which sat on the small desk in the corner of the den. Mom was using it constantly, sending out e-mails and checking missing persons reports and message boards.
On that first day, I got dressed, making do with my old clothes, and I made my own breakfast—Cheerios and a cut-up banana. I packed my book bag and grabbed a printout of the class schedule the school had e-mailed a few weeks earlier.
Mom dressed for work. She’d gone back by then. She had to—we needed money coming in. I told her I could take the bus to school, but she said no way. I don’t think she wanted me walking anywhere by myself. In this new world, no one was safe.
Sam should have been starting sixth grade that day at the middle school. That morning, while waiting for Mom, I’d seen Josh and his dad drive off.
Mom let me off at the curb in front. I was jumping out the door when she said, “Have a good first day, okay? Earl will pick you up at three thirty. At that parking lot over by the soccer fields?” I nodded and slammed the door. I walked toward the school and paused. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I turned and saw Mom, still staring at me. She wouldn’t leave till she saw me go through those doors. So I did.
The hallways were brightly lit and crazy with people everywhere. I found my locker and then started to head to my homeroom. I was nervous, but the sick feeling in my stomach started to ease. I realized as I walked through the halls that it felt good to be around other people, not trapped in the house. But soon enough I noticed everyone looking at me funny. Sad glances before they would quickly turn away. I saw two girls whisper as I walked by. A teacher passed me and smiled—a pity smile.
Once I found my homeroom, I was faced with it all over again—the stares, the whispering. And the teacher, when she called my name, gave me an overly sympathetic smile and said, “Hello, dear” in a way that made it sound like I had some terminal disease.
Beth Walsh. The girl with the missing brother. The dead brother. Somehow everyone knew. But I didn’t understand why I was being singled out this way. I wasn’t the one who’d disappeared. I was still here. I was moving on with my life.
Or I was trying to.
At lunch in the huge cafeteria, I looked for Grace. I hadn’t seen her all day—somehow we hadn’t had any classes together. When I finally spotted her, she was sitting with some girls who I knew had also tried out for cheerleading. Popular girls. We’d sort of been drifting into their orbit that spring before school ended. We’d always claimed to despise them, until they started being friendlier to us, and then they were so nice, so great, so cool.
I walked over. The table was full, and there Grace was, in the middle of all those girls. Grace looked different—too tan, and wearing this sparkly eyeliner. Finally, she saw me. “Hi, Beth, how are you?” she said, smiling at me like I was a wet kitten—a cute but sad thing. Then all the other girls smiled, too, in almost exactly the same way.
I can’t remember what I said, but I must have mumbled something. I expected Grace to maybe get up and hug me. To acknowledge what I’d been through but also acknowledge she was my best friend. But all she could do was stare at me with pity. Finally, she said, “I made the squad, can you believe it?” She looked around at the others as if asking for help, then back at me, still with that dumb smile. My own best friend, treating me the way a stranger would.
“That’s great,” I said. I looked and saw one empty seat. I moved toward it but some girl put her hand down and said, “Sorry, we’re saving that for someone.”