Dead to You by Lisa McMann
We hang out while Mama talks with some other ladies. Lots of them are so happy to see me and tell me how much they’ve prayed for me all these years and how they felt when they found out I was home. It’s touching, really, because they get all teary about it. I like that. I just hope God doesn’t get all the credit for bringing me home, because I sure hitchhiked a hell of a long ways and walked my frozen feet off to get here.
Blake leans up against the wall and doesn’t look at anybody, doesn’t say anything, and nobody talks to him. And Gracie hops down the middle of the school hallway like the floor has hopscotch painted on it, running into people and being generally adorable. They all love her—everybody knows her name and gives her candy and shit like that. I watch her work the grandpa and grandma types and I gotta give her props. She knows what she’s doing.
Every now and then I scan the place for Cami and J-Dog, but I don’t see them. My stomach twists a little again, but I’m in control. I think about texting her, but I don’t want to get in her face about it. She’ll do it when she does it. And I’ll wait.
And then it’s time to go. We head out to the diner nearby for brunch. I guess it’s our family tradition to do that after church. And that’s cool. I like it. We are all on our best behavior. Mama and Dad talk about the service and they ask if I liked it.
I shrug. “Sure. It was fine.”
Mama looks pleased.
Gracie colors on the kids’ menu between bites of her burger, and even Blake passes the pepper when I ask him for it. We talk about plans for the week, and I still don’t know half the people they are talking about. Feels like I’m in a play and I don’t know all my lines.
I wait for the buzz in my pocket.
At home, everybody disperses. I go down to do my homework and doodle for a while, distracted. And then I go upstairs and wander, trying to find something to do so I don’t go crazy. Dad’s taking a nap and Mama and Gracie are in the living room playing a board game. Blake is nowhere. In his room as usual, probably.
I hesitate and then sit down on the floor. “Hey,” I say. Things are still a little awkward from yesterday. I haven’t really talked to either one of them alone since the family meeting. “What are you playing?”
“Chutes and Ladders,” Gracie says. “Duh.”
I laugh. “Well, I don’t know. I’ve never played it before.”
Mama looks at me and gives me this heartbreaking smile. “This was your favorite game.”
“I’m sorry I don’t remember.” I draw my knees up and hug them, rest my chin on them. “What else was my favorite?”
Mama shakes her head. “Just look at Gracie. She’s the mirror image of you. She likes practically everything you liked.”
Gracie steals a wary glance at me. “Mama, is he the real Efan or the fake Efan?”
“He’s the real deal, sweetie. There’s no fake Ethan. Blake’s just having a tough time.”
I smile at Mama. “Thank you,” I say.
Gracie looks relieved too. “You’re the real deal,” she says, like she likes that phrase.
“Yep,” I say. “Maybe I even had a lunch box like you. Did I, Mama?”
Mama smiles. “Star Wars . It was Dad’s old lunch box from when he was a kid, from the first time those movies came out. So yours was a second-generation lunch box, if you can believe it lasted that long. I bet it’s still around somewhere, all beat-up.”
“What did I keep inside it?” I ask Mama, but I give Gracie a sidelong glance that makes her fume. She knows I’m trying to figure out what’s in hers.
“I don’t know,” Mama says. “Probably your lunch. Or maybe your treasures.”
“I want to know what my treasures were so I can know what Gracie hides in her lunch box,” I say, laughing. “I suppose I liked those movies too.”
“You were obsessed. You and your Dad watched them over and over.”
I ask Gracie, “Are you obsessed with Star Wars too?”
“Huh?”
“Do you like to watch the Star Wars movies a lot?”
“Nope,” she says. “I never even seen ’em.”
“Maybe we can watch one together sometime, because I sure don’t remember them,” I say.
“See, we’re the same,” she says. I love her logic. And I think maybe that’s why I actually like the kid so much. She’s about where I was when I left off. It’s like I can relive my missing years at her level or something.
We play a few games of Chutes and Ladders. After a while Mama goes to take a nap. Gracie and I hang out having a contest, trying to make the goofiest face. The kid sure likes sticking her fingers in her nose. It’s a good distraction.
Blake doesn’t come out.
“What do you think Blake does in his room all the time?” I ask Gracie after a while.
“He plays on the ’puter.”
“Oh.” The computer in Blake’s room was supposed to be for both of us to share, but when he threw my stuff out, he didn’t hand that over, so basically it’s all his. “What does he do on the computer?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. He doesn’t let me come in. Only stand in the hallway and peek in.”
“Maybe he’s a mad scientist creating a robot that will rule the world,” I say.
“That’s dumb. Play elevator with me.”
I groan. I’m tired of playing. She stands on my knees and holds my hands and bounces a little until I bend my knees and she goes up in the air. “What did you do before I was here to play with you?”
She grins and says, “I was waiting for you.”
CHAPTER 40
It’s all good, Cami texts.
Finally. I almost drop the phone trying to type fast. Really? He’s not going to kill me? Can you come over later?
I’ll try. I miss you.
Oh, hell. That kills me, it really does.
I fall asleep with my clothes on, waiting. When I wake up, my alarm clock is blaring. It’s morning.
When I see her walking to the bus stop early, I grab my coat and backpack and head out. We’re the first ones there.
“Nice plan,” I say. “I missed you.” We stand with our backs to the house, a noticeable space between us.
“I was hoping you were watching. We’re so sneaky.” Cami grins. “Sorry about last night. Too much homework and I didn’t realize how late it was, and then I didn’t want to wake you up.”
“Are you okay? I mean, about Jason?” I hate saying his name.
“Yeah, it’s weird. But it’s fine.” She shrugs. “He didn’t even take it very hard.”
“Bastard,” I say before I realize I should be glad.
She squints at me and smiles. “You’re sweet. I like you. Wanna make out?”
I laugh. “Right now?”
“I’m kidding. We should still keep it quiet. Give it a week or so. You think?”
“Yeah,” I say, and I’m relieved. I don’t want to be the guy that messed around with J-Dog Roofer’s girlfriend . . . even though I am. That would not work out in my favor. “Does he know about me?”
“No. I just told him what I’d been thinking for weeks.”
“Which is . . . ?”
“That I’m tired of being his girlfriend only when he runs out of other things to do.”
Other students have drifted over and we don’t say much, but when we sit together on the bus as usual, Cami sits so close to me I can’t even concentrate. She just listens to her playlist, being all sexy, and I look out the window, thinking about how the last time I rode this bus, I didn’t stand a chance.
It’s amazing how everything can change just like that.
At school, I know I won’t see Cami, because I never do, but I look for her anyway. And, of course, I don’t have any trouble finding J-Dog. But we haven’t actually talked since his apology, and I think he’s figured out that no matter how cool he is, he’s never going to get me to go to another basketball game again in my entire life. So at least he’s smart enough to give up on me.
I
The best part of the day is when I walk out of school after the bell rings and there’s no J-Dog making out with Cami by the bus. She’s standing there, though, hair flipped to one side, backpack over one shoulder. Waiting. Waiting for me.
It’s a good week. Midterms keep Cami and me both busier than we want to be, and I have extra punishment chores like cleaning out the garage, which has got to be the worst job ever. The garage floor is disgusting. Big stalactites of filthy slush build up behind the car wheels and drop off, getting smashed again when the car goes out—Gracie calls it car poop. I shovel it up and toss it all on the side of the house.
But I also start driver’s training and that’s probably the most fun I’ve ever had. I am a natural at it—that’s what my instructor says. Finally, I have a talent. Maybe I’ll become a race-car driver. That would make my dear, protective Mama happy. I laugh a little just thinking about it.
Blake stays holed up in his room every night working on a school project, or so he claims. I think he’s just being emo, but I don’t really care as long as he stays away from me and isn’t planning to blow up the house or something.
I do my homework at the dining table now. It feels nice to be close to people. I don’t know how Blake can stand it, being alone in his room all the time. I like the normal house noises. I like hearing Gracie laugh at cartoons or Dad running the vacuum cleaner or Mama reading aloud something outrageous from the newspaper.
And it finally starts to feel okay that I miss Ellen now and then, but also that I’m done with her. I mean, if I saw her on the street, would I talk to her? Yeah, I would. But now I feel like home is here, not there. That’s a first. And it’s scary. It is. But it’s good. It’s so, so good.
On Thursday, Mama downgrades my groundedness from “indefinitely” to “one week,” so that means on Saturday, I’ll be free if I can avoid getting into more trouble.
Which is almost impossible because I can hardly stand not seeing Cami. On school nights she can’t be out after ten, and here everybody but Gracie is awake until at least that, so it’s too risky for her to sneak over. Plus, somebody’s bound to see the footprints in the snow if they just think to look. I’m sure Blake would jump at the chance to turn my ass in.
So even though it’s a great week, it’s horrible, because all I get of Cami is a few minutes at the bus stop and on the bus, where we pretend nothing’s going on. And by Friday, I’m dying to touch her and hold her, just be close to her and whisper with her in the dark. Instead, after school we sit in our bedrooms four houses away from each other, texting each other like mad and dreaming about tomorrow.
After dinner Friday, Dad decides it’s guys’ night out, and he takes Blake and me to a movie. Some lame Star Wars look-alike, I guess. Blake doesn’t speak to me, but I catch him staring at me throughout the movie. It’s really unsettling. It is. It’s like he thinks I’m behind a one-way mirror or something and he’s watching an interrogation, like a cop. I think he’s doing it on purpose to try and wind me up. Get me in trouble again. I just want to punch him.
But I’ve got only a few hours until I’m free, and there’s no way I’m going to screw that up. Besides, I promised Cami I wouldn’t mess this up. I send a text message to her now and then, though Dad’s frowning on that tonight.
After the movie, we go for something to eat, and Blake’s all embarrassed because what if his friends are here and he’s out with his dad rather than the Crips or Bloods or whatever. Jeez, he’s so immature. He doesn’t have a clue what it’s like to never have this chance. To not have a dad to go out with. I wish he’d just grow up. It’d be great if he got to be homeless and abandoned for a while, just to see what it’s like.
Anyway, I play the good son and I hope it gets me points. I’m going to want a lot of points saved up just in case. But the weird thing is, Dad is not so bad. He’s interesting and has a lot of cool insights about the movie and the graphics and junk like that—stuff you’d never think he’d care or know anything about.
Back at home, Blake slithers to his room. I sit down at the kitchen table with Mama and Dad and we talk about the movie. Mama has to keep shushing Dad and me because Gracie’s asleep and we’re laughing too loud about the bad special effects. But all the while I’m sort of itching to text with Cami. I finger my phone in my pocket.
Then Blake comes out of his room. He’s carrying a red folder. And he’s got a creepy look on his face, almost like he’s a little bit scared about how evil he really is.
CHAPTER 41
Blake walks up to the table and our conversation stops.
“Hey, Blake,” Mama says cheerily, because we’re all pretending we get along today. “Pull up a chair. Did you think the movie was cheesy too?”
Blake doesn’t sit down. Instead, he puts the folder on the table and says, “I can prove that he isn’t Ethan.” His voice cracks when he says my name.
And for a moment, it’s completely silent.
I stand up, feeling the blood rushing to my head. “Sorry. I can’t deal with this crap anymore.” I step aside as calmly as I can and push my chair in, but Blake moves to block me as I round the table.
He stands there inches from me. I can feel the heat coming off him. He’s scared shitless. “No,” he says in a surprisingly even voice. “I want to see your face when I prove to my parents that you’re a fake.”
My jaw aches, but I clench it even harder. Thinking of Cami. Hours away from Saturday. “Mama,” I say, not taking my eyes off Blake. “Will you ask Blake to let me through, please?”
“Blake, honestly,” Mama says. Her voice is sharp.
“I need him to see this,” Blake insists.
“Guys, sit down. Let’s work through it,” Dad says. When we don’t move, he says it louder, more forcefully. “Both of you. Sit down.”
I hesitate a minute longer, but the mantra is in my head. Cami. Cami. Cami. I can’t allow myself to react. I can’t get myself grounded again. If he throws a punch, I won’t move. I’ll take it and let them deal with him. And so I sit. Numb. The ticking of the kitchen clock sounds like a time bomb. I make my eyes dart around the room in time with it.
Blake sits too. And he looks at Mama and Dad. “I know you don’t believe me,” he says. “I know you think I’m just angry. And I’m sorry for causing trouble. But you’ve got to listen to me. Just . . . please. Listen to me for once.”
Mama rubs her temples. Dad sits quietly. My chest is tight and I can’t take a deep breath. Anticipating rejection is the worst. But all I allow myself to think about is Cami. Get through this, and I get to see her tomorrow. Fuck it up, and I don’t. I focus.
“Go ahead, then,” Mama says with an impatient sigh. “Just know that you are on really shaky ground, mister. So watch it.”
Blake wets his lips and I can see his fingers shaking. “Okay, so in science, we’re doing genetics, right? Dominant and recessive genes. I had to do the eye color thing and the earlobes, remember?”
I wince as pain shoots through me, remembering how bad that made me feel.
“Yes, we remember,” Dad says. His face looks tired.
“Well, first there was all the stuff Ethan said about the woman, but I saw two men in the car, and that didn’t make sense . . . and him not remembering things—”
“That’s perfectly normal,” Mama interrupts.
“I know,” Blake says quickly, a little too loudly, but he holds his temper in check. “But then I noticed something.” He glances at me with such enmity in his eyes, it’s stunning.
Blake opens up his folder and pulls out a photograph. It’s a slightly blurry, blown-up snapshot—the one of me and him and Cami and the sno-cone machine.
“You stole that f
“Look at his . . .” Blake’s voice cracks again. He clears his throat and points to my head in the photo. “Look at his ear,” he says, softer, his voice losing a little of the confidence he had before. His face turns red, and his lips press so tightly together they turn gray.
And I’m sitting here with that boot in my gut. Making its steady climb up my ribs again. Fuck. I try breathing steadily but I’m gulping air.
“What about it?” Mama says.
“He looks different,” Blake says. “Do you see it?”
Mama sits back in her chair, exasperated. “Blake, of course he looks different. That’s normal. And Ethan looks almost exactly like the age-progression photo that NCMEC created. You look different from then too, because your body and features change a little as you get older.”
“Mama,” Blake says, and I can tell he knows she’s about to blow. “My looks changed, I know. But my earlobes didn’t. Earlobes don’t change. They are either attached or detached, and they stay that way for life. Ethan’s is detached in this picture, see? Now look at him.”
Dad leans forward and stares at the photo. He takes it by the corner and pulls it closer so he can see better.
And then he stares at me. At my ears. All the color drains from his face. And his eyes . . . his eyes.
I turn away, but it’s too late. His rejection is suffocating, my lungs searing as if I’ve been underwater too long. I’ll never forget that look on his face.
I struggle to my feet as the first wave of hysterics washes over me. I’m falling out of a fifty-story window, I can’t breathe, can’t do anything but grasp at air and wait for the impact to kill me. I stumble blindly around the table to the basement door and hang on to the handrail in a silent scream as Mama says in a trembling voice like death, “Blake, you have pushed this too far. Go to your room.”