Dead to You by Lisa McMann Read Free Book Online Page A

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