“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.