I said goodbye to my parents, grabbed my schoolbag, and went out the front door. But once outside, I doubled back and ran to the clubhouse. As I opened the door I could hear music coming from my transistor radio.

“She-e-e-e-e-e-e-ry babe-e-e-e-e-e-e-e…”

I crawled inside, a little winded from running. “Grace.”

She raised her hand. “Wait, I love this song. It’s The Four Seasons.”

I waited for the song to end. “Come, come, come out tonight…”

When it was over she turned to me. “Okay, what?”

“You’re in the newspaper.” I unfolded the paper and read, “Middle School Student Missing. Madeline Grace Webb, daughter of Stan and Holly Webb, has been missing since October eleventh.”

“Let me see.”

I handed her the paper.

After she finished reading the article she dropped it on the floor. “I hate that picture of me.”

“There’s a lot of people looking for you.”

She did her best Cagney imitation. “They’ll never take me alive, copper…”

I picked up the paper. “I’m glad you think it’s funny.”

“Stop worrying so much. Everything will work out.”

“How do you know that?”

“I saw it in the candle.”

“You did?”

She nodded.

I had no rebuttal to that. “Okay, I’m off to school.”

“Say hi to everyone for me.”

I turned back.

“Just kidding.”

As I walked to the bus stop all I could think about was how I hoped the candle was right.

CHAPTER Twenty-two

Eric couldn’t see why it’s important for me to keep a diary.
Maybe I just want to leave some evidence that I existed.

GRACE’S DIARY

“I’m kind of like Anne Frank,” Grace said as I crawled through the clubhouse door. She was sitting in the corner holding a small, yellow vinyl book with a locking strap.

“What?” I said, instead of “who?,” which was appropriate since I had no idea what she was talking about.

“Anne Frank.”

I nodded as if I understood. “Does she go to Granite?”

Grace laughed. “She was a Jewish girl who hid from the Nazis during the Second World War. Didn’t you read the book?”

“No.” I had never heard of it.

“They were going to send her family to one of those death camps, so they hid in the back of a building. She kept a diary the whole time. Just like me.”

“You keep a diary?”

“Every day.” She held up the yellow book.

“What do you write in it?”

“Whatever I feel like writing.”

“Like what?”

“Things I did. People I talked to. Stuff like that.”

“Am I in there?”

“Of course. You’re all over the place.”

“Can I see?”

She looked incredulous. “No. You don’t just show someone your diary.”

“Then who do you write it for?”

“Yourself.”

“That’s dumb. You already know everything that happened to you. It’s like telling yourself a secret.”

“…and people can read it after you die.”

“What good is that?”