BooksBarbecue
Back How to Disappear Completely Save as PDF
Chapters (58)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. Acknowledgments
  56. About the Author
  57. Back Ad
  58. About the Publisher

I saw a girl who takes after her gram.

And I know that no matter what my skin looks like tomorrow or next month or next year, I’m going to keep fighting for that girl.

I will never let her disappear again.

image 51 image

Nobody answers when I knock on Madeline’s door a few minutes later. Not even when Boomer whines and scratches at the door.

“Madeline?” I call.

I don’t hear her. There’s no curtain twitching. But for some reason, I am sure that she can hear me.

“I just came to tell you that if you wanted to come to my house for Thanksgiving, I would really love that,” I say through the door. “My parents, too. Fina will be there and her parents. I know it’s a lot of people, and I understand if you don’t want to come. But even if you don’t, I’ll be back to visit again. It’s what she would want, so no arguing, okay?”

There’s no answer.

“I’m going to go now. Dinner’s at three o’clock. Oh, and by the way, I finished our story.”

I wait a second longer, just in case the door cracks open, but it doesn’t.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Madeline,” I say.

As Boomer and I pass by the church on our way home, I glance over at the graveyard. Then I do a double take. Professor Swann is there, standing at Gram’s grave.

I kind of forgot about him, and my theory that he might have been in love with Gram, after Fina and I found out who was really writing to me in my journal. Who had really left the flowers on the grave, and written the inscription in Gram’s copy of The World at the End of the Tunnel.

But there he is, standing over her grave on Thanksgiving. And I need to know why. I tug Boomer through the church gates and into the grassy graveyard.

“Hi, Professor Swann,” I call.

It’s not until he turns around and we’re a little closer that I realize he’s not standing in front of Gram’s grave at all. He’s standing in front of Isabella Fortune’s. The teacher Gram liked who died so young.

“Hello, Emma,” he says. His hat, for once, is pressed against his chest instead of on his head. He beckons me over. “Come to visit your gram?”

“Kind of,” I say. “I saw you in here, and I wondered—well, was she a friend of yours?” I nod toward Isabella’s grave, remembering how untidy and overgrown it had been the day of Gram’s funeral. Now a rosebush has been planted over the neat grass.